Chapter 8

Sahara had to tear her eyes away from Dominik to pay attention to the conversation going on around her. The last she’d caught was that Chicklet was taking off, understanding, but a little irritated, that Vanek had taken a cab to the hospital rather than wait for her.

Before Pischlar and White showed up, Sahara had been grateful for Chicklet’s company. But now she just wanted to get out of here. And Chicklet didn’t seem to want her to leave with them.

“You can’t be serious, Chicklet.” Pischlar sighed, not looking overly upset, but maybe a little tired. “You trust me with your sub, but not with Sahara?”

White snorted. “She trusted you to fuck her sub. And Zovko was right th—”

Chicklet’s fist caught White right in the eye. White stumbled back against Pischlar’s car, making no effort to even protect himself when Chicklet fisted her hand in the collar of his shirt.

Her eyes were as deadly as a snake’s, her tone not much better. “I’m getting real tired of your mouth, boy. Does privacy mean anything to you?”

“Easy there, Chicklet.” Dominik gently pulled Chicklet away from White. “We need the big brute in one piece. And your men need you. Go on, I’ve got this.”

Nodding jerkily, Chicklet straightened the sleeves of her leather jacket. “Fine, but you best make sure she don’t get hurt. And I’m talking about more than her asshole ex.”

Inclining his head, Dominik watched Chicklet head for her Jeep. While Sahara found herself watching him. He was…very calm.

That’s a good thing. Right?

He arched a brow as he glanced over at White. “Do you have a death wish, Bruiser?”

“No! What the fuck did I do?” White frowned, turning to Sahara. “You didn’t know about Pisch and Vanek? I figured you girls talked about everything.”

Sahara’s cheeks heated. She hadn’t been privy to that information. Staying that way would have been fine with her. “Umm…no. But it’s okay. I won’t say anything.”

Pischlar stretched his arms behind his neck, cracking his knuckles. “Awesome. I suppose I’ll have to wait a bit before asking her for a copy of the video though. So you owe me, White.”

White blinked at him. Then his eyes went wide. “There’s a video? Damn, you’re…”

“Easy?” Pischlar looked quite pleased with himself. “Yes. I’m also exhausted. If not for you busting in, Sahara and I would have had a quiet night.”

That got White apologizing, but Sahara didn’t pay much attention to him. For some reason, she was desperate to see Dominik’s reaction. He’d seemed all right with her staying with Pischlar, but did he think they were involved?

“So much on your mind. Pischlar can help you with that.” Dominik chuckled when she stared at him.

Pischlar cut White off, his eyes going a little wide. “Is that an order or an offer, Mason?”

“Neither are mine to give. I appreciate you being there for Sahara. She’s special to all of us.” Dominik brushed his fingers down her cheek, then took a step back, his eyes on her. “You know what you need right now, sunshine. Take it. No regrets.”

Her chest felt tighter, even as some of the weight on her lifted. Whether or not he’d worded it that way, Dominik was giving her permission to do whatever she wanted with Pisch. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but not this.

“Dominik…” She closed the distance between them and put her hand on his arm before he could walk away. “I don’t understand.”

He kissed her forehead. “I think there’s a few things we both need to work out. I’d rather do that before we try to start something, only to say goodbye later.”

“Can I still call you?”

“Whenever you want.”

“Can we hang out? Maybe go back to the theater?” She probably sounded pathetic, but this confused her more than when he’d put her in the cab to go see Oriana.

He nodded, a warm smile on his lips. “I’d like that. And I take back what I said about the club. You’re more than welcome there.”

She swallowed hard and nodded. Her heart was racing, so fast she was light-headed. Maybe he’d decided he’d be willing to train her if she wanted, but that was it.

Well, he might have decided not to go beyond training, but she… Okay, she hadn’t really considered very much in the last twenty-four hours. She’d been afraid and clung to the one person she was sure of. And she wasn’t ready to let go.

Even though she knew nothing would come of being with Pischlar.

She took a deep breath and let her hand fall. “We almost had something. I don’t want you to think you’re losing me, like you lost—”

He put a finger over her lips. “Hush. I don’t think that.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not her.”

* * *

Over an hour later, back at Pischlar’s house, Dominik’s words still haunted Sahara. Her biggest fear had been not measuring up to Oriana. When she went to the club, she always looked to the more experienced subs for how to act. Following Silver’s lead never got her very far. What Bower and Richter put up with wasn’t the norm.

Subs like Oriana were clearly preferred, but showing the kind of graceful submission she did was hard. Sahara had tried, but there was a limit to the number of Doms willing to play with a newbie. Pischlar’s interest in her had been nice after weeks of going to the club and not finding anyone willing to give her a shot.

