Roulette Redux

by Livia Grant

  I glared.

  “And the last one?” Brayden asked.

  A third roll, and I held my breath.

  “Bondage.”

  Brayden muttered under his breath with dripping sarcasm, “Great, just what she needs, to be tied up a little tighter.”

  “Fuck you,” I hissed.

  Brayden clucked his tongue. “And that, Baby, just earned you your first punishment.”

  Chapter 3

  Brayden

  I really was riding her pretty fucking hard, but I liked knowing I was making her squirm. She’d been a royal bitch to me when we were first married, and I was pissed my night was ruined because of her. I could’ve left, and I knew that. But I was also too damn proud to be the first one to cave.

  I wouldn’t be too heavy-handed with her. As we walked in silence to the costume shop, I took her in.

  Age became her. The cheeks that were once hollow and thin had filled out a bit, as had her figure. The lighter blonde hair suited her. She was poised, her head erect, her shoulders held straight and narrow. Gone was the girl easily cowed in her teenaged years.

  I wondered if she still did everything her parents expected.

  And as I thought about her parents, I remembered… it had wrecked her losing our baby. I’d held her while she wept, and wiped away her tears, my own hidden in the shower or when I ran alone in the morning. It had been scary, and exciting, then devastating in such a short time, and we were only kids.

  Only kids.

  She’d turned nineteen two days before we married. That made her twenty-five now. I glanced at her left hand. No ring. Good. I would want no part of playing with a married woman.

  When we were away from the crowd, only a few couples joining us on the way to the costume room, my conscience pricked me with my memories. “You don’t have to do this, Della.”

  She lifted her chin. “You mean Baby?”

  I cleared my throat. “Baby.”

  She shook her head. “If you think I can’t handle this, you’re wrong, Brayden. You have no idea what I’m capable of doing.”

  I clenched my jaw. Fine, then. She wanted this? She’d get it.

  I would not be the first one to give in.

  We arrived at the entrance to the costume room beside the bar. It was a large room with every prop and costume a kinkster could dream of. But I had only one in mind. We’d either have a fun go of it, or she’d lose her shit.

  “Officer costume big enough for me, and a French maid uniform for Baby,” I said to Jayla, the woman running the room.

  “Brayden!”

  I tugged her close and gave her ass a sharp crack. Her cheeks flushed pink. “What’d I say to call me?”

  “M-Master,” she stuttered, then frowned. “You really like that shit?”

  I snorted. “Do I like making you squirm? Oh, fuck yeah.”

  Her mouth fell open as the woman handed us our clothing and instructed us where we could get changed.

  “You’re mocking me,” she hissed, marching beside me.

  “Won’t deny it.”

  “You think I still have the same fantasies I did as a girl?”

  “Yup.”

  “You’re so full of shit!”

  “Yeah? And you’re so full of sass, I think the whipping post would be an excellent place for us to begin.”

  She humphed for show, but I read something else on her. In surprise, I glanced at her.

  She was more than just angry.

  Had I turned her on? Oh, that would be such delicious poetic justice.

  I had to test my theory.

  “You go first,” I ordered, pointing to the women’s locker room where she could get changed and store her clothes in a locker. “And don’t keep me waiting, Baby. You do, and I’ll punish you.”

  Her breath hitched.

  Telling.

  The crack of something striking bare skin, followed by a howl, made her jump. I grinned. I was gonna have so much fun with her.

  I changed in the men’s locker room, chuckling at my image in the mirror. A dark blue police officer uniform, complete with hat and nightstick, made me look younger, sterner. I smacked my palm with the stick. Damn, that thing packed a punch.

  I went back to wait outside the women’s locker room, knocking on the door.

  “Not coming out,” came her plaintive moan.

  “Sure as hell are,” I growled. “What the fuck are you playing with?”

  “I look stupid,” she moaned. “You’ll laugh at me.”

  I sobered. “Della—Baby—I’m not gonna laugh at you. Promise.”

