by Livia Grant
Everyone had heard Adele bawling from Spencer’s office when he’d called her in at the start of her last shift. Unlike Klara’s silent departure, Adele had made a scene. Jaxson was not having another one. “I read your closing report about the incident. After speaking with Miss Younge, you’d confirmed Adele almost served her an allergen. You cannot imagine her inclusion would inspire our patrons’ faith that we put their safety first. Your disagreement is noted, but Klara stays. As you said, the reason for her termination was a personality issue, not a competency one. And, Spencer, you don’t have to interact with Klara Eriksson. She’s going to be playing with somebody else. Chad, Owen, Garreth, or Terrance can monitor her progress through the scenes.” Jaxson’s eyes left his friend’s angry face, going right back to the paperwork they all needed to go over. “Now, on to page seven.”
Spencer had been looking forward to Black Light’s Roulette party... until now. Jaxson was pulling something. He knew his friend well enough to see that plain as day. When he’d tried to corner Black Light’s owners after the final pre-event meeting, he’d been brushed off so Jaxson might have some alone time with Chase and Emma before the big event.
He was stuck with this mess.
The party had begun. The sheet with Klara’s details and hard limits was in his hand, paper distorted from his tight grip.
Safeword: Spencer. Oh, he’d get her to say his name.
Her listed hard limits—fisting, needle play, blood play—were not that surprising. What was surprising was her fourth hard limit, anal. She’d struck him as someone who would have enjoyed it. And with that thought came an image he could not shake: the Swedish siren strapped down, ass up, a ball gag in her mouth while being mercilessly fucked in the ass.
Sweat was gathering near the salt and pepper hair at his temples. Fuck, he was even growing hard.
Wool slacks were not going to hide his arousal, and this was one time, he could not make his cock just lay down out of sheer willpower. Covertly adjusting himself, Spencer was glad no attention was on him. Everyone else was too busy mingling, gathering around the stage, and sipping the fancy champagne Klara had finagled out of Jamal.
His irritation with the situation was only eclipsed by his frustration when a woman dressed in fiery red stepped into the room. For all intents and purposes, the cocktail dress was cut demurely at both breast and thigh. It was in the way it wrapped her curves that screamed fuck me.
Why did she have to wear red?
Why did she have to be beautiful?
With her blonde hair caught up into a French twist, she looked polished. Just like the first time they’d met, her makeup was minimal and her lips were a soft shade of pink. Her dom would have no crimson gloss to smear around her mouth. She would not leave a mark on him either.
Pink lips... innocent.
She was anything but.
Despite the crowd, Klara found the man in the dark grey suit, the man wearing a tie as red as her dress. If she’d held any trace of hesitation, it vanished the instant their eyes met.
Klara crossed the room in a beeline for him, almost tall enough in her heels to equal his height.
When she was close enough for Spencer to hear her, she said. “Jamal is gay, flamboyantly gay, so no, I’m not sleeping with him. I wasn’t hitting on your business contact. That would be unprofessional. I was negotiating with a friend.”
Several people glanced towards her outburst.
“Come with me.” This was not to be a conversation for public consumption. Spencer dared touch her for the first time since they’d met. His hand resting on her lower back, he hurriedly led her through the throng, past the bar, and into the privacy of his office.
Once the door was closed, the two of them alone, he threw professionalism out the window. Backing her against the wall, he growled, “Explain yourself.”
Boxed in by bulging arms, Spencer’s fingers drumming against the wall with impatience, Klara refused to back down. “I need this job.”
He had not been expecting that—just like he had not been expecting Jaxson to be party to her mischief. Eyes on her mouth, Spencer breathed hard, and said nothing.
Misreading his silence, Klara blurted again. “I need this job. You think I can’t fit in here, you make assumptions. But, if I win tonight, I’ll get a free month’s membership... which means I will come back here every day until you hear me out. And, if I win, you’ll have to admit that I am...”
He cut her off, hissing, “That you’re what?”
Klara wasn’t sure exactly what he needed to hear. “That I can be valuable. That I’m not afraid or disgusted by the floor show just because I keep my work and private life compartmentalized. Besides, I think we both know you’ll enjoy watching me get smacked around.”
More than he’d ever admit aloud. “My job is to keep things safe, sane, and consensual.”
Klara spoke of the doms gathered around the club’s stage and argued. “I am giving consent. One of those guys out there is going to fuck me. I don’t even care which one it is.”
“That’s not the only thing they are going to do to you.” Spencer could not help but imagine a multitude of scenarios, each one tightening the knots in his stomach until his sack began to ache. “You won’t make it through one scene, Klara. You’re not a submissive. Whoever spins your name will be disappointed.”
There it was again, that flash of hurt he’d inspired so many times in the last six weeks. “You don’t know me, Spencer. You’ve never even taken the time to talk to me. You never gave me a fair shot. All you have ever done is undermine my hard work and boss me around.”