When Sahara played with Pischlar—and once with Pischlar and Ford—it had been fun. She’d been able to relax and go along with whatever they wanted to do. But she craved something more. Mr. Keane’s complete control over the subs he scened with was everything she thought a BDSM relationship should be like. For the longest time, she’d gone to the club hoping one day he’d look at her and show the same interest he did in them, but he only scened with women close to his own age. And despite her embarrassing effort to look more mature, he’d rarely spared her more than a fond glance.

She’d moved on, but her needs hadn’t really changed. Mr. Keane had been her ideal Dom for a reason. She just couldn’t put her finger on why exactly.

Dominik was different. She’d only ever seen him with Akira, training her with no intention of keeping her. At one point, Sahara had considered asking him for the same, but she was too close to him already to delve into something temporary. If she let him in, she’d want to give him everything.

She already wanted to.

I’m not ready.

If only she weren’t such a mess. Maybe then she could be the right woman for him.

What’s it gonna be? More therapy? A complete personality transplant?

Tension gathered at the base of her skull as she rejected the idea. She didn’t need to become someone else. He’d either like her for who she was, or he wasn’t worth her time.

He does. And he is.

Her groan drew a soft laugh from Pischlar, who was cooking up some grilled cheese sandwiches in the kitchen. He came out with a tray full of sandwiches, plates and cutlery, and tomato soup divided into three bowls. After setting the tray on the coffee table, he placed a plate in front of her and grinned.

“Help yourself. Do you want a soda? Or some tea?”

“A tea would be nice.” Sahara took one of the sandwiches off the stack and put it on her plate. Damn, that smelled good. Nicely browned with cheese oozing out from the sides. The soup wasn’t from a can either. She inhaled the sweet aroma, her mouth watering. “Thank you so much, Pisch. I have to warn you though, treating a woman like this will make her want to keep you!”

Pischlar’s eyes widened in mock horror as he reached for the plate. “That’s a scary thought. Maybe I should toss this and—”

Sahara batted his hand away, laughing. “Don’t even think about it! And you don’t have to worry about me. I’m good just playing with you.”

He gave her a crooked grin, then plopped down on the armchair, glancing back over his shoulder. “You done yet, Bruiser? Food’s ready!”

The creak of a door and then White came down the hall, still wet from his shower.

And wearing nothing but a towel. He combed his fingers through his damp hair and headed for the empty space on the sofa beside Sahara. Her cheeks heated as he bent down to grab a grilled cheese sandwich. His towel wouldn’t hold for long.

With all those muscles so close to her, she couldn’t help wishing it would fall so she could ogle the rest of him.

The way Pischlar licked his lips, he was having those very same thoughts. But he tore his gaze away and cleared his throat. “The lady and I would like some tea. She’s a guest. You’re not. You’ve gotta earn your food.”

Biting the sandwich in half, White chewed quickly, then dropped the other half on the third plate. “Your food’s worth more than me just making tea. Want anything else, man?”

Shaking his head, Pischlar waited for White to disappear into the kitchen before mumbling, “Nothing you’re willing to give.”

Poor Pisch. Sahara wanted to hug him, but before she could express any kind of pity, he was smiling again.

He brought his spoon to his lips, one brow arched. “Might wanna eat before that gets cold.”

Right. Eat. No thinking about him not being with the man he was so clearly in love with. Or her inability to love anyone. She dipped her spoon into the soup.

The first bite had her forgetting about thinking too much about anything. Creamy yumminess, sinfully good. She let out a soft sound of appreciation and polished it off, using pieces of her sandwich to clean the last, delectable drops.

They were both finished before White came with the tea. He didn’t seem to mind though. He simply set the mugs in front of them and dug into his food.

“While we’re on the subject of you being a ‘guest,’ Sahara,” Pischlar said, as though the conversation hadn’t even paused after his instructions to White, “I have an idea.”

“Oh?” Sahara sipped her tea, keeping her eyes on Pischlar. She didn’t think he’d want her to pay to stay here, but she would if he asked.

He was a Dom, so maybe he’d want her to do chores?

“Yes. I need to know your limits first.”

She almost choked on her tea. The casual atmosphere had cleared all thoughts of any kind of scene from her head. Which shouldn’t have surprised her. Pischlar had a way of keeping her slightly off-balance no matter how often they played together. Even saying she was willing was no guarantee it would happen, tonight or any other time.

He’d seen her limit list at the club, so his asking now likely meant he had something different in mind.

“Umm…well, they haven’t really changed.” She set down her mug so she wouldn’t spill if he caught her off guard again. “I’m not big on pain, but I don’t mind a little. I don’t like being called names. No slapping in the face…”

Inclining his head, Pischlar leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. His eyes were attentive though, in the way some Doms had that made you feel like they would catch any errant thought. He eyed her hands fiddling with the hem of her skirt.

She folded her hands on her lap.

“You’d indicated an interest in exploring more sexual contact in your recent scenes. Originally, you didn’t want penetration.”