  She sighed heavily. “I don’t want to come out.”

  Now this was getting ridiculous.

  “You come out, or I’m coming in,” I finally ordered.

  With a heavy sigh, she pushed the door open, and stepped outside toward me.

  Fuck.

  She was a wet dream come to life.

  A black skirt barely covered her ass, sheer black fishnet stockings clung to her legs, stopping high up on her thighs. A white, frilly apron was cinched around her waist and the blouse of the uniform—well, that was the pièce de résistance. The heart-shaped bodice accentuated her cleavage, her breasts threatening to spill out.

  Since when did she have cleavage?

  “I can’t pull this up any further than this,” she hissed, tugging on the bodice. “This is a nightmare.”

  “You look beautiful,” I comforted, but she only glared. Beautiful was an understatement.

  “Enough. Come with me,” I ordered, taking her hand.

  We walked awkwardly back to the main room and back to the bar that sat adjacent to the costume room. She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye. When she caught me looking, she looked away and swallowed hard.

  “We’ll get a drink first.”

  She looked about the room, at the spanking benches in the center and the tables of spectators, the St. Andrew’s Cross against one wall, and along the other, heavy velvet drapes that hid the semi-private rooms.

  She moved a little closer to me.

  “Drink first,” I said. “What’s your drink?”

  “Just sparkling water with lemon.”

  “You get two real drinks,” I said, irritated that she was getting all high and mighty with me.

  “I don’t want to lose control.”

  “Shocking.”

  With an angry sigh, she halted and spun around to face me. “So is that how it’s gonna be for the rest of the night, Brayden? You making snarky comments and taking advantage of the opportunity? Then fine. I’m outta here.”

  “You’re out of your comfort zone, you safeword,” I reminded her.

  “There is no comfort zone around you.”

  Her words stung more than I wanted to admit.

  “And who’s fault is that?”

  But something I’d said struck a chord with her. She blinked, hard, her eyes damp with tears, then spun away from me and walked straight to the bar.

  “Pint of whatever you’ve got on tap,” I said, ordering my last drink of the night. “And a sparking water—”

  “Gin and tonic,” she interrupted.

  I shot her a look, but she only shrugged.

  “Changed my mind.”

  The bartender shot her a coy grin. “Oui, mademoiselle, though you would look perfect behind the bar with me… serving.”

  I pushed my way up next to her and slung an arm around her shoulder. “Pour the drinks.”

  The guy looked at me, then her, with sudden recognition, ducked his head and busied himself pouring liquor and ice into glasses.

  “What a fuckwad,” I muttered when he was out of earshot. “The only person you’ll be serving is me.”

  To my shock, she laughed out loud, then quickly sobered, as if her laughter surprised herself.

  The bartender handed us our drinks and we both sat, surveying the scenes around us. After a sip, I felt a little more at ease.

  “So… how’ve you been?”
she asked.

  I shrugged a shoulder. “Good. Got a job in the city working brownstones for the winter. Good deal. Promoted to foreman last year. My parents retired to Florida, and I bought their house.”

  Her brows rose as she sipped her drink. “I loved that house.”

  My mind teemed with memories. My parents’ large, sprawling ranch on the outskirts of D.C. had been the place of many happy memories. Our first kiss was on that front porch, and the first time we’d made love had been the summer of her senior year in high school. It had been awkward, and sweet, and heated. I’d been her first.

  We used to swim in my parents’ pool, and we’d walked down the rambling road that led to a cemetery behind an old, broken down barn. She’d helped me water the garden and weed the flower bed, and had baked pies with my mom. It was a simpler time.

  “I still love it,” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  We sat in silence for a while, and I took in the sights around us. A woman wearing a fluffy tail and kitten ears crawled on all fours in front of us, her dom leading her on a bejeweled leash. Behind them, two men held lengths of rope attached to a woman behind them dressed in all black leather. Her eyes were aglow. One of the men carried cuffs, another a stout crop, and they were heading for the St. Andrew’s Cross.

