by Rebel Rose
His Deal
Lock and Key Series: Book 2
Rebel Rose
Scarlet House Novels
Copyright © 2018 by Rebel Rose
All rights reserved.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Contents
Note from Rebel Rose
1. Emma Lia Grant
2. Tristan Broussard
3. Emma Lia Grant
4. Tristan Broussard
5. Emma Lia Grant
6. Tristan Broussard
7. Emma Lia Grant
8. Tristan Broussard
9. Emma Lia Grant
10. Tristan Broussard
11. Emma Lia Grant
12. Tristan Broussard
13. Emma Lia Grant
14. Tristan Broussard
15. Emma Lia Grant
16. Tristan Broussard
About the Author
Also by Rebel Rose
Note from Rebel Rose
DISCLAIMER:
This book contains BDSM situations involving dubious consent and physical restraint. These situations can be triggers for some readers and erotic for others. If you view BDSM as abuse then this book is not for you.
If you should choose to continue, enjoy.
1
Emma Lia Grant
Mon bebelle?
I may not know a lot of Cajun French, but I know what mon bebelle means. My doll. Such an unexpected choice of nickname for the submissive he plans to dominate… and hurt.
Kitten. Pet. Minx. Those seem like more typical submissive monikers. Not something as endearing as mon bebelle. But what do I know? Maybe he’s used all of those classic names on his other submissives and is running out of the usual derogatory ones.
“Would you like to have breakfast on the veranda?”
Tristan would like to have breakfast instead of his first go at dominant sex with his new submissive? That’s unexpected.
He laughs, and I realize that my expression has probably given away my thoughts. “Sorry. I’m just surprised. I thought you’d want to go to my bedroom and crack open the kinky cabinet as soon as I said yes.”
He chuckles louder. “The kinky cabinet? That’s what you’ve named it?”
I nod, a smile breaking through my exterior. “Yeah. That’s what it is.”
The chifforobe is beautiful. It looks like a piece you’d have seen in the house when it was built in 1857… but open the doors and drawers and you’ll get a not-so-nineteenth-century surprise.
“The kinky cabinet. Fitting name. I like it. And as much as I’d love to crack it—and you—open, you drained my tank last night and this morning. I need protein and time to recharge my batteries; I want to be at the top of my game for our first scene.”
Translation: he wants his balls to be full when he dominates me for the first time. I noticed that he has a thing about that—filling me with his cum. No man has ever done that inside me. It hasn’t been possible with my trio of defenses against pregnancy: the pill, condoms, plus pulling out just in case.
Not a single one of my boyfriends has ever convinced me to deviate from my anti-pregnancy routine. But Tristan did. And I caved so easily.
The act of a man coming inside a woman—it’s not something that I’ve ever given much thought. I’ve always considered the guy’s orgasm to be the finish line, but it doesn’t end there for Tristan. He gets his rocks off even more on coming inside me and then watching it drip out of my body. It’s bizarre and hot at the same time.
“How do you feel about frittatas for breakfast?”
I’ll try anything that Ray cooks. “Sounds good.”
“We’ll sit on the veranda and talk while we wait.”
It’s only nine o’clock, and I can tell that the sun is going to be merciless today. My hair is already sticking to the back of my neck. And the steaming hot black coffee that Tristan brought to me isn’t the least bit refreshing.
“I hate black coffee.”
He lowers the cup from his lips. “I am a man who remembers details, and I distinctly recall your telling me that you take your coffee black, just as I do.”
I guess there’s no reason to not tell him the whole truth now. “I did, but it was a lie. The coffee they brought to us in the hotel suite was steaming hot. I was going to throw it in your face and escape if I got the opportunity.”
“Well, fuuuck.” He looks like he’s letting that one sink in for a moment. “You’re not still planning to maim me when I least expect it, are you?”
I probably shouldn’t tell him that I was also planning to stab him in the eye with an ink pen. Or choke him with the lamp cord. Or slice him open with shards from the mirror after I broke it. “Not anymore.”
He touches the healing scratches on his face. “You did an excellent number on my face. These lacerations are going to take a while to heal.”
“I’m sorry I did that to you.”
“I’m not angry about it. I liked the way you fought me.” He smiles and a single dimple appears in his right cheek. “I think I’d look pretty badass with a scar across my face.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you’re never going to look like Mufasa. Those scratches aren’t deep enough to leave a scar. Plus, your face is far too pretty to be scarred.”
He scowls. “Let’s get one thing straight: I am not pretty.”
He can deny it all he likes. He is very pretty but in a masculine Matt Bomer or Rob Lowe or Henry Cavill kind of way. “Okay. Handsome is a more suitable description.”
