Defensive Zone

Celebrity Dish

by Hayley Turner

Silver Delgado has abandoned the spotlight—to run a hockey team?

I can’t say I’m surprised. The child model and supporting actress for Take Me Home started her career in Hollywood followed by rumors of sexy rendezvous with several players from her father’s team, so it’s obvious that she has a taste for stick welding hotties. The question is, why didn’t her father, wealthy financer Anthony Delgado, delegate the team to his eldest daughter, Oriana? Rumors of her upcoming nuptials to the Dartmouth Cobras playmaker, Max “The Catalyst” Perron, say Oriana definitely knows how to handle a player, or three, quite well.

Daddy dearest may regret his decision when Silver continues her shameless antics with the players who aren’t “attached” to her sister . . . unless he’s hoping she’ll provide a little motivation. And who knows, if she gets bored, perhaps she can design a trendy line of heavy coats and boots!

Hollywood’s loss is Nova Scotia’s gain?

Silver Delgado crumpled the clip from the tabloid in her fist. A whitewash of cold ran over her flesh as she faced Daddy, but her smile never slipped. “Hayley is a jealous bitch—she thinks I fucked her husband.”

“Watch your language, young lady.” Her father’s golden brown eyes narrowed as he leaned forward in his wheelchair. His red velvet smoking jacket, with its thick black silk collar, masked his frailty well, forcing her to focus on the austere expression which reduced her to the naughty little girl who had disappointed him yet again. “Did you?”

“Did I . . . ? No!” Her skin crawled as she pictured Mr. Turner, not ugly exactly, but definitely disgusting. He licked his lips so often whenever he talked to her it looked like he was drooling. “He hit on me a few times—my agent told Hayley that he was making me uncomfortable and she had to conduct any future interviews herself. Hayley refused to believe her husband would be that ‘unprofessional.’”

“I see . . .” Shaking his head, her father rolled to the far end of his rooftop patio. He drew in a raspy breath and waved her over. Gazing out at the picturesque scenery, a clear view over the trees to Lake Banook, glowing under the early morning sun, he spoke quietly. “You earned this reputation, Silver. Whatever this woman has against you, everything in that article is the truth.”

Everything? She bit back a grin. “So you want me to ‘motivate’ the players?”

He slapped his hand on the railing. “Don’t be obtuse. I want you to behave professionally. This family doesn’t need any more bad press.”

“I know. But—”

“No buts. I hate asking this of you. If I had a son . . . if Antoine wasn’t . . .” The lines in his face tightened. “You are all I have left. I need to know I can trust you to represent me, to prove that our family, that our legacy, is as strong as ever.”

Chewing on her bottom lip, Silver rested her forearms on the railing and stared down at the manicured grounds below. “I’m not all you have, Daddy. Oriana—”

“Do not speak her name in my presence. What is it, Silver?” His trembling hand latched onto her arm. “Are you afraid of the responsibility? Please don’t be. Think of it as playing a part. You’re an actress, aren’t you? Smile for the cameras, sign whatever my staff brings to you, and be pleasant with the investors. Learn enough about the game to carry on an intelligent conversation. It shouldn’t be too difficult, even for you.”

Yeah, thanks for all that trust, Daddy. “I’m sure I could do a decent job, but . . . Daddy, you can’t be that mad at Oriana! She knows the game! She would be perfect for the job!”

“What did I say?” His face reddened and the stark blue veins at his temples throbbed. He slumped into his wheelchair and put his hand over his heart. “Do this for me and I will give you whatever you want. Do you like your condo? There’s an extra room for an office so you can work from home whenever you want. My staff will accommodate you. If there’s anything else you need, just tell me.”

Silver blinked and shook her head. Her eyes teared up as she saw the strong man that had always intimidated her reduced to this. After seeing him in the hospital, inches away from death, all she wanted was to make sure he had time to heal. Did it really matter whether it was her or Oriana who took over the stupid team until then?

“Don’t get upset, Daddy. I’ll do it. Everything is perfect.” She knelt by his side and held his hand to her cheek. “I’m just scared that I’ll disappoint you. I don’t know anything about hockey.”

“Of course you don’t, my precious little doll.” He smiled and bent over to kiss her forehead. “But you can do this. Just be your beautiful self, keep your legs crossed, and everything will be fine.”