His palms had been flush to the wall beside her face, but they’d begun to inch towards Klara’s neck. “I am your boss.”
“You were my boss. Tonight I’m your guest, and if I remember the policy correctly, the first drink for newbies is on the house. I’ll take a vodka. When I win, I’ll have a glass of champagne. You can put that on your tab too.”
His fingertips diverted to her shoulders, large hands curling around as if he wished to grab her and give her a good shake. He squeezed, and in unison his thumbs stretched to trace the line of her throat from the underside of Klara’s earlobe all the way to her clavicle.
The look on her face changed, bumps on her skin rose. Before she might stop herself she shivered.
There was only a hairsbreadth between them. All Spencer would have to do to close that space was ease forward, and then she’d be trapped between his hard body and the wall. And she’d be soft in the right places, and warm...
He was so fucking tempted that he swallowed, exhaled, and had to force himself to step back.
There was a slight flush in her cheeks, a dilation to her pupils; Spencer saw it and hated himself for it.
“I’ll take that vodka now.” Klara had grown flustered, her hand absently reaching for the doorknob. “Maybe you could use one too.”
Hoarse, Spencer muttered, “I drink scotch.”
With that, Klara chuckled, threw her shoulders back, and walked out.
Klara was not there to enjoy the pageantry. Chase was a nice enough guy. The few times they’d chatted, he’d entertained her as much as she’d entertained him, but Klara hardly heard a word of his greeting to the gathered guests or his speech outlining the rules of the events. She already knew them by heart. She even recognized many of the subs. Several she had served, joked with at the bar, comforted when they were down. A familiar petite brunette had welcomed her up to the stage, as if she was one of them, but Klara had been unable to do more than smile back, offer a stiff hello, and get back to the job at hand—winning.
She had her eyes on the prize, and it did not involve making flirty glances at the waiting doms or enveloping her body in shyness and nerves like many of the other subs who’d volunteered for the festivities.
This party was really for them.
Klara was the intruder, and she was fairly certain it was stamped on her forehead. Or it could be because Spencer had come u
p behind her. And though she had not glanced over her shoulder to acknowledge him, she was certain his arms were crossed over his chest, and that he was projecting his normal don’t-fuck-with-me vibe.
To think the doms hadn’t noticed would be stupid.
Spencer was a big guy, it was impossible to miss him in a room, larger still standing behind a line of women. It should not have bothered her, after all, every other Dungeon Monitor was on or near the stage, but his placement was off-putting.
And she knew he was doing it on purpose.
Chase was charming, the audience, the participants, all cheering and laughing when they should. The first dom was asked to approach the wheel and spin. He was partnered to a tall woman who projected an aura of strength as she crossed the stage to go to him. As expected, she spun for her scene, all of it only half absorbed by Klara.
The tingle scratching up her spine from Spencer’s nearness was distracting, uncomfortable, and by god, Klara just wanted to spin on her heels and tell him to back off. On it went, minutes dragging by while sub after sub was selected, Klara one of the remaining few. Spencer had not budged an inch, though the gathering of submissives was growing sparse.
“Klara!”
Her name had been called. Hearing it snapped her out of impending trouble. Just like that, she was once again a contender.
The dom who had spun her waited, watching as if he’d already known which one she was in the lineup.
He was certainly something to look at.
Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Klara liked a man in a suit—one with style, clean cut, broad shouldered, and stern. His skin was a deep shade of black, his shirt hinting at lavender and contrasting well with the intense plum of his tie. When her eyes landed on the rich brown of his, the whole night looked a lot better.
There was a murmur at her back before her heel could hit the step. “He’s a hardcore sadist, Klara. He’s going to hurt you.”
She felt a devious little grin, and offered her own low spoken whisper in exchange. “Maybe I’ll like it.”
Spencer’s voice dropped, introspective and unhappy. “Maybe you will.”
Will Coleman had spun her. Will Coleman held her card with her four chosen hard limits in his hand. Will Coleman was waiting, silently, for her to approach and belong to him as Chase stated the dom’s rather tame hard limits: oral, pet play, latex, and anal.
It was so much easier to do than Klara had expected. She even accepted the ball to spin her first scene with a smile. Focusing on the wheel as he spun it, she released the little marble to clatter and jump slot to slot.
It landed, Chase announcing, “Whipping!”
Klara had no strong feeling one way or the other, though she did cut Spencer a snarky glance.
“Good evening, Klara.” Her name flowed like honey, Will’s deep timbre slow, controlled, and enhancing every syllable. He’d spoken the moment her spin ordained their first scene to be whipping. In fact, he’d done more than speak. The heat of his palm had gone to her stomach, pushing Klara to take an awkward step backward. “We will wait for the stage to clear before we begin.”
