Black Light: Roulette Rematch (Black Light Series Book 20)

by Livia Grant

  If I were the eye-rolling type, I’d definitely roll them at her. Sasha’s little friend seems to think she’s attending some kind of sorority party. I will laugh my ass off the first time a cane crosses her ass tonight and she screams for mama.

  To say she’s not my type would be an understatement. She’s way too wholesome. Cute. And probably entitled. Looks like a handful.

  Maxim reaches for Sasha’s waist possessively, fisting her hair when he kisses her hello and taking far too long with his private greeting before he introduces her to Valdemar.

  “This is my former roommate Kayla,” Sasha says to me and Valdemar. “But she’s going by the name Kiki tonight. Kiki, you remember Pavel, and this is Valdemar.”

  Upon closer inspection, I can see everything’s Hollywood perfect about the roommate, other than her petite size. She’s got blonde hair curled into soft waves down her back, big blue eyes, and a dimple in the middle of her chin. She’s slender but still has tits, and her legs are perfectly proportioned to go with the narrow waist.

  I hate perfection.

  In fact, the idea of making small talk with this offensive creature in addition to Valdemar makes me ill.

  I turn and walk away.

  I know it’s rude, but I’m a dom. I’m not here to be nice. I’m definitely not here to entertain Sasha’s college roommate. Insulting her is probably doing her a favor. Because she’s going to have a rude awakening when one of the doms here gets his hands on her.

  Cruel to be kind, right?

  I know without looking back that I’ve offended.

  Possibly even wounded.

  I steel my soul against giving it any thought.

  Kayla Hotpants is not my problem.

  Kayla

  What the hell?

  Did I do something wrong? Pavel just walked away after looking me over with disdain.

  I will away my hot flush of embarrassment as I watch his back. He’s sexy in that bad boy kind of way. Broad shoulders, muscled arms. Looks sharp in a designer button-down. He has sandy blond hair and stormy grey eyes. Tattoos show beside his cuffs and collar, like Sasha’s husband.

  “Ignore him.” Sasha touches my arm. “He’s just being a dick. Probably trying to get into dom mode.”

  I swallow, butterflies flapping in my belly with the knowledge that within the next hour, some dom in this club will be taking charge of me. My eyes return to Pavel’s back. I shouldn’t want it to be him.

  He’s the last guy I should hope for. He obviously found me displeasing. We’d be a terrible match.

  Still, I’m like the cat in the room who finds the one person who hates felines and jumps in their lap. I’m drawn to the guy like metal to a magnet, the desire for his approval now burning in the center of my being now.

  Maybe it’s because I want what Sasha has—her possessive, protective Russian husband who looks at her like she’s the sun itself. And not in the way like he’s glorified her. Some people do that in relationships—make their partner symbolize something they believe they want or need without truly seeing the person.

  Like exactly what I’m doing with Pavel right now. I don’t know the guy in the slightest, and here I am turning him into something I crave.

  I shake out my hands as if to throw off my desires.

  “Nervous?” Sasha asks.

  “Yes,” I admit.

  “Don’t worry. You’re safe here. You remember the safe words?”

  “I’m not going to safe word,” I tell her. “I want to win that free monthly pass.” Any couple who makes it through the full night of play receives a monthly pass to Black Light, valued at twenty-five hundred dollars. This may be my first foray here, but I’m hoping to screw my courage up and return, even without Sasha.

  “Well, there’s no shame in it, you know. Use yellow as often as you need to. Remember that you’re here for yourself.”

  Right. Here for myself. Not to impress some disinterested bad boy who makes my heart thump simply by looking scary.

  “Good evening and happy Valentine’s Day. Who’s ready to get started?” An amplified female voice fills the theatre.

  “Oh!” I suck in a terrified breath. “I gotta go.”

  “Break a leg,” Sasha whispers and squeezes my hand, just like she used to when we were backstage at USC.

  I walk quickly to the side of the stage where participants are gathered. Even though I don’t look for him, my body compass knows exactly where Pavel stands, his well-dressed casual slouch making him the most sinful-looking man in the place.