“Jesus, Easy!” White glanced at her, leaning forward a bit like he wanted to protect her. “What kind of fucking conversation is this? She’s not some chick you can just…”

Pischlar gave White a tight smile. “I can just what? We’re negotiating. You’ve been at the club often enough to know how this works.”

“I don’t play.”

“But you observe. Maybe you should stick to that.” This was the first time Sahara had ever heard Pischlar being short with his best friend. Or with anyone really. His posture hadn’t changed, but she wasn’t sure what to make of his tone.

White’s jaw hardened. He moved to stand. “You want me to go, I’ll—”

“Sit.” Pischlar smiled when White immediately dropped back down. “Good. Now, I have no problem with you being here, but if Sahara does, you can crash in the guest room.” He turned his focus back to her. “But first, how much are you comfortable with, sweetheart? I think Mason was right. You could use a release. What it consists of is up to you.”

Her heart raced as she stared at him, half wishing they didn’t have to talk at all. It had been a long time since she’d felt the calm of giving up control. No matter how confused she was about life in general, she couldn’t deny how much she craved the simple peace of a scene with a Dom she could trust.

Dominik had told her to go for it, so she didn’t have to worry that playing with Pischlar would change anything between them, right? Would he be pleased that she’d taken his advice? That she’d gone after exactly what she needed?

Part of what she loved about submitting was not having to make any decisions. The ability to just let go, to worry about nothing but the pleasure of her Dom of the moment, was incomparable. But now she had a nagging little voice in her head that wanted Dominik’s approval.

Which he gave.

But what had he meant, exactly? He wasn’t here to tell her how far she should go. While he might have wanted her to find some release, he wasn’t nearby, offering his warm smile of approval. Or his dark frown when she pushed the boundaries for a reaction.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, Sahara.” Pischlar had shifted over to sit on the table in front of her, and she hadn’t even noticed. But his hands wrapping around hers steadied her. “Do you still trust me?”

“Yes.” She didn’t even have to consider her answer. This man was her friend. Playful or not, he’d been her only Dom for over a year. The only one who’d taken the chance on introducing her to a lifestyle she was clueless about. Sure, it had been BDSM-lite, but it had been enough to leave her wanting more. “I guess…I just wonder if it’s always going to be like this. Just playing for a little bit, then nothing for weeks. I guess I want it to be real.”

Lips twitching at the edges, Pischlar nodded. “I think you’ll find that soon enough. But you know it’s more than I can give you.”

“I know.”

“Do you think tonight will tide you over for a little bit? We have a couple of days after the next game before we head to New York. I can bring you to the club in a week or so for a more intense scene if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“I’d like that.” She let herself fall into his seize-the-moment mentality. And glanced over at White, who looked like he thought he shouldn’t be here. Maybe she could accomplish a little more than subspace during the scene. “White, you should stay. But the rules for you won’t be the same as the ones for Pischlar.”

White’s throat worked as he swallowed. “What do you mean?”

Even Pischlar had cocked his head, looking curious to know what she was up to.

She batted her eyelashes sweetly at White. “We’ve never done anything together. I’d feel much more comfortable if we shared some limits.”

“That sounds fair.” White’s brow furrowed. “What limits?”

Smiling, Sahara pointed to the center of her chest. “Anything you do to me, you should be able to do to him, or let him do to you. Naturally, I’ll let the two of you decide which.”

Letting out a rough laugh, Pischlar stood and pulled her to her feet. “You’re topping from the bottom, pet.”

“Not at all, Sir. I’m not submitting to White.”

“Or to me, by the sounds of it.” Pischlar slid his hand into her hair, tugging to tip her head back. “The only thing you get to decide is whether or not I can fuck you tonight. If White wants to play, he and I will discuss his limits.”

White rose to stand beside Pischlar. “I’ll do it.”

Perfectly still, Pischlar released his hold on her hair and stared at White. His eyes were guarded, but there was a hunger within them that told Sahara she’d been right to manipulate the scene in his favor, even if it wasn’t very good submissive behavior.

“You wanna repeat that? You are aware of what she’s asking?”

Folding his arms over his chest, White scowled at Pischlar. “I heard her. And I’m not stupid.”

“I never said you were.”

“No, but you and everyone else treat me like I am. You pointed out that I should know more about the lifestyle.” White took a deep breath. “I don’t know as much as I should, but I know a lot of Doms train with other Doms. So train me.”

With a shake of his head, Pischlar moved away from her. He walked over to the window, gazing out to the street, lost in his own thoughts.

Sahara bit her lip. All right, maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

The silence stretched out. White made an aggravated sound and took a few steps toward Pischlar. “If you don’t want me—”

“Clear off the table, White.” Pischlar’s tone had changed. It had an edge of command to it—the solid, unwavering one that made goose bumps rise all over Sahara’s flesh. He didn’t turn around until White began to clear the table. “No sex tonight. And that only includes actual penetration.” His gaze leveled with hers, cool and calculating. “I will touch you and taste you, Sahara. White may as well, if he’s game for what that entails.”