He takes a sip of his hot coffee and looks at me over the top of the cup, smiling. “Scale of one to ten, what am I?”
His face, his body… he’s perfection. Completely off the charts, but I’m not telling him that. “Mmm… maybe a seven.”
“I’m maybe a seven?” A chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Would you like to know where you fall on my scale?”
I shrug, my very intentional attempt at appearing indifferent to his opinion of my looks. “Sure.”
“I can’t put a number on you. You’re infinity. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
I’m pretty. I’d label myself a 6.5. Maybe a seven when my hair and makeup are on point, but the most beautiful woman in the world? That’s the second time that he’s told me that.
And I call bullshit.
“You are aware that because of our deal, I’m a sure thing?” He has me right where he wants me. Bastard. “You don’t have to woo me.”
“I’m a Dom. I don’t woo my submissive. When I tell you that you’re the most beautiful woman that I’ve seen, it’s because I mean it.” I hear annoyance in his tone.
I’m preparing to dispute his statement and tell him that I think he’s full of shit when Ray comes out of the house, interrupting our debate. He places a plate in front of each of us, and the argument I had for Tristan is instantly forgotten when I see and smell the food.
“Two spinach-and-mushroom frittatas. Will there be anything else sir? More coffee?” Ray asks.
“Miss
Grant would like some juice. She doesn’t care for coffee.”
“Would you like apple or orange?”
“Orange would be great. Thanks.”
We eat without conversing for a while before Tristan breaks the silence. “Are you enjoying The Thorn Birds?”
“I am, but I was surprised by the eighteen-year age gap between the hero and heroine. And I didn’t expect the story to begin while she was a child.” I went into it expecting a love story between two grown adults.
“Their age gap isn’t a whole lot more than ours.”
Fourteen years. Tristan had almost lived a whole other life by the time I was born. “I don’t feel like you’re fourteen years older than me.”
“Is that because you feel older or because you see me as younger?”
“Maybe a little of both.” I unsuccessfully try to stop my smile from spreading. “Unless we’re talking about sexual experience; you definitely don’t seem younger when it comes to that.”
“I hope you aren’t saying that I don’t compare to the young bucks you’ve been with?”
“There is no comparison.”
He stops eating and stares at me. “I need you to clarify that.”
Does he think that I could possibly be implying that the twenty-somethings I’ve been with are better than him? That’s amusing. I also find it a bit entertaining that he’s baiting me to hear my praise and approval.
He may be this dark, demanding Dom, but he’s still such a man-child.
“You’re the best that I’ve ever had.” And he knows that.
“You haven’t seen anything yet, Miss Grant.” A mischievous grin spreads. “But you’re going to. Very soon.”
When? The word is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say it aloud. I’m afraid to hear the answer.
Change the subject, Emma Lia, or you’re going to work yourself into a tizzy.
His hair is damp, and he’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, not his usual business-suit attire. “You aren’t going to work today?”
“No. Someone kept me awake all night; all she wanted to do was fuck. I’m exhausted.”
A light huff expels from my lungs. “Pfft… I think you mean that you kept her awake all night because all you wanted to do was fuck.”
He chuckles. “I didn’t keep her awake. I know because she snored for two hours before I left her bed this morning.”
My mouth opens and I gasp sharply. “I… do… not… snore.”
“You do snore.”
“You stayed and listened to that for two hours?” Who would put up with listening to that annoying sound for two hours? I know I wouldn’t.
“I like watching you sleep.”
He watched me sleep? I can’t decide if that’s sweet or creepy. I’m leaning a little more toward creepy.
“You must like hearing me snore as well since you listened to me for two hours.” Which is just embarrassing.
“It’s cute when you do it.”
“I don’t care who you are. Nothing about snoring is cute.” I know because my nana sounds like a lumberjack.
Change the subject, Emma Lia, before he tells you that you also sleep farted. “I was planning to go by my apartment today. I need to pick up a few personal things if I’m going to be staying here.”
“Since you’re going to be staying. Not if.”
I will need to choose my words more wisely around this man. He’s testy about some things. “Okay. I need to pick up some personal things since I’m staying.”
“Have I not provided you with everything that you need down to your hygiene products?”
I feel like saying, hell yes, all the way down to my tampons. But I keep my mouth shut on that issue. “You have, but I’d like to get my laptop and iPad. And I have some cash that I’d like to move to a safety-deposit box.” I would die if someone broke into my condo and took that twenty grand in my closet; I worked hard for that money.
“Wait until another day to do it. I’m playing hooky from work to stay home and have alone time with you.”
It’s difficult to have alone time when there are two other people in the house. “Is it really alone time if Ray and Claudia are here?”
“Would you like me to send them away for the day?”
