by Grant, Livia
Brody’s horrified expression passed quickly. Work? Brody? No, he had grander aspirations. Like landing a main character part in any show or movie that came his way. In the meantime, he’d keep living off his father’s millions.
“Uh, no. I’m more of an artsy guy.” He raked his hand through his hair. “Have an audition coming up.”
Quinn’s smile brightened. Great, she went for the Hollywood type. Jack might as well kiss her goodbye right there.
“Really? Have I seen you in anything so far?” She slid her hands into the pockets of her pants.
“No, not yet.” Brody’s confidence waned.
“Oh well. I’m sure it’ll happen soon,” she said with a tilt of her head. His girl played the small talk game well when she wasn’t wound up in nerves, but Jack could hear the tinge of sarcasm touching her tone. Brody wasn’t impressing her in the least.
“Yeah.” Brody nodded. “Hey, I was thinking, maybe you’d like to hook up this weekend? Have our own play session?” He touched his belt. “I overheard some of your scene, and you mentioned you liked impact play. I fucking love giving a hard-ass beating.”
Jack’s spine went stiff.
Quinn’s gaze flittered over to Jack then back to Brody.
Fuck.
She was going to accept.
Why hadn’t he suggested they meet up again? Why had he let the opportunity get past him? Now, he was going to have watch Brody put his fucking hands on her. There wouldn’t be a snowball’s chance in hell he’d stay away from the club if Quinn was going to be there with Brody. He’d be there to watch it, to make sure she was taken care of, even if he would have to stay fifty feet away and be unable to talk to her.
“That sounds like fun,” she started. “But I have plans this weekend.”
Brody raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Cool. Maybe next week, then. How about I give you my digits, and you can let me know when you're ready to hook up?” He pulled a business card out of his back pocket. Classic move for Brody, to have a calling card ready to go.
Quinn took it with a smile. “Sure.”
Having finished with his task, Brody turned to Jack. “I’ll catch you later, man. I see someone I need to talk with.” He flashed Quinn another grin then stalked off toward the lounge.
“Looking for a score, I assume.” Quinn tilted her head and smiled at Jack.
“Yeah.” He chuckled. “Brody’s… well… Brody.”
“He’s into just playing, no strings?” she asked, her gaze following Brody across the room.
Jack stepped closer to her. “Yeah. That’s his MO.”
Quinn swung her gaze back to Jack, her expression softening beneath his stare.
“I don’t really have plans this weekend,” she blurted out.
The twist in Jack’s chest unraveled. “Hmm… lying? I’m pretty sure that’s a punishable offense.”
She chuckled. “I don’t think I can handle any more of your punishments tonight.” A soft blush covered her face.
“Then maybe we should meet up… I don’t know… on Friday night. Here. Say eight o’clock, so I can deliver the spanking you so obviously deserve?” He slipped his hand along her jawline and sank his hand into her hair. Fisting tightly, he dragged her head back until he saw the flicker of pleasure fill her eyes.
“That’s probably a good idea,” she said softly, eyes focused on his lips.
“And maybe we should plan to go out to dinner afterward. You know, to be sure you’ve learned your lesson. And then you could spend the night at my place. Just to be extra careful about you slipping back into your deceptive ways?”
She licked at her bottom lip.
“I don’t usually do that,” she whispered, bringing her gaze to meet his. “But I’m up for giving it a shot.”
He crushed her mouth with his. There would be no mistaking his intentions. He was not going to be one of her dial-a-doms.
When he broke the kiss, her lips were swollen, her eyes large with submission.
“Yeah. I think we should definitely make those plans,” he said, running his thumb over her bottom lip.
“Do I get breakfast if I’m a good girl?”
He released her hair and laughed. “Pancakes in bed. And I won’t even make you drink the orange juice from a bottle.”
She scrunched up her nose. “Thank fuck.”
Throwing his bag over his shoulder, he laced his fingers with hers. “You know you liked it,” he teased and led her to the exit.
“I won’t admit anything.” She squeezed his hand. “But I did have a fan-fucking-tastic night. Thank you.” She paused at the coatroom.
“I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in a long time, so I should thank you, too. Did you drive yourself?” he asked, jerking his thumb to the door.
She slid her purse over her shoulder and nodded. “Yeah. I came straight from the office.”
“I’ll walk you to your car, then.”
“Bossy man.” She laughed.
He squeezed her hand. “And you like that, too.” He covered her mouth with his hand. “No, don’t try to deny it, otherwise I’ll have to punish you even more for lying.” He grinned down at her. “As gorgeous as you are, I think a gag would really bring out your features. Yes. We’ll try that on Friday.” He dropped his hand.
“But I will get a spanking?” she teased.
“Oh, baby girl, you’re going to get one hell of a spanking.” And he was going to relish every single solitary swat and grunt.
She blew out a hard breath. “And I absolutely have to wait until Friday?”