Ouch. She bowed her head so Daddy wouldn’t see her wince. “Okay.”

“I like what you’re wearing.” He tipped her chin up and brushed his hand over her tight bun, his gaze raking over her grey and black pinstripe skirt suit. “If you dress like this every time you go out in public, people will forget your tawdry past and give you the respect a daughter of mine deserves. I suggest you burn the rest of your wardrobe. It killed me to see you strutting around in those trashy outfits. I was advised not to watch your movies. I hope you know you don’t have to sell your body any more to make a living. You will receive a monthly allowance to cover all your expenses and more.”

Damn it, I never ‘sold my body’. Fine, some of the parts she’d taken hadn’t required much of a wardrobe, but everyone in Hollywood had to start somewhere!

Not that Daddy would understand. So she simply nodded and smiled. “Of course.”

Sitting back in his wheelchair, Daddy motioned for her to stand. “One last thing. I’m sure you’ve heard about the mess last season—last season being when the team was playing?”

She nodded. She wasn’t completely brain-dead.

“Roy Kingsley was involved, but he is our biggest investor.” Her father studied her face as though to make sure she understood what that meant. He continued at her nod. “If he approaches you, in any way, do your best to make him happy. And I don’t mean by sleeping with him. But batting your eyelashes and being sweet may be enough to keep the dirty bastard from pulling his support of the team. Can you manage that?”

Flirt with the old guy, but don’t fuck him. Yeah. I think I can manage. But hopefully she wouldn’t have to deal with him at all. “I can do that.”

“Lovely.” His head jerked up as the patio door slid open. His jaw ticked. “They will have to go.”

Silver looked up and inclined her head as Asher, her boyfriend, stepped out beside his boyfriend and tapped his watch.

“I’m very sorry to interrupt.” Asher didn’t look at her father. After Daddy’s ranting about her “gay boyfriends” at the hospital, he knew better. “But we have to go.”

“Not sorry enough not to.” Daddy frowned at her. “If you don’t go, I suppose there will be talk. Bring your sister the gift Anne bought her. We must keep up appearances. For now.”

A quick nod and she scrambled to her feet. Anne, her father’s—and now her—secretary, came out to roll him inside. For a split second, Silver was tempted to beg her father to come to Oriana’s wedding. But after his last reaction to just hearing her name . . .

Yeah. Bad idea.

“You good?” Asher asked as soon as Daddy was out of hearing.

“I’m good.” She moved away from him and stood by the tall, glass wall fountain in the center of the patio. It was new. Not something Daddy would have added on his own. She had a bad feeling Anne was making herself very comfortable here. “Let’s go. I hate this place.”

“Aww, doesn’t it look the same as the fancy place you grew up in? What is it, new curtains? I’m sure it must be dreadful for you.”

She should have kept her mouth shut. Asher had grown up poor. He’d gotten where he was today through hard work, his brains, and playing dirty. She respected him for that, but she wasn’t stupid enough to think that he’d understand that her life hadn’t been something to envy. As far as he was concerned, if you grew up with enough to eat every day, you had no right to complain.

And he was probably right.

“You’re never late for anything, Asher.” She gave him a sideways glance and smirked. “I wouldn’t want to be responsible for ruining your perfect image.”

“If I gave a shit about my image, I’d stay away from you.” Asher grinned. “Come on. You’ve gotta get all prettied up. The sister of the bride should look her best, right?”

Pulling off the careless act was easy with Asher. She tossed her head and shrugged. “This is me. Would you expect any less?”

“Nope.” Asher hooked his arm with hers and brushed his free hand over the front of his dark blue suit jacket. His crisp, light-toned cologne tickled her nose as he gazed longingly toward the entrance. “You know, it’s too bad your father doesn’t like me. He’s got this Hugh Hefner thing going for him. I’d so drop you for him as a sugar daddy!”

“I did not just hear that!”

Asher smirked. “I’ve never done vintage.”

“TMI, Asher.” She tugged him inside, casting a pleading glance to Cedric who stood by the doorway, silent as a shadow. “Will you talk to him?”

“Why?” Cedric hunched his shoulders and followed a step behind as they made their way through the house. “He does who and what he wants. I’m just here to look pretty.”

