GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) Read Online Free PDF Page A

ditch the loser.”
    She’d found the book online under “femdom” and decided her little sister was seriously unhinged. Dominate Paul? Really? But then she read the excerpt and decided to give it a shot. The bondage stuff looked . . . interesting. Picturing silk scarves or lined cuffs securing her wrists—No, Paul’s wrists to the headboard . . .
    Well, couldn’t hurt to try. She couldn’t very well make things worse.
    Thinking of the graphic image on page 214 of a woman attaching a spiked ball stretcher to her lover’s sack, she grinned and shook her head. Such extremes right off the bat would definitely make things worse. Better stick with the mild stuff. Like taking charge for the night.
    For some reason, the very idea made her feel like she’d taken a big bite of something that smelled sweet and tasted awful. She mentally flipped the through the pages she pored over the night before, trying to find a single appealing scene. Maybe a simple role-play?
    How would she broach the subject with Paul? “I want to try something…”
    Her stomach did a little flip. Okay, no talking. Just a candlelit dinner, a little reveal of her sexy lingerie, and maybe some moves from the book. Tease him under the tablecloth and order him not to come. He’d be putty in her hands. The book said so.
    Well, something’s gotta work. Oriana made a face and checked her long, black, manicured nails. According to that same book, the “honeymoon’s” over.
    The streetlight overhead flickered to life and a shadow fell, her only warning before a massive form slammed into her. Teetering on her heels, her arms flailed. Her book bag swung out, hit the sidewalk, and skidded off the curb.
    Without a word, the man plucked her bag off the street, ignoring the car that swerved to avoid him, horn blaring. He held it out to her.
    She hesitated before taking it. The guy was huge, menacing with his face hidden in the shadows of his dark, gray hood. Without getting too close, she snatched the strap. Mouth too dry for a “thank you,” she inclined her head and hoped it would be enough.
    “Sorry about that.” He lowered the hood, revealing a face just as familiar as the voice. His eyes ran over her, paused on her heels, then made their way up slowly. “Hey, don’t I know you?”
    Sloan Callahan. The man she’d seen with Max in the alley—had he seen her? The flap of her jacket hung open, and for a horrible moment, she felt completely exposed. Her mouth went dry, and she had a vision of that night. Only this time, the woman they planned to share wasn’t Roxy. It was her.
    Her eyes traced the scar from a slash that had almost taken his eye. The bound wooden blade of the stick had torn rather than cut, so the wound wasn’t nice and smooth. White flesh streaked in two irregular lines through one brow, over one cheekbone, and up to his temple, creating a well-defined path.
    Those who’d voted Callahan the most handsome man in the sport for three years straight—as if good looks made a damn bit of difference on the ice—considered the damage done to Callahan’s face a tragedy. To her mind, the scars gave him a dangerous appeal. The kind of appeal that tempted good girls to do very bad things.
    “Do I?”
    Definitely. Oriana blinked. Did he know she was thinking about him and Max and . . . ? She shook her head. Don’t be a dumb ass. He asked if he knew you.
    Taking hold of the flaps of her jacket, she held it closed and craned her neck to study him over her sunglasses. “No. I don’t think so.” His dark eyes narrowed, and she swallowed. A moan from the ramp spurred her on. She pushed her sunglasses up with a finger and spoke loud so Vanek’s captain wouldn’t hear him. “Umm . . . I don’t suppose you have the time?”
    A crowd of teens approached, taking up most of the sidewalk. Rather than move across the sidewalk to let them pass, he stepped toward her. She retreated until her back hit a light post. His hand under her elbow