“It wouldn’t be much of a punishment if I gave you what you wanted right this second, would it?”
She pinched her lips together. “Fine.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Attitude? That might cost you. You never know what I might come up with.”
“With you, I think I’m going to learn to expect the unexpected and love it.”
“I think you’re absolutely right.” He kissed her cheek and led her through the club and out to her car.
He hadn’t expected to find anything other some fun for the night, but there she was. And if he played his cards right, if he did everything in his power to make it happen, there’d she stay.
And they would both learn to expect the unexpected.
Together.
THE END
About the Author
Measha Stone is USA Today bestselling author of erotic romance. She’s had #1 top-selling books in BDSM, and suspense. She lives in the western suburbs of Chicago with her husband and children, who are just as creative and crazy as her. Her vanilla writing has been published in numerous literary magazines, but she’s found her passion in erotic romance.
Stay up to date on her latest releases, get a sneak peek at current projects, and exclusive glimpses at deleted scenes! Just sign up for her newsletter, and earn a free book, too! http://bit.ly/2B7buwt
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Facade
A Black Light: Roulette War Novella
By
Livia Grant
Chapter 1
Sean
Six forty-five.
He’d waited long enough. Six-thirty had been too early. Seven would be too late.
Sean Wilde pushed to his feet, leaning down to pick up the leather duffel bag full of his favorite toys before grabbing the keycard from the desk and shoving it into the pocket of his jeans.
The door to his suite slammed closed with a thud as he took off down the hallway toward the elevator that would take him down two stories to his destination.
Black Light.
The BDSM club was an expensive vice. He’d told himself he didn’t need to renew his membership since he only got to indulge in the club every other month or so. But then when the encrypted renewal message had arrived in his email box, he’d found his index finger twitching over the renew button multiple times. The day after his member
ship expired, he’d felt an odd fog of regret all day long.
Regret. That was an emotion he wasn’t very familiar with, preferring to live life on the edge. So, when the ten percent renewal discount email offer had hit his inbox, along with the invitation to the annual Valentine Roulette event, his index finger moved into motion, charging the $22,500 annual renewal to his American Express Black Card in the blink of an eye.
He hadn’t been nervous about his decision, at least not until the elevator doors opened and he encountered a crowded club.
So many damn people.
“Welcome back, Mr. Wilde. We’ve been expecting you. I know you’re staying in one of our suites, but I just have to confirm, you left all electronics upstairs, correct?”
“Yep.”
“Great. Participants are being asked to head into the theater by seven. You should have a few minutes to stop in at the bar if you’d like to grab a drink.”
“Thanks,” was the only reply he mustered for the dungeon monitor standing guard at the heavy velvet curtain separating the main club from the social bar area.
If he’d thought the club was full, the bar was jam-packed. His chances of getting to the bartender to order and receive a drink before seven were slim to none. Maybe he should have come down earlier after all.
Sean pressed through the crowd, making his way toward the theater entrance across the room. He didn’t come often enough to know many other members, but he did stop to shake hands with a Dom he’d shared drinks with the last time he’d made it into town.
A scantily clad server carrying a tray full of champagne flutes crossed in front of him. It wasn’t his first choice, but it would have to do.
Only after he’d swallowed the first swig of bubbly did he wish he’d settled for the bottle of water he had in his bag.
Damn French swill.
He didn’t bother finishing the drink, choosing instead to set the half-full glass on the side table he passed as he weaved through the small groups of spectators.
Celebrities mingled with fans. Friends laughed together. Several couples were providing everyone with a preview of the night’s entertainment—their sloppy blow jobs and spankings adding to the nicely building sexual tension.
Sean’s own cock had been semi-hard all afternoon as he’d driven into the city from his winery southeast of L.A. He’d spent the three-hour ride on his Harley turning the list of kinks that would be on the wheel over in his mind, coming up with his plan for each spin. The only unknown was what hard limits would the sub he got paired with have on her no-no list.
Well, that, and of course her experience level.
“Shit, it’s getting hot in here with this crowd.”
Sean turned to find major league pitcher, Carlos Ferrara, pressed in next to him. Seemed like he would be a participant that night as well.
“Yeah, this room isn’t really big enough for this event, is it?” he answered. Sean had never been in the theater before. He could watch porn at home.
“It was even worse last year. They’ve brought in better seating options to fit more spectators this year.”
“You were here last year? I heard it was pretty intense.”
The MLB player frowned. “Well, I was supposed to participate, but one of my crazy fans physically attacked my sub for the night. I spent the entire three hours the event was happening in the emergency room at Cedar-Sinai.”
“Now that you mention it, I remember hearing something about that. That really blows.”
“The Cartwright-Davidson’s felt really bad. They ended up comping my next three month’s membership fees and gave me the first right of refusal to take one of the slots this year.”
“Nice. I’ve never talked to the owners, but I’ve heard they’re pretty cool.”