Uck, why do I bother? But at least Cedric’s remark shut Asher up. He let her go and slung his arm over Cedric’s shoulders. Thirty minutes later, Asher parked his town car in front of the condominium, then went inside with Cedric, straight into their room, and shut the door.

Silver paused in the hall by the door, wondering, like she always did when Cedric got like this, if she should have said something. What exactly, she didn’t know. Cedric and her didn’t talk much unless it was about legal stuff.

Asher can handle him. Go get ready.

Closing down and dealing with routine stuff, like getting all dolled up, cleared her head of all the drama with both her boyfriends and her father. Time to forget how sick Daddy was. And how miserable Cedric seemed sometimes. A mist of sweet perfume, a bit of powder on her face to illuminate her complexion, one would think she didn’t have a care in the world.

The gilded vanity mirror before her reflected an utterly perfect face and body. Her bright green eyes were fake, but everything else was real, despite her agent’s frequent hints about getting a boob job. She turned from side to side. Yep, her pert breasts in the snug pink mesh tube top would get the guys drooling even though they weren’t huge. She smoothed her hands over her loose hair and took a deep breath.

It’s Oriana’s day. All eyes should be on her.

Little wisps rose from her pale gold locks and she scowled. After spraying hair spray on a bristle brush, she brought it up and clenched her teeth when she noticed the brush shaking. She was shaking. She had to get a grip. A lot of the members of the BDSM club where her sister was getting married were players on the hockey team she now owned. If she was going to prance around in front of them looking like a whore, she better act comfortable with the image.

Not a whore. A sub. She snickered. As if any man could dominate her. She might pretend with Asher and Cedric, but that was just a game. A role she played when she was in the mood. Granted, she’d directed her sister to a Domme book when she’d had problems with her ex, but that was just because Paul seemed like the submissive type. Or a cheater, but she hadn’t had the heart to tell her sister that. Men who didn’t want sex either weren’t interested in the woman they were with or they needed someone else to take charge. They could also be gay, but she knew enough gay men to rule Paul out. What she didn’t get was how Paul had resisted Oriana. She had a natural beauty that might not make it on the runways, but made men think of more than fucking.

The brush clattered on her dresser top. She braced her hands on the ledge and bowed her head. Was she really going to get all worked up about this? Her sister was happy, and Silver was happy for her. Oriana needed the ring. And the collar.

Silver Delgado needed none of that. She was a self-made woman and she had two men who . . . cared about her. She was in control of her own life, and that was exactly how she wanted it.

Her pink silk clutch caught her eye. She opened it and took out a small vial, sealed with wax and full of white powder. Gritting her teeth, she shoved it back inside the purse and grabbed a lollipop from her stash. I don’t need that anymore.

But she did need a drink. The cherry flavor felt cough-syrup thick on her tongue. She plucked it from her mouth and shouted. “Cedric, bring me the rum!”

A couple of minutes later, Asher strode in and handed her the bottle. She smiled and fingered the buttons of his black silk blouse, hoping to distract him from a lecture. He had a thing about women drinking too much.

He took her purse and dumped the contents on the dresser. Picking up the vial, he gave her a sideways glance. “You’re still hanging on to this? You know if you get hooked again, I’m not fronting the dough. It’s a disgusting habit.”

“I know that.” She shoved her makeup and stuff back into her clutch without looking at him. “Don’t worry. I just keep it around so I know it’s there. If I don’t, I start wondering where I can find more. It’s complicated.”

“Whatever. Are you ready?” He put his hands on his expensive black jean clad hips. “You look good.”

“Thank you.” She turned to the mirror and ran her hands over her thighs to make sure her pink booty shorts didn’t ride up. Archer wasn’t looking, but sometimes he did. He might be gay, but for some reason he was still interested in her. Which made him bi as far as most of his friends were concerned, but he joked that he wouldn’t go that far. She was different. Not just another pussy.

She liked to think she was special. He loved Cedric. And just maybe loved her too.

“I’ve never played the Dom in front of anyone.” Asher tucked his thumbs into his pockets and rocked on the heels of his shiny Italian loafers. “Anything I should know?”

As if I know? She slid open the top drawer of her dresser and grabbed the collar that went with her outfit. Pink and black studded leather. She held it out to him. “You do just fine showing the leather guys that you’re the ‘top.’”

“That’s not the same and you know it.”