I don’t know what Tristan’s going to do to me. I may scream. I may cry. I may say to hell with all of this and flee. I don’t want anyone here to witness whatever happens. Plus, I just think that sex, vanilla or otherwise, should be private.
“I’d be more comfortable if I knew that other people weren’t listening to us.”
“Consider them gone.”
He places his fork on the plate and tosses his napkin on the table. “Are you finished eating?”
It’s delicious, but my stomach is in knots. “I am.”
He sits back in the chair and looks at me. “Go to your bedroom and take off your clothes. Everything. Kneel next to the bed, facing the door. Sit on your lower legs and feet. Bow your head and keep your eyes lowered. Do not lift your face when I enter the room. I’ll tell you when you may look at me.”
My brain absorbs his words, and I try to picture the described position in my head.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
Dammit. That’s going to take some getting used to. “Yes, Sir.”
“I will come to you as soon as I finish making arrangements with Ray and Claudia, and we will begin your first lesson. And don’t forget that you are to address me as Master inside of the bedroom.”
My head becomes swimmy, and the warmth leaves my cheeks. It feels like ants are crawling beneath the skin covering my hands.
He gets up and stands behind me, placing his hands on my shoulders and squeezes with gentle pressure. His grip releases and squeezes again. The kneading feels good to my tense muscles.
Leaning down, his mouth hovers over my ear. “Close your eyes and breathe, bebelle. Slow and deep. Place all of your concentration on moving air in and out of your lungs.”
In and out, slow and deep. I do as he instructs, and my head feels normal again after several nice deep breaths. I feel more like me.
“Better?”
I didn’t say a word about the way I was feeling on the inside. “How’d you know?”
“I’m already becoming in tune with your body. But it’s only the beginning. I’ll eventually know everything about it just as you’ll know everything about mine.”
Knowing each other’s bodies on that kind of level is highly intimate. It’s something that should be shared between affectionate lovers, not near strangers like Tristan and me. And certainly not as part of a deal to keep him from sending me to jail.
Blackmailing bastard.
I go to my bedroom, and I don’t mess around once I’m there; I won’t have long until Tristan arrives, and he’s going to be in full-on Dom mode. I know because I saw the raw, untamed desire in his eyes. I heard the deep, unwavering command in his voice. It frightened me. But it also excited me.
I breathe deeply and lower myself to my knees. I sit on my lower legs and feet and place my palms on top of my thighs just as Tristan instructed. I bow my head and look at the floor, studying the design of the wool rug to take my mind off of what’s about to happen.
Doesn’t help. I’m trembling like a lamb about to face a lion.
I’m motionless, listening for his footsteps. Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump. My heart is beating so damn hard in my ears that it drowns out anything else. Feels like I’m in the middle of one of those dreams where I’m being chased by a monster, but I can’t move. I can’t run. I can’t scream.
Tristan leaves me in this position for a while, much longer than expected. I wonder if this is a test to see how long I will stay in this position without moving or if I have Claudia to thank for the delay. She’s probably giving him shit about leaving because she doesn’t want this to happen.
The wood floor creaks to my left, each sound from the wood planks coming c
loser. He instructed me to face the door. I assumed that he meant the hallway door and not the one separating our bedrooms so he’s thrown me for a loop. And I’m not in a position—literally or figuratively—where I need to be thrown for any more loops.
“Fuck. I’ve dreamed about you being on your knees for me since the first time I saw you in my casino, but the fantasy is no rival for the reality.” His fingers touch the bottom of my chin and he lifts. “Look at me.”
I lift my face, and I see two things as I move my eyes up his body: one, he’s already naked. And two, his cock is huge and hard.
His eyelids are weighted with lust, and a partial smile is tugging his mouth to the side. That single dimple has shown up for the show. “You have no idea how fucking gorgeous you are on your knees, looking up at me right now.”
He steps closer and pushes his fingers into the back of my hair, his hand forming a tight grip at my nape. “Suck me.”
I’ve given head before but being told to do so in such a demanding manner is a new one for me—though not at all unexpected coming from him.
I grip the base of his cock, and he watches it disappear into my mouth. The tip glides over the surface of my tongue on the way in, and his salty pre-cum coats my taste buds. I like the way he tastes.
“Ohhh… your warm, wet mouth feels good.”
I use my tongue to follow the bulging vein on the underside of his cock, and his fingers tighten around my nape, pulling me closer. “Take it in all of the way,” he whispers.
I close my eyes and suck him in until the tip of his cock hits the back of my throat, instantly making me gag. I try to not think about it, but a reflex is called a reflex for a reason.
I pull away when the unsexiest sound in the world comes out of my mouth a second time. Fucking humiliating. “I’m sorry.”