  On the stage, the MC, Madison, a beautiful woman in sexy boots, welcomes the crowd. “...for all of you Roulette virgins out there—get ready. Tonight will be thrilling, entertaining, and totally HOT!”

  I shift on my heels, my pulse racing.

  She explains the rules, then calls the doms up on the stage to pull popsicle sticks to see who throws first. If I happen to notice the very fine ass on a particular Russian dom, that’s not my fault, right? I mean, they were walking up the stairs. It’s natural to look.

  The diplomat, Valdemar, leans over and murmurs something in his ear, but Pavel doesn’t smile or even acknowledge whatever the man said. Maybe Sasha was right—he’s getting into dom mode. He can’t normally be this cold, or she would’ve said something. She seemed perfectly comfortable and warm toward him.

  Okay, stop looking at the Russian. There are other doms here. The chances of me being paired with the Russian are… um, oh jeez, I don’t know! I majored in theatre not math.

  “Our first dom will throw in the ball now to meet his submissive.” I hold my breath and watch as a tall man with black hair throws his ball into the spinning wheel. He’s paired with a lean redhead.

  “Next up, we have Master Pavel.”

  Oh. I go still, watching as he tosses his ball, and it dances and hops in the spinning wheel until it settles.

  “He will be paired with the submissive, Kiki.”

  I stumble forward, my head spinning. I’m half in disbelief, half smug that I was paired with the guy I wanted although why I wanted him is unclear. He watches me approach, his expression smooth and impossible to read. The grey eyes study me. He’s not impassive, but he doesn’t show what’s behind that cold gaze.

  “Kiki, give the wheel a spin for your first activity,” Madison instructs me.

  I spin the wheel and throw my ball. It bounces and settles in a groove.

  “Humiliation!” Madison calls.

  Um, wow. That seems both easy and terrifying.

  Pavel says nothing, but somehow, I sense disapproval from him. The pleaser in me gets nervous, needing to work harder to prove I’m good enough. But Sasha’s words come back to me.

  This is for you.

  Right. I am performing, but the ultimate goal is not to win over my partner or the audience. It’s to get the experience I hoped for when I signed up.

  To have my fantasies fulfilled.

  So I lift my chin and flash Pavel a challenging look.

  The corners of his lips kick up a fraction. Apparently, he likes a challenge.

  A non-submissive submissive.

  Okay, I can play that role.

  Pavel takes my elbow in an authoritative way and leads me off the stage to stand beside the first couple while we wait for the rest of the pairings to be made. I square off to face him, tipping my head back to offer that challenging gaze again.

  His fingers immediately close around my throat, and he squeezes—not enough to stop my breath but close. “You shouldn’t have come, tonight, blossom.” He closes his fingers more for a split second then relaxes his grip.

  “I thought coming was the point?”

  This earns me an actual grin—a wicked, feral grin. I was right—he welcomes the backtalk.

  “Nyet. You shouldn’t have come. Someone is going to crush your petals, little flower.” I find his accent sexy. He sounds like the bad guy in a spy movie, and I always fall for the bad guy.

  “Is that someone you?” I
ask, my voice coming out huskier than I expect.

  He releases my neck and looks away, like I’m not worthy of an answer or his continued attention.

  Okaaaaay. Maybe this is part of a dominant head-game thing. He’s trying to throw me off-balance. Or maybe, he really doesn’t like me.

  Except then I hear him mutter, “You’re going to get hurt.”

  I push my tits out even though he’s still looking away. “That’s what I’m here for.” If he thinks I’m afraid of pain, he’s wrong.

  I wouldn’t have put heels back on my feet tonight if I wasn’t a masochist. I wouldn’t have spent the last six weeks reading every book and blog out there on BDSM if I didn’t love the idea of a man hurting me for his pleasure.

  I’ve always known I had this streak. Sasha advised me once to give a killer blowjob if I found myself on a casting couch rather than let a director do what he wanted with me, but I doubted, if the situation arose, I’d do anything but surrender completely. Submission is part of my wiring.

