by Livia Grant
He made it sound so easy, so appealing.
“And if it doesn’t work?” she asked.
He lifted a shoulder. “Then we fix it. Or we don’t. But I want to try.”
She returned her hands onto the table. “Yeah. Me too.”
He grabbed her hands and squeezed. “Good. Let’s get our stuff so we can swap our numbers, then we can talk about your punishment.”
He slid out of the booth and pulled her with him in one movement.
“My punishment?” she asked as he led her from the club toward the lockers at the front where her purse and phone were.
“Yeah.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “You didn’t think you’d be allowed to bark out orders like that and get away with it, did you?”
“That’s not really fair. I mean, we were in the scene. And it’s over now. You can’t really do that,” she said as they reached the private lockers.
“Sure I can.” He placed his hand on her ass, squeezing her cheek. A ripple of excitement shot through her.
Before she could come up with something to respond with, more people poured out of the club. She gathered her things and met James at the doors.
“Were you kidding? About the punishment?” she asked as he led her to her car.
“I never joke about a punishment.” He leaned against her car, his phone in his hand. “What’s your number so I can text you?”
She rattled off the number, staring at the casual look on his face. It was doubtful she didn’t look a complete mess. Aside from her body still reacting to all the sensations from the evening, now her heart fluttered like she was fifteen again and being asked to homecoming.
“Okay. All done. I’m going to follow you home on my bike. I want to be sure you get there all right. I don’t have to go inside, but I want to make sure you drive okay after all this. It was a lot tonight.”
To say the very least.
“Yeah. That’s fine.” She climbed into her car, and he shut the door. As she slipped the key into her ignition, she turned toward him, but he was already walking to his bike.
Her phone dinged, notifying her of a text message.
She picked it up and swiped it alive.
James Hamilton
Punishment: breakfast with me 8 a.m. sharp.
Another ding.
After your spanking.
Her mouth slacked, and she began to type out a reply while his bike roared to life several spaces over.
Before she could finish typing, another message came through.
Do not text while driving. Put it away and pull out of your spot.
She looked over at him. He grinned at her from across the lot, then gestured for her to put the phone away.
She shifted into reverse and pulled her sedan out of her spot. He showed up right behind her, and she slowly drove toward home.
She had all night to think of good reasons for him not to spank her, but she had one stellar reason for him to go through with it:
She wanted him to.
Casting a glance in the rearview to assure herself he was actually there and she wasn’t dreaming, she relaxed. James Hamilton followed her home. And in the morning, she’d lay over his lap and feel the heat of his hand on her ass.
Could Valentine’s Day get any better?
The End
About the Author
USA Today Bestselling Author Measha Stone is a lover of all things erotic and fun who writes kinky romantic suspense and dark romance novels. She won the 2018 Golden Flogger award in two categories, Best Advanced BDSM and Best Anthology. She's hit #1 on Amazon in multiple categories in the U.S. and the U.K. When she's not typing away on her computer, she can be found nestled up with a cup of tea and her kindle.
Also By Measha Stone
EVER AFTER
Beast
Tower
Red
Hound
GIRLS OF THE ANNEX
Daddy Ever After
Obediently Ever After
DARK LACE SERIES
Club Dark Lace (Boxset)
Unzoned
Until Daddy
DARK ROMANCE STANDALONES
Valor
Kristoff
Dolly
Finding His Strength
Simmer
The Mob Boss’ Pet
OWNED AND PROTECTED
Protecting His Pet
Protecting His Runaway
His Captive Pet
His Captive Kitten
Becoming His Pet
Training His Pet
STASZEK FAMILY
Taken By Him
BLACK LIGHT SERIES
Black Light Valentine Roulette
Black Light Cuffed
Black Light Roulette Redux
Black Light Suspicion
Black Light Celebrity Roulette
Black Light Roulette War
Windy City SERIES
Hidden Heart
Secured Heart
Indebted Heart
Liberated Heart
Daddy’s Heart
Rushed
A Black Light: Roulette Rematch Novella
By
Jennifer Bene
Chapter 1
Landon
“Bartlett!” Thompson shouted at him across the training room, and Landon stopped in place, turning to glance at his teammate.
“What’s up?” he called back as the other linebacker jogged toward him. All he really wanted to do was shower and get on the road, but Thompson was a dick and he’d follow him straight into the locker room to say whatever he had on his mind — whether Landon’s dick was out or not.
“Hey, Coach said you’re skipping the game film review tomorrow, that true?” Thompson was still breathing hard, but Landon understood the words even with the guy’s thick southern accent and all the heavy panting.
“Yeah, I already cleared it with him. I’m going out of town tonight and won’t be back until late tomorrow. Maybe Tuesday.”