His words reached White, who promptly walked into the doorframe and let out a shocked grunt.

Pischlar’s lips slid into an evil smile. “She’s tempting, isn’t she, Bruiser?”

Wetting his lips with his tongue, White didn’t move a muscle. Or speak. He didn’t seem sure of the appropriate response.

A throaty chuckle and Pischlar slipped to her side. Circled her, brushing her hair over one shoulder. Kissing her throat. “Don’t be shy, Ian. She’s not.” He undid the first few buttons of her blouse. “Come here.”

Shivering, not because of the cold, but because the adrenaline was giving her a heady rush, Sahara watched White close the distance between them. He kept his hands fisted by his sides, like he was afraid he couldn’t resist touching her if he relaxed even a little. His eyes were hooded with lust, and he inhaled roughly as though he’d forgotten to breathe.

Such a big man, so strong, but while she felt the slight pull of attraction to him, nothing compared to the commanding presence of Pischlar. He wasn’t the type of Dom most women thought of when exploring BDSM, but from her experiences at the club, she knew he was one of the most respected in their community. His easygoing nature was a sheer veil, concealing a man who exuded control as effortlessly as he glided on blades across the ice.

He brought his hand up to the back of White’s neck. “The pretty skirt and blouse don’t hide much, but they’re in our way. Take them from her.”

Leaning toward her, White brushed his cheek against hers, his fingers on the buttons of her blouse as he whispered, “Are you okay with this?”

With the scene? Yes. But she hated being asked once the negotiations had been done. She couldn’t be too irritated with White though. Not with Pischlar’s lips twitching slightly like he’d heard and was waiting for her to rethink the situation she’d put herself in.

“I’m fine, White. I promise, I’ll safe word if I need to.” She nibbled on her bottom lip, considering. “Will you kiss me?”

White froze with her buttons half undone. He shifted so his lips were close to hers. And shook his head. “No. I’m sorry, but that’s kinda personal and this is a one-time thing, right? Friends fooling around?”

Pischlar didn’t give her a chance to answer. He let out a laugh that was so cool it made her shiver. “That’s right, White. Nothing serious. I’ve never found kissing alone to be an issue, but we can follow the Pretty Woman regimen if you’d like.”

“Don’t be an asshole, Easy.” White traced the tips of his fingers over the exposed flesh of her ribs, as though trying to soothe her. Or himself. “You’ve got your ‘Don’t try to keep me’ lecture. She has limits. This is my thing.”

“Fair enough.” Pischlar stroked the side of White’s neck with his thumb, his tone softening as White’s eyes drifted shut with a quiet sound of pleasure. “I apologize.”

“No need. Just keep doing that.” White finished with the buttons without opening his eyes. “Fuck, a bit more pressure and I’ll do anything. I should have added a massage to my demands.”

Pischlar chuckled as he worked the muscles of White’s neck with his hand. “What demands?”

Eyes open now, White grinned at Sahara, then slid her shirt off her shoulders. He bent a little to reach the zipper at the back of her skirt. “Guess I really didn’t need to make any, did I?”

Heat spread over Sahara’s cheeks, and she couldn’t help combing her fingers through the soft, messy brown hair that almost reached White’s shoulders. These two men might not be the forever kind, but they made her feel beautiful and desirable. Special and cared for.

“You’re gonna be a handful, Bruiser. If it takes you this long to get her undressed, the poor girl is going to get bored.” Pischlar circled them, coming up behind Sahara and deftly unfastening her bra strap while White peeled down her skirt and helped her step out of it. “I’ve seen you get a girl out of her clothes much faster.”

Once he’d straightened, White cupped Sahara’s cheeks in his hands and caressed her bottom lip with his thumb. “They didn’t mean nothin’.”

Hand up, Pischlar made a dismissive gesture. “Enough with the sappiness. Damn, no wonder you’re single.” Pischlar removed Sahara’s bra, tossed it aside, and then swooped her up into his arms. “Save the sweet talk for the ladies you’re taking out to dinner. This one’s on loan.” As he lowered her to the table, he gave her a playful wink. “I’ve actually read some fun books about Doms lending their subs to others. My favorite involved a cage, but with such short notice—”

Sahara rolled her eyes and giggled. “I’m not on loan.”

By her side, White released a low growl. “You’re not putting her in a fucking cage.”

That made Sahara laugh. And Pischlar was soon chuckling and trying to calm the protective male. He also seemed to be using every possible opportunity to touch White, and so far, White didn’t appear to mind.

Progress! Her inner cheerleader did a little dance.