All right, the dick chastity belt that Asher made Cedric wear to their meetings—which she couldn’t attend—was a bit more than she wanted, but dominance was dominance, no? She just didn’t want to seem available. She stuck the lollipop back in her mouth and wrinkled her nose. Not to the “real” Doms.

“Just pretend you own me. Okay?” She shoveled all her belongings into her purse and sucked harder on the lollipop. “This is about Oriana.”

“That’s funny.” Asher lifted her hair off her back and laid a soft kiss on her shoulder. “Because dressed like that, I’m thinking you’ll get most of the attention. Which is exactly what you want.”

“No it isn’t! This is how subs dress!”

“For their Master’s pleasure. So he can show off.” Asher shook his head. “Why don’t you wear that little red number you got from your shopping spree in Italy? It’s quality and it’s what I’d have you wear if you were really my sub. This outfit costs less than my socks.”

“You’re such a snob.” She held her hair out of the way and let him put on her collar. “And I’m not your sub, so you don’t get to tell me what to wear. That dress makes me look like a streetwalker.”

“And this doesn’t?”

“Fuck you!”

Asher laughed. “Not tonight, angel-face. I’ve already had my fill. Had to make sure Cedric was sated before I locked his cock.” He chuckled at the face she made before leaving the room with a nonchalant, “You know I don’t like sharing him.”

Like you’d let me forget. Cedric wasn’t even allowed to play with her much unless Asher was in the mood to watch him take her ass. Her thighs clenched as she recalled the last time. As usual, sex was good with either man, but . . . well, parts of her were neglected. Asher stimulated her clit to get her off, acting like it was a chore. Her “girly bits” did nothing for him. Of course, she had plenty of toys when she wanted to feel full in the most basic way, but it wasn’t the same. For once it would be nice to have a man want her as a woman.

Which could happen tonight if that’s what she really wanted. Asher wouldn’t stop her from going home with another man, he wasn’t possessive of her. The thing was . . . damn, finding a man at a BDSM club?

Taking a deep breath, she leaned closer to the mirror and tapped her bottom lip with a finger to make sure her lip stain was dry. Then she applied a generous coat of gloss and smacked her lips. Perfect.

She uncapped the rum and moved the lollipop to one side of her mouth so she could take a few good swigs from the bottle. Sweet fire burned through her, and she closed her eyes to absorb it. Once the sensation faded, she felt calm. In control.

Maybe, this time, she could be the one who did all the right things. She’d always been the troublemaker, the wild one, too irresponsible for anyone to ask for anything from. Maybe if she could prove she’d changed, Daddy wouldn’t regret putting his faith in her. For once maybe she could be the good one.

You’re going to a kinky club to watch your sister essentially marry two—three?—guys. And then there’s your gay boyfriends. If you’re going to be the good one, shouldn’t you dump them and find a “normal” guy?

Well, Daddy didn’t need to know what she did for fun. She took another swig from the bottle and winked at her reflection.

Never said I’d be that good!

* * * *

Leather, sex, and . . . carnations? Dean Richter rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger, then undid the top button of his black dress shirt. Blades & Ice, the notorious hard-core BDSM club—his hard-core BDSM club—looked like it had been attacked by Martha-fucking-Stewart. White ribbons, flame colored bouquets, and a woven wood arch. Tim had opened the place at 5:00 a.m. so Max Perron, the groom, and, more importantly, the Dartmouth Cobra’s best assist man, could set things up for his wedding. Max had been perfectly willing to rent a hall, but Tim had insisted the club was the perfect place for the ceremony.

Thanks, Tim. Dean leaned over the bar across from the insanity and glared at his half brother, who’d dragged the entire staff into decorating. I’m going to make your wife twist your ball sack with rubber elastics, bro.

A whimper drew his gaze to the doorway of a playroom just off the bar area.

Sloan Callahan, the Cobra’s captain, forced Oriana Delgado, bride-to-be, to her knees. “You’re spoiling the surprise. Max won’t be happy.”

“Please don’t tell him.”

“Give me one reason I shouldn’t.”

Oriana licker her bottom lip and her tone turned husky. “You’re hurting me, Sloan.”

Letting out a strangled laugh, Callahan released her. “Tease. We’ll have our fun after the ceremony, not before.”

“So we can’t do anything?” Oriana undid the top button of Callahan’s leathers. “At all?”