“Oh shit… for Valentine’s? You finally got a girl, Bartlett!” Thompson shouted loud enough to catch the attention of half the fucking defensive line still hitting the weights. The clatter of dumbbells and machinery clacking to a stop made him groan under his breath in preparation for the shit storm the asshole had just called down on him.
I don’t have time for this.
“Fuck off, Thompson,” he growled, wiping his face with the towel draped over his shoulder. “You know I don’t have any plans of collecting baby mamas like you do. I like to keep the money I make.”
The asshole busted out laughing again, slapping him hard on the shoulder before holding on to shake him, pointing his other finger at his chest. “Naw, you got yourself a sweet little piece of ass for Valentine’s, didn’t you?”
“No.” The answer was short and meant to end the conversation, before his other teammates could finish making their way over to join in the show, but Thompson had always been a big motherfucker with an even bigger mouth.
“Okay, okay, keep this honey to yourself, but I know you’re heading out to get some, bro — and I’m glad. Finally getting some ass might actually get this fucking chip off your shoulder about the season,” Thompson added, theatrically brushing off Landon’s shoulder.
“Yeah, go get some pussy, Bartlett!” one of the guys yelled before letting out a shrill whistle as others laughed.
“Hell, if you get laid maybe you’ll be able to hold the line next season!” Freeman shouted from his spot on one of the weight benches, and it took all of Landon’s willpower to clench his teeth and not tell his teammates exactly what he was going to be doing that night.
“Fuck all you guys!” he called back, raising his middle finger in the air as he turned toward the locker room. “Enjoy your eighteen years of child support!”
The guys were still laughing when he shoved the door to the showers open, letting it swing shut behind him to block them out. Stripping off his soaked workout clothes, he tossed them towar
d his locker, grumbling to himself. Despite his best efforts to ignore them, he still felt that buzz of irritation fucking with him. It was so damn tempting to go back out and give the guys just a hint of what he was into, but it wouldn’t help. They’d either be jealous, or freaked out, and Landon wasn’t in the mood to deal with either.
After all, he didn’t have a ‘date’ for Valentine’s, but he’d be getting some ass alright — after he turned it bright red and had the girl sucking his cock at Black Light for a while.
Fuck yes.
Holding onto that image, Landon felt a small grin spread across his lips as he ripped the elastic out of his hair and scrubbed his fingers through it, letting the sweat-soaked, dirty blond hair hang down to his shoulders.
His hair was just one more thing the guys used to mess with him about… until he ended up on some list of ‘hottest players in the NFL’ and one of the main notes was his Viking-like hair. That shut them up on that, but that shit never really got under his skin.
It was the comments on his performance that season that was really eating at him — even though Freeman hadn’t meant it.
Screwing with each other was as traditional as the pranks in the locker room and the overall brotherly bullshit that happened on every team. It was how you bonded, learned to trust the guys standing beside you, and it was why whenever any of them went down on the field the whole team showed up in support.
The relationship crap was just the latest topic they’d zeroed in on him for. The single guys always ragged on him for not hitting the dance clubs with them, and the married idiots thought he was the dumbass for not wanting a family.
But he wouldn’t find the kind of girl he liked to play with at some dance club anyway, so there was no point in letting his dick lead him around some random club only to get disappointed by vanilla sex.
Be smart, don’t think with your dick. That’s what his father had told him from the first year he showed skill in the game — and he’d listened.
Long before he got drafted, Landon had watched player after player in the news burn out because they let their dick do the thinking. Those guys ended up broke and fucked over before they hit thirty, drowning in alimony and child support with nothing to fall back on when the game finally benched them for good, which always happened.
One day he wouldn’t be able to play anymore either and he didn’t plan on ending up like those assholes. Although, really, he didn’t like to think about what life would be like after the game.
“Just focus on tonight,” he muttered, and that’s what he intended to do. Focus on the good shit happening tonight… which would go a lot smoother once he didn’t reek.
Cranking the shower to hot, Landon stepped up under the stream and groaned as the heat soaked into sore muscles and cleared away the sweat. He stretched one arm and then the other before tackling his long hair. But as hard as he tried, his brain wasn’t cooperating in shifting gears to visions of having a hot submissive on her knees.
Dammit.
If Freeman hadn’t mouthed off, he would have been fine. Sure, their losing streak at the end of the season had kept him in his head too much the past few weeks, but it wasn’t like he was being a bitch about it. It was just that at twenty-nine years old he could feel the clock ticking on his career. He still felt strong, but time was a merciless bastard, and no one got to outrun him… especially not NFL players.
Hitting people and getting hit for a living wasn’t kind to anyone, but it was all he had. Football had been Landon’s entire world since he’d learned to walk and thinking of a life without it seemed impossible.
Hell, when he’d shot up in high school and started packing on muscle, he’d jumped at the chance to play on the Varsity defensive line. They’d done well, and he’d been lucky enough to snag a scholarship from it so he could continue playing in college where his team had made it to the NCAA playoffs twice.