“They really are.” The athlete reached out with his right hand. “Carlos Ferrara.” The pitcher’s grip was firm.
“Sean Wilde.” The men stood awkwardly for a few seconds before he added, “Any subs over there you’re hoping to end up with?”
Sean had been checking out the group of submissives gathering at the opposite side of the room.
Carlos changed his focus to take in the growing group as he answered. “I honestly don’t care as long as it isn’t a rabid fan who wants to injure others.”
Sean chuckled. “Yeah, at least I won’t have that problem. One of the advantages of not being a celebrity.”
“So, what do you do?”
He could tell the baseball player was just being polite as they tried to kill the time waiting for the event to officially begin. Still, he played along with the nicety game.
“My family and I own a winery and orchard out near Temecula.”
“Interesting. What label do you sell under?”
The MLB pitcher may be talking to Sean, but he knew damn well he wasn’t paying much attention to his answers. An adorable baby girl flirting with the men from across the room had the athlete’s attention. To test his theory, Sean held off answering the hanging question long enough that Carlos totally forgot he’d asked it.
“If you’ll excuse me, I think I have just enough time to head over to chat with someone I recognize across the room. Excuse me.”
Instead of being butt-hurt about the slight, Sean was relieved to end his small-talk duties. He preferred to spend these last few minutes evaluating the growing pool of submissives across the room.
On the ride up to town, he’d told himself he was going to try his best to keep an open mind about being matched by the luck of a roulette wheel. But now that the sexy MC was taking the stage and preparing to begin, his open mind was closing quickly as he took stock of the growing group of subs across the room. Sure, there were some beautiful women to choose from, but there were also several littles who would be a disastrous match for someone with his appetite for edgier kinks.
The temperature in the room seemed to skyrocket as more people poured in, anxious for the matching to begin. He was pretty sure the club would get closed down if a fire marshal were to see how they’d packed so many people into the enclosed theater. He was grateful he’d gone casual for the night. The poor sap to his left was sweating like a pig in his business suit by the time the perky MC in the hot-as-fuck leather body suit welcomed everyone and got things started.
With each passing minute his nerves at signing up for the event grew. What the fuck had possessed him to voluntarily put himself through this stress?
The utter decimation of my sex life—that’s what.
The MC calling the Dominants to the stage to pick their numbers for the spins dragged him out of the depressing memories of his ex-fiancée. One by one the Dominants drew what looked like popsicle sticks from Madison’s hand. Despite being one of the first to pull a number, he glanced down to find he’d picked the highest number—fifteen. That meant he’d know who he’d be spending the night dominating not through his own spin of the roulette wheel, but instead through process of elimination.
He’d be paired with the last submissive standing alone.
He suspected he should be pissed about it, but as several of the subs dressed as littles in age play costumes and pigtails got paired up with other Doms, he could feel the tension in his chest loosening. That only lasted until they were down to just two couples left to be paired. The poor sap in the sweat-soaked business suit stepped forward to the wheel, leaving Sean alone in the Dom area of the stage.
His gaze scanned the area where the submissives had been gathered just minutes before, sure he’d catch a glimpse of his play partner, but found the area empty instead. The curvy redhead climbing the stairs was the last submissive. Was there someone hiding in the shadows? It was possible as there were several bright spotlights pointed in their direction.
What the fuck?
Funny how he’d been second guessing his decision to participate just minutes before, but now when it looked like he might not get to play that night after all, his disappointment was tangible. He waited for some explanation,
but instead the MC started to go off on a tangent, talking to the audience about the silent auction and other bullshit announcements as if he were invisible.
“Mr. Wilde… I’m so sorry for the delay. The final submissive called and is running late. She assures us her car is pulling into our parking lot as we speak, but I can understand if you don’t wish to wait for her. We do have an alternate ready to fill-in and can call her up to be your partner for the night if you’d prefer.”
Sean had turned to face the man whispering to him about the missing submissive. He recognized him immediately as Chase Cartwright-Davidson, one of the owners of the club.
“Okay.” He kept his voice low in turn as he could tell they were trying not to make a big scene about the missing submissive.
The event had already felt like a game of chance. Now it was morphing into a gameshow. Did he want to go with the submissive behind door number one or door number two?
“Which one is the alternate?” Sean asked the owner.
Without actually pointing, Chase nodded toward the petite young woman bouncing up and down with excitement in the middle of the front row. She was young, pert, and adorable… and that was the problem. She reminded him of his eleven-year-old niece, Lily.
No, thank you.
“I’ll wait for the submissive who is late,” he whispered back to Chase.
“Sounds good. I’ll let Madison know she needs to keep filling for a few more minutes until your partner arrives. Sorry for the delay, but just think of the fun you could have punishing her for her tardy arrival.”
Sean couldn’t hold in the sly smile at the thought of using his worn belt to light up the ass of his mystery partner to teach her the value of punctuality.
Chapter 2
Stephanie