“Not unless you want to be upgraded from the flogger to the whip, love.” Callahan smoothed his hand over Oriana’s loose, shimmering bronze hair. “Dominik decided that was a fitting penalty.”

“Oh no!” Oriana giggled and pulled the zipper down with her teeth. Her tongue darted out over the head of his cock. “To tell you the truth, I think he said that because he knows I’m ready.”

Callahan’s bare chest and stomach muscle tensed as he wound her hair around his fist. “Are you?”

Rather than answer, Oriana slicked Callahan’s dick with her lips and tongue, taking him so deep Dean couldn’t help but stare.

Damn. Out of Delgado’s daughters, she’s the last one I would have thought could . . . He tore his gaze from the pair and tapped the bar for another beer. No matter how often Oriana came to the club with her men, he still couldn’t quite fit the image of the “sexually retarded” woman—as her ex-boyfriend and his ex-coach, Paul Stanton, had called her—and the beautifully submissive woman he’d come to know, in his head. Paul Stanton was the retard.

Then again, she wasn’t submissive enough for his tastes. As long as she didn’t break the club rules, it didn’t really matter, but sometimes he found himself scratching his head when he saw what Dominik Mason, the Cobra’s best blueliner and the man who’d collar her after Perron married her, put up with. Mason was a damn good Master—how could he let Perron and Callahan be so lax with discipline? The diminutive sub liked to top from the bottom, and even though she was usually reprimanded, Dean knew with Dominik alone she’d have been broken of the habit.

That’s what you get for sharing a woman. He inclined his head to the scrawny bartender, who wore nothing but a leather cup and straps, and took his beer. Leaning one elbow on the bar, he surveyed the room with mounting disgust. The whole thing stank of a spoiled sub getting her own way. Only, Oriana wasn’t spoiled and her Doms had tormented her excessively to get her to spill the details of her dream wedding. Which had been fun to watch. But the results had him on sugar overload.

“Bad time?” A young man in a stylish yet understated black suit—likely tailored to fit over those massive shoulders and long frame—took a seat across from him and gestured to the bartender for some of what Dean was having. His crew cut and the hard edge that stole some youth from his face gave him the appearance of a soldier on leave. A faint French accent and an easy smile lightened his stalk demeanor. “I have to admit, this isn’t what I expected.”

It took Dean less than a second to figure out who the man was. Landon Bower, the Cobra’s new goaltender. Twenty-five and at the top of his game, Bower had been stuck on Montreal’s farm team in Hamilton his whole career. The Cobras were desperate for a starting goaltender and Bower was everything they needed. Talented and kinky. The kink wasn’t a requirement, but it made things easier. A good third of the team was in the lifestyle in one way or another. It wasn’t exactly conventional for a team’s general manager to seek out players with certain sexual . . . leanings, but it tightened the ranks, which was exactly what Dean wanted.

“This is not what my club usually looks like.” Dean motioned toward the setup with his bottle. “Delgado’s daughter is getting married to one of the players, and getting collared by another. My brother, your coach, thought it would be good for the team to do it here.”

“And you don’t agree?” Bower took his beer from the bartender and frowned when the man gave him a swift once-over. Straight then. He held the bartender’s eye until the sub ducked his head and scuttled away. Then he swiveled in his chair to face Dean. “You have a problem with polyamory?”

“Not at all.” Dean frowned. “You?”

“No. I’ve shared. I see the appeal.” Bower paused and took a sip of his beer. “But I’ve never found a sub that would make the complications worth the headache. Takes a bit more work, in my opinion. One-on-one is hard enough.”

“Very true.” Dean tipped his beer bottle to clink it to Bower’s. He liked the man already. “So you leave someone special in Gaspe or Hamilton?”

“Would that be a problem?”

“Only if it distracts you from the game.”

Bower grinned. “Nothing distracts me.” He angled his bottle toward the club’s packed entry. “Mon Dieu, I might find someone to help pass the time, though.”

At the front desk, probably filling out the club’s required waiver, a petite blond with an assto-die-for covered in snug pink booty shorts bent over.

Dean admired the view and thunked his fist on the bar. “Well now. Perhaps the night isn’t a complete loss after all. I’ll admit, Bower, this whole wedding things doesn’t do it for me. But if it brings in some fresh meat like that—”

“I wouldn’t want to alienate myself by competing with my GM for a woman.” Bower cocked his head. “Not that either of us have a shot. Looks like she’s taken.”