  I just haven’t had the opportunity to truly offer it before tonight.

  Pavel turns back around and rakes a cold gaze over my body, top to bottom and back up again. “We’ll see how long you last,” he says.

  I cock a hip. “Do you want me to call red?”

  Another unfathomable stare.

  “No,” he says finally, but he spits the word out like it tastes bad.

  He doesn’t like me.

  That’s all right—he will. Once he finds I can take whatever he dishes out, he’ll be impressed with me.

  And that will be my fun. The way I make this for me not him. It’s a subtle distinction. It probably looks much the same from the outside, but Sasha’s pep talk really helped. Because I know my satisfaction will come from my surrender. His approval won’t be the reward, it will be the frosting on the cake.

  Chapter 3

  Pavel

  Blyat. I can’t believe I got the roommate. The perfect, wholesome, unbroken, delicate thing Sasha brought with her.

  This fucking sucks.

  I wanted a submissive I could put some effort into breaking. A woman with layered depths of torment. Damaged, like me.

  I didn’t want to be here with America’s Fucking Sweetheart.

  My lip curls in a snarl as I eye the girl. My fingerprints stand out red on her pale, delicate throat. She’s small but well-proportioned with a slim, shapely figure. Cute as a button, if you’re into that sort of thing.

  I’m not. I prefer a woman with a little meat on her bones. One who doesn’t look like I could snap her arm with no effort at all. One who doesn’t look like she’d be a frigid uptight cunt in bed.

  I stare her down as all my fantasies for the evening crumble and fall to the floor in a pile of dust.

  Humiliation was her first spin. How basic and boring is that?

  She pretends not to be nervous, directing her attention to the other couples as the pairings and activity spins take place one by one. Finally, when the last coupling is complete, someone in the audience yells, “Let’s go!”

  “You’re right,” the emcee says. “It’s time for our participants to go and start Valentine Roulette! Good luck!”

  I take Kayla—I’m not going to call her Kiki, that’s ridiculous—brusquely by the elbow and lead her to the play area where I left my duffel of goodies. I look around, considering where to bring her. Maxim and Sasha have also entered the play area to watch. Being near them is the last thing I want, but Kayla did land on humiliation. Perhaps having her friend witness her subjugation would enhance the humiliation.

  But no. I don’t want those two breathing down my neck or judging. I pictured myself here with an audience but not that way.

  Instead I weave through the main play area where I pick remote seating in the corner. The moment I sit on the sofa, I tug Kayla over my lap and start spanking hard.

  She squeezes her tight little ass cheeks together, kicking her high heels up.

  “Feet down,” I order, not stopping the spanking.

  She immediately complies. I can’t decide if that surprises me or not. She did have some mouse qualities, but I took them as more out of good breeding than personality.

  She lengthens her legs, crossing them and squeezing together like she’s turned on as she bounces and rides my lap with each resounding smack. Before she has a chance to settle into the pain and get used to her new reality, I stop and push her off my lap and onto the floor.

  “Kneel.”

  She snaps into position, kneeling at my feet with her head down, a curtain of blonde waves hiding her face.

  I decide I am surprised. I guess I didn’t expect total obedience from her. I thought she’d be more of the sulk and pout type. Messy and a pain in my ass.

  So far, she’s proven me wrong.

  I put a knuckle under her chin and lift it to examine her expression. Her face is flushed, eyes bright with unshed tears. There’s a wobble in her chin.

  “What was that for?” Her voice is breathy and wounded.

  “That was for me,” I inform her. “I don’t need a reason to spank you, blossom. You’re my submissive. If I want you over my lap getting your ass blistered, that’s where you’ll be.”

  That news seems to calm her down. The sheen in her eyes disappears, and her shoulders come down a fraction.

  Interesting.

  So, she’s a pleaser. I don’t want to like that, but I do. For the first time since we’ve been paired, my dick gets chubby.

  “Spread your knees.”