  A splash came from one end of the room, and Della gasped beside me, but otherwise showed no reaction.

  “I couldn’t do that,” she whispered, then flushed as if she was embarrassed by having admitted a weakness.

  I shrugged. “Does nothing for me either, but to each his own. Lots I don’t like here, but lots I do.”

  “Yeah.” She gave a noncommittal shrug. “So this is what you do with yourself now? This your hobby?”

  “The BDSM scene? Fuck yeah. Don’t make it sound so dirty.”

  Her eyes flashed. “It was an honest question. You don’t have to read snark in every fucking thing I say.”

  “Watch your tone.”

  “Or what?” she snapped.

  “Or we christen that bench.” I pointed to the vacant spanking bench in front of us.

  Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, but she didn’t respond.

  “Yeah, I spend a lot of time here. But it isn’t the only thing I do with my time. I run a construction company.”

  “Looks like you lift weights now.”

  I felt my lips twitch as she flushed once more. “Yeah. I’m good friends with the gym. Good stress relief. Don’t eat shit food, up the protein, hit the gym and things change.”

  “Yeah. Things change, alright,” was her only response.

  “What about you?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “My parents still live in the house I grew up in, but I rarely see them anymore. I moved out the year after we…” Her voice trailed off. “Adrien had a baby and they fawn over him.” She paused. “Truth is, they’ve pretty much disowned me since I started writing.”

  Adrien was her younger sister.

  “You write for The Post now.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. I knew she did.

  “Yes.”

  Most high-strung woman I knew, writing a column on sex. The irony burned.

  “Is your visit here tonight research?”

  “What? No!”

  “Don’t get so indignant. It’s a reasonable question.”

  “Whatever.”

  “I said to watch your tone.”

  “Just like the good old days,” she snapped. “Oh, how easily we fall back into fighting.”

  I stood and grabbed her by the elbow. “In the good old days, I didn’t have a night stick, Baby. Let’s go.”

  She downed the rest of her drink in one large gulp and slammed the glass down on the counter.

  Her eyes widened and her cheeks flamed, but she obeyed.

  Good.

  I needed to warm her up to this. Reaching for her hair, I wound it around my hand and pulled. Her mouth fell open with a gasp, her eyes wide. “Remember your rules. You say Yes, Master, or Yes, Sir. You stay by my side. And if you have to, you say ‘yellow’, it tells me to pause. Understand?”

  She nodded, her lips still parted, then she swallowed.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “No disrespect or talking back. You’ll submit to me or suffer the consequences.”

  She nodded as much as she could with her hair being pulled.

  I leaned down so close our lips almost touched, my eyes boring into hers. Her chest heaved up and down as I held her against me.

  “You take a whipping without safewording, and I’ll make it worth your while,” I whispered in her ear. Her breath hitched. “It might’ve been years ago, but I still know how you like it. I still know how to make you come, Baby.”

  She gritted her teeth but didn’t respond. My dick hardened at the sight of her breasts nearly spilling out of her top, her pupils dilated, her breath coming in choppy gasps.

  I’d whip her ass, and she’d take it.

  If she was lucky and behaved herself, she’d fucking enjoy it.

  Chapter 4

  Della

  What the fuck was I doing, dolled up like a French maid, following Brayden to the velvet curtains? Screams and moans surrounded us as we moved, the black lights of the bar making me feel as if I were in some sort of fantasy land. And wasn’t I? I was standing beside a man built of solid muscle, dressed like an officer.

  So, he was my asshole ex.

  Tonight, he was my Master. For just one night. No way would I let him win this and give him the satisfaction of safewording.

  He walked so quickly I could barely keep up with him.

  “Too bad you decided to break the law, Baby. In my jurisdiction, law breakers get punished the old-fashioned way.”

  If he wasn’t so fucking hot, I’d have laughed.