Two slender men came up to fill in the forms beside the woman. The one in snug black jeans and a black silk shirt put a possessive hand on her waist, then laughed out loud and pushed her away. Then he moved in behind the man in leather chaps and a chastity belt, carrying a large white gift box topped with a huge white bow, and whispered something in his ear.

“Look a little closer, Bower.” Dean’s lips curved into a sardonic smile. “She’s not taken. She’s here with her gay friends. Probably a safety thing. Which makes her hot and smart.”

Bower didn’t say a word. Face impassive, he seemed to study the men like they were opponents in possession of the puck.

With her back still to them, the woman adjusted the collar of the apparent dominant’s shirt and then rubbed her face against his arm like a kitten demanding attention. The dominant raked his fingers into her hair and pulled her in for a rough kiss.

“I’d say the dynamic of their relationship is a tad off-balance, but she’s with them.” Bower shrugged. “You’ve got unattached subs here, right?”

Dean kept his gaze locked on the woman and found he couldn’t look away. His gaze trailed her as she made her way through the crowd filtering into the main room and settling on the long wooden benches that had temporarily replaced all the crosses and stocks and spanking benches. Something about her had every protective instinct within clawing past reason and demanding he see more. He considered himself an observant man. First impressions spoke volumes. Even from across the room, he could sense the connection between the men. The woman seemed like an afterthought, despite the passionate kiss.

You’re reaching, Richter. Letting out a grunt, he nodded. “I’ve got plenty. I’ll introduce you to a couple after the ceremony.”

“I’m good with one,” Bower said.

One brow arched, Dean regarded Bower, his tone dead serious. “You wanna make good with your GM? Do me a favor and take at least two off my hands. My most popular Dom and two of his trainees just took themselves off the market. There will be a number of needy subs, and I won’t have them leaving here all depressed because they didn’t get the coveted ring-collar-picket fence combo.”

“Well since you put it that way.” Bower grinned. “I suppose I can take one—or two—for the team.”

“For the team.” Time to get down to business. “I spoke to Noah—thank you for providing the reference, by the way. Your agent was smart to include a man I know personally on that very long list to vouch for you; it makes getting you settled in much easier. Anyway, he told me you’re pretty good with electroplay. I’ve gone to few workshops, but I haven’t gotten comfortable enough to start fooling around with the TENS or the wand. Think you could teach me?”

“Be glad to.” Bower reached down, then lifted a metal case onto the bar. “I’ve got all the stuff for some demos, and I know a man who can supply you with more whenever you’re ready.”

“Perfect.”

“Under one condition.”

Dean’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Bower took a deep breath. “Teach me how to use a whip. I . . . well fuck, I tried to convince myself I wasn’t into giving pain. But I’m done pretending. I came out here because you guys offered the chance to accept who I am. I’m tired of playing with the light stuff.”

“Electroplay isn’t considered light.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve always had a thing for the charge—I’ve been messing around with it since I was a kid. I learned a bit about the ropes and discipline, but I want more.” Bower frowned at his bottle. “I want to be able to offer a sub whatever she needs. I’ve had a few who like playing hard and fast, and I hate sending them to someone else because I lack the skills. Sharing is one thing, but when you’re doing it because you’re not good enough—”

“I got it.” Hell, why not? He liked training and this would work out well for them both. He’d learn a new skill, and he’d teach one of the most important men on his team not only how to wield a whip, but to accept the darker parts of himself. “Actually, unless I’m mistaken, the ceremony will end with one of my pupils using the whip on the new bride. Should be quite a show.”

Bower’s expression shifted, turning eager and almost feral. “I can’t wait.”

“You’re gonna fit right in, Bower.” Dean lifted his beer. “To the game, on and off the ice.”

“To the game.”

The faint music playing in the background changed. Romantic instrumentals to tell one and all things were about to get started.

And for the first time that day, Dean was looking forward to what lay ahead.

But as he made his way to the benches, the neglected sub in pink plagued his thoughts. Maybe he didn’t understand her relationship with the men she’d come with. Maybe he was wasting his time.

Still, before the night was over, he’d meet her. Find out if he could give her what she needed.

Because the Dom in him knew, without a doubt, she wasn’t getting it.

Yet.