  She keeps her gaze glued to my face as she parts her thighs. It’s damn hard not to be affected. I reach down and slip a finger under the gusset of her panties. For some reason, I’m still convinced she’s frigid. That she’s the type of girl who tells her boyfriend no every night because she doesn’t want to mess up her hair. That she’s not the kind of girl you could hold down and sully with every base desire crawling through your head.

  Aw, fuck.

  She’s wet.

  Sopping wet.

  The American princess liked her spanking. Or being treated disrespectfully. She’s into humiliation and pain.

  My cock lurches against my zipper, making my pants way too tight.

  I unlace her bustier and tug it off, tossing it on the floor like it didn’t cost her at least a hundred bucks.

  A tremor runs through her, but she remains still. Her tits are not tiny, but small and perky, with nipples that angle toward the ceiling. Maybe a B cup—I don’t know. I stroke the side of one, then pinch her nipple. I give it a slap. There’s not much flesh to slap, but it still bounces, so I continue, little slaps around the side and bottom then another pinch. I give the same treatment to her other breast, watching her breath grow shorter, the rise and fall of her chest making it easy to track.

  I reach in my bag for nipple clamps. I have a pair of alligator clamps—no chains. I don’t like anything to get in the way.

  I pinch and roll her left nipple until it lengthens, then I attach the clamp. Her eyes widen, and she gasps. Her knees snap back together.

  “Put your hands on your head and open those thighs,” I snap like I’m displeased.

  Her hands fly to her head, and the knees open so wide, I think she must’ve been a gymnast.

  I slap her pussy, an act which is not as satisfying as it would be if her panties were gone. I’ll rectify that problem soon. I give it another spank. “Don’t make me tell you again,” I warn. When I slip my fingertips under her panties, I find them soaked. Her nectar’s everywhere, slick and warm.

  Her gaze is frantic, on my face, watching like her life depends on pleasing me.

  Fuck, she is pleasing. I get a heady rush of endorphins from the power she’s given me. More than I’ve had with any other partner. Way more than I get cracking skulls.

  I reward her with a quick circle around her clit, teasing the nubbin to make it swell.

  Her lips part.

  “Bad girl,” I murmur, but my voice is velvet, a
nd my caress tender for the moment. Fuck, if I don’t like her bad. Naughty and needy and so damn desperate to please.

  “I’m sorry.” Her apology is hurried. “...Master.” There’s a tentativeness to the way she tries out the title.

  I give a curt nod to confirm. “I am your master.” I remove my fingers from her panties and slap her pussy over them.

  The little ung that comes from her lips sounds longing.

  I pinch her nipple and pull it taut, then fasten the other clamp over it. She gasps in pain and her thighs jerk inward, but she catches herself and opens them back out, panting. Her eyes water a little, and she blinks rapidly.

  “Do you want a clamp on that clit, too, blossom?”

  She gives a quick shake of her head and locks her blue gaze onto mine. The headshake slows as if she’s not sure she should be saying no and is searching my face for an indication.

  “Then don’t disobey me again. You stay in the position I put you until I say you can move. Understand?”

  A quick nod.

  Fuck, she’s cute. Still not my type, but definitely growing on me.

  I reach for her wrist on top of her head and give it a slight tug. “Stand up and pull down your panties.”

  I hold her forearm to assist as she wobbles to her feet on her heels. She starts to slip out of her panties.

  “I said down, not off.”

  She freezes. Pulls them back up above her knees, arranging them and watching me for approval.

  “Exactly so,” I say when she gets them mid-thigh. “You landed on humiliation, so panties down for now although they will come all the way off soon.”

  She wobbles on her heels. I’m guessing her knees are trembling.

  “Come.” I tug her over my lap. She sucks in a breath when her clamped tits hit the couch, wincing and adjusting.

  She’s naked to the tops of her thigh-highs. Her skin is pale, no tan-lines, no tattoos. Again, perfect isn’t my thing.

  I pull a leather slapper out of my bag and smack each of her thighs with it. She gasps, jolting over my thighs.