Laid out on the table, she settled in for a playful scene, maybe a bit like the one she’d done with Pischlar and Ford. She’d never given Akira any details because it was hard to even meet Ford’s eyes without remembering everything he’d done with his hands and mouth and tongue. He was pretty intense, but she hadn’t felt a strong connection with him. And she’d always known Pischlar was in charge.

And yet, she’d never had trouble interacting with Pischlar in public. He was the type of man who could see you at your worst, drunk out of your mind, or embarrassing yourself on a Murphy’s Law kinda day, and he’d treat you no differently once you’d pulled yourself together. Almost like it had never happened.

Which was probably why it was so easy for her, and several of his teammates, to fool around with him. The next day, nothing changed. There was no jealousy—none that she’d ever seen anyway. He gave nothing his lovers could hang on to besides the memories.

“Are you with us, Sahara?” Pischlar tipped her chin up with a finger, smiling down at her when she nodded. “Good girl. Now give White your wrists. He will hold you while I toy with you. Are you still good with the club safe word?”

“Yes, but I doubt I’ll need it.” She lifted her wrists over her head, bending her knees slightly, relieved that she’d been left with her panties. For the moment anyway. Being topless was all right, but she needed to get used to White’s presence before she was completely exposed.

As White clamped his big hands around her wrists, Pischlar strolled out of the room like he’d forgotten about both of them. Sahara wasn’t worried; she trusted White and she wasn’t in the headspace where she’d need the presence of the Dom she’d submitted to. That probably wouldn’t happen at all tonight.

However, White looked irritated. He knelt at the end of the table. “What the fuck is he doing?”

Sahara shrugged. “I don’t know, but you sure do swear a lot.”

He cringed and muttered an apology.

“No big deal. Just try to relax and enjoy the scene.” She licked her lips, then widened her eyes in mock fear. “Unless he’s getting his really nasty toys. Floggers and butt plugs and canes—”

A creak of the floorboards was the only thing that warned them of Pischlar’s presence. He dropped his toy bag on the floor with a loud thump and smirked. “Oh my.”

Jaw clenched, White moved to stand. He practically snarled when Pischlar put a hand on his shoulder to still him. “Listen, pal. I’m not watching while you hurt her. She said she don’t like pain.”

Pischlar’s brow twitched up. “Do you?”

“Huh?”

“Do you enjoy pain, Ian? It’s a very simple question—one I suggest you consider before you continue speaking. You asked me to train you, which means you will be as respectfully submissive as our lovely Sahara.” His gaze drifted over to her. “Who will not tease those who are unaware that she’s joking.”

Uh-oh. Sahara pressed her lips together, wondering if she could warn White not to push without getting herself in more trouble.

White released her wrists and stood. “This isn’t her fault. You’re gonna fucking tell us what you’re planning to do. And who the fuck likes pain?”

“Would you like a list?”

“You’re being an asshole again.”

“Am I?” Pischlar’s head tilted to one side. “How serious are you about training with me, Ian?”

Blinking and taking a step back as though his brain had just caught up, White hooked his thumbs to the top of the towel still wrapped around his waist. “I’m serious. I’ve just never… This whole scenario is kinda freaking me out.”

“Play doesn’t bother you at the club.” Pischlar’s tone was gentler, as though he had been prepared for the reaction, but was waiting for White to face it himself.

“I’m not part of the scenes. It’s none of my business, and they’re all together, you know? She’s not mine. Or yours. And cages and whips and…that’s too much.”

“Very well, but from this point on, you’ll find a better way to voice your objections. I don’t appreciate being sworn at during a scene. Or given orders by my trainee.” Pischlar folded his arms over his chest, no less intimidating in his faded jeans and white muscle shirt than any Dom in black leather. “If you understand and take your punishment, we can continue.”

Sahara bit her lip hard, waiting as White stared at his feet. Not that she was an expert or anything, but he didn’t seem submissive enough to accept a punishment. His pride might push him to hang in a bit longer. Pischlar wouldn’t accept a half-assed attempt though.

White was full of surprises though. He lifted his head to meet Pischlar’s eyes, his stance relaxed. Which probably had a lot to do with trust. The man wasn’t his best friend for nothing.

“I’ll take it. And I’ll stop fu—messing this up.” He gave Sahara an apologetic look. “I’m like a bear in a tea shop. I hope I didn’t get you in trouble.”

Damn, he’s adorable. She was used to bigger men being rough and gruff and mean. Well, the ones she’d known through…

Nope, no thinking of him!

Anyway, White was different. Kinda fitting that he’d screwed up the old saying “bull in a china shop”. He was more a bear than a bull. A big teddy bear she just wanted to cuddle up with.

If the teddy bear was really, really hot.

Pischlar laughed. “White, take off the towel and get back in position before she decides to pet you rather than screw around with you. She’s got that tender look on her face that she gets when she’s playing with Luke’s puppy.”