That’s what got him drafted, and he’d naively thought that winning streak would keep going. But the NFL was a different fucking game, and he’d only made it to the playoffs once in the big leagues. It ate at him because… this was all he was good at.
He’d never been one of those straight-A students, never shown any talent at, fuck, anything else. Football was it for him, and Landon poured everything he had into it.
And someday it would come to an end.
Stop fucking thinking about it.
Stepping out of the stream, he slapped the faucet off with a muttered curse and grabbed a towel on his way out of the showers. The line of mirrors caught his eye and he paused to check himself out. He’d made the right choice to join the rest of the defensive line for their post-church training routine. His muscles were popping, abs looking tight, and it was always one of his favorite things to see a submissive’s eyes go wide when he took off his shirt in front of them.
And he was guaranteed to see that look tonight.
This whole Roulette thing was just a less complicated way to get a play partner at the club, and that was exactly what he needed. Sure, the guys hadn’t meant anything by the shit they’d said, but that didn’t make it not true. Missing the fucking playoffs — again — had put Landon in a shit mood for weeks and kicking his ass in the gym wasn’t taking the edge off.
He needed to be in control.
To put a girl on her knees and have her obey without question.
Without hesitation.
He needed that rush of bringing a submissive to her limit of pain, earning each and every cry from her lips, only to make her come like a fucking freight train and thank him for the experience.
Fuck.
Eight o’clock couldn’t arrive fast enough.
Chapter 2
McKenna
Sitting in the back of the Uber on the way to Black Light, McKenna felt like someone had slammed an axe into the back of her skull, and there was a good chance she might crack a tooth if she didn’t stop clenching her teeth.
But, fuck, Adam wouldn’t drop it.
Her phone buzzed again in her lap and she briefly contemplated throwing it out the window into oncoming traffic, but sanity prevailed, and she swiped the screen to unlock it. Just like she’d guessed, it was another bullshit text complaining about the latest script changes.
She tapped out a quick reply, trying to end the convo before she had to be a bitch: You need to talk to Blake. I don’t have any influence on the scripts either, Adam.
Her text had barely gone through when another buzz preceded Adam’s reply: Bullshit. You’ve been the main storyline in the last four episodes. Are you fucking him or something?
“What the fuck?” she mumbled under her breath, feeling the headache creep down into her shoulders. Tossing the phone onto the seat beside her, McKenna tried to muffle the screech of frustration that escaped through her gritted teeth. Adam had always been a fucking primadonna on set, but this was over the line.
Way over the fucking line.
He deserved to hear exactly what she thought about him, but she’d still have to see him again on Wednesday, and there was no way she was ending up in some gossip rag described as ‘the bitch of Born in Blood.’
Another buzz had her temper flaring, and she snatched her phone off the seat, fully prepared to lay into Adam — screw the consequences — when she saw his message: Sorry, I know you wouldn’t touch that gross fuck. I’m just pissed.
A second later another came through: Do you think they’re going to write me off?
McKenna leaning back in her seat and blew out a breath. Her rage was fading fast as Adam’s true feelings on the situation finally surfaced. He wasn’t pissed at her, or actually accusing her, which was a relief because she was pretty confident he’d been the ‘anonymous source’ for more than one leak to the tabloids. And the last fucking thing she needed in this cutthroat industry was that kind of enemy or the bad publicity that came with it.
Fortunately, it wasn’t like that this time. Adam didn’t hate her, he was panicking. Worried they were goi
ng to kill him off just when the series was in talks for a third season.
Thinking over the most tactful way to answer, she finally replied: I doubt it. You’re the only LGBT character on the cast and the internet would eat the writers alive if they knocked you off.
It was only kind of true, but it was really all she could say. There were no guarantees on any show anymore. Game of Thrones had broken the mold by making every character on a show free game, and writers all over Hollywood had been salivating with the possibilities. Sure, Adam had the backing of the LGBT community, but it wasn’t like they couldn’t write a new gay character into the cast.
He was just as replaceable as she was, and it was a fear everyone on the show had now that they were getting popular.
‘Born in Blood’ was just the latest series in the vampire genre to take off, and anyone in their ragtag group of characters fighting against the monsters of the night could easily get replaced by the next actor or actress willing to do a few risky fight stunts. Hell, she was still rocking a wicked bruise on her ribs from a bad hit during filming the previous week, and Cassie had broken her pinkie last month.
But complaining about shit wasn’t how anyone changed things in Hollywood, that’s how people got fired. Written off. Killed in some dramatic way to tweak the fans’ heartstrings and keep them watching while you kept getting fucked over.
Word would start to travel about your shitty attitude, how you’re ‘difficult to work with,’ and then no one would hire you. No one would invite you to audition. Your agent would drop you.