  Damn him and those biceps. A scream to my left made me jump, and to my embarrassment, I tripped over my own feet, stumbling forward with my hands flailing in front of me, and all I could think of was how my too-short skirt flew up, my ass bared to the room. Brayden reached for me and caught me just before I hit the floor, righting me.

  My heart pounded, and not just from fright. God, it felt good to be held by him again. Despite my anger, my body responded. I liked being up against a solid man, and I was reluctantly pleased he’d saved me. We stared at each other a moment, and heat flared in his eyes before they shuttered and he nearly shoved me away.

  “You always were a klutz,” he said.

  “And you always were an asshole.”

  “That’s it.”

  With one swift jerk of his hand, he snagged a chair from a nearby table, sat down heavily and in a second had me sprawled over his lap. A few hoots and hollers nearby made heat flame my cheeks as I squirmed and pushed, but I couldn’t get away. He didn’t need to lift my skirt as it’d risen of its own accord.

  “Thought I’d wait to get to the room before I punished you for breaking the law, Baby. But now I’ll have to punish you for disrespect to an officer.”

  Already, red was on the tips of my lips. I was prepared to deal with pain. It was the humiliation that made me want to safeword.

  “So you get to mock me and humiliate me, and I just get punished?” I wriggled but he held me fast. “So fair, Brayden!”

  Smack!

  “You asshole!”

  Smack!

  His palm fell heavily, smacking across both ass cheeks with one hard whack. It stung more than I expected.

  “You agreed to submit. You agreed to be respectful.”

  “So you get to mock me all night long? Then fuck you!”

  Another hard whack had me gritting my teeth.

  I would not cave.

  I hung onto his pants. I wouldn’t make a sound. I wouldn’t cry. I wouldn’t say a thing. He would not best me.

  “No more disrespect, Baby, or you’ll lose the skirt.”

  He wouldn’t!

  A fourth whack landed.

  “Waiting for your response.”


  My response?

  Whack!

  “Yes, Master! Whatever you say, Master!” I mocked, but he stopped.

  Just as suddenly as he’d tipped me over his knee, he righted me, smoothed my skirt down, and gave me a condescending little pat on the ass, raising a brow to me as if to check my behavior.

  I squirmed, furious as my pussy clenched, and I noticed his hardened cock, tight against his pants. It had turned him on spanking me. He’d been looking for a reason.

  And that… that turned me on.

  I closed my eyes briefly, holding onto my self-control. My pussy clenched, but I didn’t have time to think about it before he took me by the arm and marched me back toward the curtains.

  “The klutz comment was an asshole thing to say,” he muttered.

  “Mhm.”

  “Won’t happen again. No, I don’t get to say whatever I want and just beat your ass.”

  Damn the man; my panties dampened.

  His voice dropped, a deep rumble I could hear despite the noise around us. “Now. Tell me why I’m going to punish you in there.”

  Two could play at this game. Intentionally making my reply a little high-pitched, I looked down bashfully. “I broke the law, officer. I didn’t do the dusting or vacuuming in the mansion. Instead, I spent the day trying on my mistress’ clothes and well, forgot to remove a few pieces of her jewelry before I went home.” I tried to look chastened, playing my part.

  His eyes heated, his lips quirking up.

  “Your mistress has been very lenient, asking me to punish you instead of slapping your ass in jail. But this is the third time you’ve ‘forgotten’ to remove some trinket, isn’t it? I’ve punished you twice for it, but it seems my punishment hasn’t been harsh enough.”

  My pussy throbbed, his dominance making me quiver. A little voice in the back of my head wondered, ‘If he’d been like this before you split, would you have stayed?’

  But he was… you couldn’t take it then.

  He’d been a take-charge sorta guy even in high school, but both of us were immature. It had taken a full decade of wrestling with my own fantasies, exploring them in my writing, and learning from Angelina, to accept that it turned me on to be around a dominant man, to reconcile the fact that it didn’t make me weak or a Feminist dropout.