Sahara ducked her head when White’s cheeks reddened. Damn Pischlar for reading her so well.

“You sure know how to make a man feel good, Pisch.” White dropped the towel, then thunked down on his knees before Sahara even got a chance to catch a glimpse of the whole package.

Darn it.

Before White could shackle her wrists in his hands again, Pischlar grabbed a fistful of his hair and tugged his head back. He spoke with his lips close to White’s. “I can make a man feel very good. And I will. And you’re going to regret every single second of it. Because while we’re going to make Sahara come so hard and so often she won’t be able to stand, you won’t be getting off, no matter how much you beg.”

“Why the fuck not?” White tried to pull free, but Pischlar’s muscles tensed as he tightened his hold.

“Punishments are rarely fun. Still want to play?”

“With how determined you seem to be to get me to back down? You’re damn right, I’m still playing.”

Wrists held, eyes closed, Sahara tried to brace herself for Pischlar’s full attention falling on her. She heard gloves snap and swallowed hard.

“Keep your eyes closed, Schatz.” He trailed a finger over her belly, a small, slightly cool and moist line.

Which grew colder, then heated. And continued heating. She squirmed as the heat spread.

“How does that feel? And White, don’t you dare let her go.”

Sahara inhaled, putting the sensation in perspective so she could give an honest answer. “It almost burns, but it’s not horrible.”

A soft laugh and Pischlar ran his hands up over her ribs. “Good girl. How about this?”

His hands were covered with the stuff. She gasped as the cooling turned hotter and hotter. His hands circled her breasts and she whimpered. He wouldn’t…?

He did. Her back bowed as he rubbed the gel-like substance over her nipples. They hardened and the sharp, tingling feeling expanded, making her pant as she fought for some relief from the lick of flames that tormented her.

“Oh fuck!” She tugged at her wrists and White’s grip tightened. So much for him not being all that submissive. He was following orders perfectly. “Pischlar, please!”

“Please what, pet?” He blew on her nipples, and she almost shot off the table. “Does that help?”

Evil man! Sahara groaned as the air cooled, then heated her flesh all over again. She didn’t realize Pischlar had stopped until she felt cold metal against her hip. Snip. Then again on the other side. Snip.

Her panties were pulled away.

“They were so pretty too. I promise, I’ll replace them.” Pischlar’s tone was full of laughter. He was having way too much fun torturing her, but she hesitated to call him a sadist.

This wasn’t pain. Exactly.

Close enough though.

“Keep your hands where they are, Sahara. White, can you let her go for a sec and open this for me?”

The low whistle White let out didn’t mean anything good. “Are you for real?”

“Yes. But you’re going to have to wait your turn. I can tell you’re curious.”

“Maybe…” White cursed softly, then returned to restrain her. “Brace yourself, baby.”

Her thighs were spread far enough to accommodate Pischlar’s shoulders. She heard a crunching, which seemed out of place.

White cursed again.

Pischlar’s mouth closed over her clit.

At first, all she felt was the erotic teasing of his tongue. A sigh of pleasure escaped her. Her clit throbbed and sparks of heat raced up her nerves. It felt so good, she forgot about the burning sensation still covering her breasts.

Until the fire spread to her clit, much more intense than the flames hovering over the rest of her. Her lips parted and her hips bucked. Her core clenched as everything came together, overwhelming her resistance, leaving her with no choice but to experience everything at once, to be aware of every inch of her skin. All alive and sensitive and sparking with pleasure on the edge of agony.

Echoing snaps. The gloves. Pischlar’s bare hand touched her thigh. Comforting her.

“Where are we, Schatz?”

Where? Sahara frowned, then realized what Pischlar was asking. “Green, Sir.”

“Very good. You may come when you please this first time.” He kissed her thigh, then pushed something hard deep into her pussy. A long, slick dildo. Before she could adjust, he had the vibrations going. He licked her clit, pumping the solid rod in hard and fast.

She couldn’t hold anything back. She tossed her head, screaming as the heat, the rough, fucking motion, and the manipulations of his tongue brought her to a fierce climax that held her in the throes of pleasure for so long she wasn’t sure it would ever end.

But it did, fading slowly, leaving her twitching every time Pischlar shifted the dildo. When he withdrew it, she gasped through her parted lips, jumping when he ran two fingers over her pussy, wetting his fingers with her juices.

“You may open your eyes now, Sahara.” He smiled at her when she opened her eyes. Then he turned to White. “Let her go. And open your mouth.”

The second White let her go, Sahara sat up. She was still tender, but her curiosity overrode the lingering pleasure. Pischlar was so tempting, offering up his fingers like a special treat. He was handling White like a puppet on a string, but Sahara didn’t see it as a bad thing. White wouldn’t be going along with the game if he weren’t interested.

He just needed a few hard shoves in the right direction.

Knowing this, she wasn’t all that surprised when he looked at her while he sucked on Pischlar’s fingers. She leaned forward, licking her lips just as he was. She could sense Pischlar was trying to carefully draw White deeper into the scene. Her need to please him had her wishing she could help.

“Stand up, bärchen.” Pischlar stepped back to give White some space. Then he motioned to her. “Let’s see if you do as well holding him as he did for you, Sahara.”

There was no hesitation in White’s movements, but plenty in his eyes. Sahara had no clue how she’d hold him if he didn’t want to keep still. She wrapped her hands around his wrists and her fingers didn’t touch. Her grip was weak.

Restraint was symbolic though. White was being given a chance to prove he could submit. She’d never understood why a Dom would want to train by first being a submissive, but there were probably reasons behind it. Reasons that made her uncomfortable, because she didn’t want to imagine any of those she’d happily kneel to kneeling to anyone else.

But seeing White struggling to give up control didn’t bother her.

Weird.

Donning fresh gloves, Pischlar picked up a container of balm from where he’d left it on the sofa. He approached White as he dipped his finger in. “Don’t move.”

And White didn’t budge, but he inhaled sharply as Pischlar drew a line of the icy-hot balm across his pelvis. He groaned as Pischlar covered his chest with it, jerking at the attention Pischlar paid to his nipples.

“Fuck that burns,” White muttered, his fists clenching below where Sahara held his wrists. “Other than torturing me, what do you get out of this, Easy?”

Pischlar moved in closer to whisper in White’s ear. “You’re taking it because I’ve asked it of you. I control everything you feel. Discomfort and pleasure and pain. It gives me a fucking high to know I can give you everything, or nothing.”

Whatever Pischlar did next had White dropping his head back and groaning. Sahara tried to get a better look, clenching her thighs at the wave of lust that ran over her when she saw Pischlar’s hand between White’s thighs.

She’d seen submissive men before, but few were as big and tough as White. She could picture him with a whip in his hands. Toying with a bound sub, his powerful body working as he fucked her.

But under Pischlar’s command, he was like a tame wolf. One you expected to snarl rather than come to heel. Rather than making White seem tame, the whole scene proved that Pischlar was fucking good at what he did.

She wasn’t sure whether she should be scared for, or jealous of, the person he someday decided to claim.

The way White fought to hold still, Sahara could tell he was getting close to climax. She kissed the back of his shoulder, quietly hoping Pischlar would stop teasing, forget the punishment, and give the man his release.

A hard pounding at the door ruined any chance of that. White eased out of her grip and headed for the bathroom—likely to grab his clothes. Pischlar reached down and tossed Sahara her shirt, bra, and skirt.

Her panties were done for, but she got everything else on in record time as Pischlar went to see who had come by for a visit in the middle of the night.

“Where is she?” Ford’s voice came from the hall, nice and calm.

He must be alone. If Akira or Cort had come with him, they’d be pushing into the house and making a damn scene.

“Won’t you come in, Ford?” Pischlar sounded like he got visits around two a.m. every night. And didn’t mind at all. “I’m assuming you won’t be allowed to sleep until you make sure Sahara’s in one piece?”

Ford grunted, stepping in with his hands stuffed in his pockets and his shoulders hunched. “Something like that.”

Sahara folded her arms over her chest and glared at him. “If you knew where I was, you knew I was safe. This is ridiculous.”

With narrowed eyes, Ford looked from her to the toy bag on the floor. He ran his tongue over his teeth. “You were assaulted two nights ago and neither of your closest friends have heard from you. Akira has been on the phone all night with Jami and Silver. She needs to see for herself that you’re really all right. For all she knew, you had gotten drunk and were letting whoever was nice take advantage of you.”

“I haven’t gotten drunk in months!” Sahara’s face heated as rage simmered in her veins. She wasn’t sure exactly why she was so mad. She loved that her friends cared, but she was an adult. She could take care of herself!

Clearly. A snarky voice in the back of her head found her funny.

She ignored it. “I appreciate the concern, but as you can see, I’m fine. Please tell Akira I’ll call her in the morning.”

“She’s still up. How about you call her now?” Ford pulled out a cigarette, put it between his lips, but didn’t light it. Hopefully that meant he would be leaving soon. “Maybe you think it’s unreasonable, but with what Akira went through herself, she’s imagining the worst. Please tell me you get that?”

Fuck. Sahara swallowed hard and nodded, going to her purse to get her phone. Akira had been raped when she was a teenager. She was in such a good place now that it was easy to forget how far she’d come. They had done self-defense courses together and exchanged horror stories. There was nothing they didn’t talk about.

But the second Sahara had issues with Grant, she’d gotten back into the same old habits. She’d pushed away the people closest to her.

Only, this time, she’d known she was doing it.

The first ring hadn’t even finished before Akira picked up. She spoke so softly, Sahara could hardly hear her. “Sahara? I didn’t tell him to go, I swear.”

Turning away from the men, Sahara pressed her fingers to her lips. “Even if you had, I…damn it, I really screwed up. I didn’t want to tell you what happened because of Cort’s reaction when he saw me with Grant. I was afraid he’d kill him.”

“He wouldn’t get a chance. If I ever get my hands on that man, I’ll—”

“You’re going to stay away from him. I’m pressing charges. I don’t want any of my friends paying for my stupidity.”

Releasing a soft sigh, Akira hesitated, then cleared her throat. “Why Pischlar? He’s a nice guy, but he’s temporary. You need a future, babe.”

“I’m not ready for a future. I need right now.” Sahara wasn’t sure how much she should share, but she’d held back enough. So she just told Akira everything. “I talked to Dominik and he was cool with me coming here. He told me to ‘take what I need.’”

Akira groaned. “Damn Doms. All right, fine. Have fun. But you can’t keep putting your life on hold. One of these days, you’ll have to start living it.”

“I will. Consider this my last act of complete abandon. And…well, it’s not just for me. Having me play along…” She lowered her voice in case the guys were listening, though they seemed to be ignoring her. “White was more comfortable with Pisch than ever. You know Pisch is in love with him, right?”

“Yes, but White’s an idiot.”

“He is not.”

“About Pisch, he is. But enough of them. I reserve the right to raunchy details, but can I give you some advice?” Akira sounded unsure, like their relationship wasn’t what it had been. But she continued before Sahara could tell her nothing had changed. “Don’t let this stop you from wanting more. You’re ready; you just haven’t accepted it yet. And Grant scared you into hiding again.”

“I’m not hiding.” Well, technically she was, but that wasn’t what Akira meant. “You didn’t see how I reacted when Dominik got a call from Max and had to leave. I was all jealous and insecure, and I don’t like myself when I’m like that. I need to work on me before there can be an ‘us.’”

She could picture Akira nodding. Hear the understanding in her tone. “I get that. But promise me one thing?”

Considering how rarely Akira asked for anything, Sahara agreed without a second thought. “Sure.”

“You may have screwed up, but everyone does. Pressing charges was a big step—one you were too afraid to take before. Unless you’re still holding out for Keane—”

“I’m not.”

“Good to hear. Just don’t ignore opportunities because you’re afraid to take them. I don’t know if Dominik is the one for you, but I’ve never seen you open up to another man the way you do with him. Pischlar is safe because he asks for nothing. There’s no risk.” Akira paused. “You’d be taking a chance with Dominik.”

“I know.” Sahara glanced back toward the men. White had joined them, fully dressed, and nothing in his expression betraying the scene Ford had interrupted. “And he’s not going to wait around forever.”

They finished up the conversation and Akira asked to speak to Ford. Whatever she said seemed to satisfy him, because he left shortly after.

Which was when things got awkward. Sahara waited for Pischlar to say something, but he simply picked up his toy bag and went to his room to stash it. White went to the kitchen to do the dishes. So she started tidying up the living room.

A few minutes later, Pischlar returned, glanced from her to White, and burst out laughing. “You’re both incredible. Why can’t you understand life is so much simpler when you learn to roll with the punches?”

White dried his hands on a dishrag and leaned against the fridge. “Easy for you to say, Easy. Nothing fucking bothers you.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure what’s bothering you.” Pischlar looked White over. “I promise, nowhere on you does it say, ‘My best friend was jerking me off.’ You’re not even hard anymore.”

Sahara stared at the back of Pischlar’s head. Damn, he certainly wasn’t going to make White more comfortable being all blunt. She couldn’t blame White for not being in the mood—she was pretty out of it herself.

“I don’t get you. What we did wasn’t—isn’t my thing. You know that. Why don’t you just drop it?” White tossed the dishrag over the side of the sink. “Pretend it never happened.”

Nodding slowly, Pischlar moved to White’s side. “That is one option. The other is we forget the rest of the world and finish what we started. I bind Sahara to my headboard so you can taste her delicious pussy while I suck your dick until you come. Entirely up to you.”

And with that, Pischlar strolled back down the hall and disappeared into his bedroom.

Rubbing his hands over his face, White groaned. He muttered something she couldn’t hear, then lifted his head to meet her eyes.

She couldn’t help but smile at him. A glance at the front of his black jogging pants proved he was more than interested in Pischlar’s offer. But he wouldn’t budge unless she was willing to join them. Like the kissing, it was his way of holding on to his ideas of what he should want.

Helping him with his illusions really wasn’t any hardship.

“Come on.” She held out her hand, her smile widening when he took it. “You want this as much as I do.”

He pulled her against him, bending down to gently kiss her throat. “I want you.”

No point in arguing with him, so she tugged his hand and led him to the bedroom. He could deal with reality tomorrow.

And so would she.