She took another step, tempted to look behind her, not confident in heels, nervous he was going to push her too far and she would fall right off. He must have seen the internal conflict, felt the muscles of her stomach tighten, yet did not waver in pushing her all the way to the edge.
She let Will do it because Spencer was glowering at her, and she’d be damned if she was going to disappoint her dom in the first five minutes.
Will pinched the fabric under his hand to halt her backward progress. “Step down. One at a time. There are five steps total.”
Sliding her toe back, she found the lip of the stage and hoped to God he was not going to let her topple if she missed. The step was there, just as Will had said it would be, and then another, and another, until her feet were on carpet and there was no more stage to worry over.
She’d been absorbed in paying attention to his non-verbal commands, absorbed in meeting his eyes, and scrutinizing the minutia of his expression just as she would any guest she was feeling out.
“Do you always look at men this way?”
Hearing him speak again, seeing that he had not altered his expression no matter her obedience, was almost startling. “What way?”
“Klara Eriksson, you will address me as Sir.”
Of course, there were rules to these exchanges. Klara obeyed. “What way, Sir?”
He did not answer her, and Klara suspected that Will Coleman considered ambiguousness would make her analyze her actions far more than if the dom had spelled out his observations. He wanted her to think, and that seemed strange considering the point of Roulette was for her to do as she was told.
“Sir, I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
The man crooned, a hint of a smirk on his full-lipped mouth. “Noted.”
“I have to win tonight.”
“Did you expect that you’d bat your pretty eyelashes and I’d go easy on you?” Every word had been said so gently it was threatening.
And just like that, Klara was nervous again. “No.”
“Princess, you are in for a surprise.”
Being referred to as princess made Klara cringe. She’d heard it all from behind the bar: slave, pet, bitch, cunt, any of those designations would have fit the scenario. Princess? She’d never been anyone’s fucking princess. No, in order to get by, she’d always been the dragon.
He knew she wouldn’t like it, just as Will knew reaching up to take the pins from her hair, pulling apart her effort to appear stylish, controlled, would be met with another look of poorly veiled distrust.
Klara had spent over an hour on her hair, she’d borrowed the red dress, worn her only nice pair of shoes; she’d even bought new lingerie. Everything had been selected for a purpose, and only with her hair falling loose did it strike her that, inevitably, of course it was going to be removed.
The statement had really been for Spencer anyway. He’d seen it, so it shouldn’t matter that Will’s hands were combing through her hair, that it would be kinked where the pins had mashed the stray bits down. But, it was still an awkward sensation.
“I want you on your knees now.”
Will remained standing even though a comfortable leather chair was behind him. Were she to kneel, she’d have to crane her neck back to meet his stare. These were the first thoughts to go through her head, as was a witty reply to tease him into doing what suited her better.
That’s not how subs were supposed to behave, so she bit down on her tongue and did as she was told.
They’d only just begun and already Klara could see that Spencer was right. She wasn’t submissive, inadvertently wasn’t doing it right, and Will could have noticed.
Insecurity had never been Klara’s weakness, but it was rearing its ugly head once carpet dug into her knees and her heels were awkwardly tucked under her rump.
“Now, you will tell me, Princess, why Spencer Cook was speaking to you by the stairs.”
Klara didn’t hesitate, she told the truth. “He dislikes me, Sir, and would like to see me fail tonight.”
“Why?”
And that was not a question Klara could easily answer. She didn’t know exactly why Spencer disliked her, she could only guess. “I’m not entirely sure.”
At last Will settled his body into the leather chair. Chin in his hand, regarding her posture, expression, and tone, he asked. “What did he say?”
“That you were going to hurt me, Sir.”
The man offered a single chuckle, a spark of amusement glittering in his dark eyes. “The role of a dominant is to give his submissive what she needs, and in doing so fulfill his own desires. It is not a selfish exchange. But for some reason, I feel you are being very selfish right now, Princess.”
Unsure what he meant, Klara thought to make her position clear. “I’m going to do whatever you want.”
“...Sir.” His warning was offered in a smooth tim
bre. “I will not verbally correct you again.”
“I’m going to do whatever you want, Sir.”
“Crawl closer to me.” He watched her slide cat-like over the carpet, her long legs and toned arms sleek. “Place your hands on my knees, and stroke upward towards my cock.”
The use of coarse language didn’t faze her in the slightest. Doing as she was told, Klara found her body between his spread thighs, her hands slipping up the fine wool of his trousers. Under the fabric he was hard, his flesh muscular and athletic.
When her painted nails neared their destination, Will struck out for her wrists and had her in a grip of iron. “That’s enough, Princess.”
Unsure why he was restraining her, Klara tore her attention from his lap and met his eyes. His hold was too tight, it hurt, but she was distracted from the discomfort when he issued her next order. “You’re going to unzip my slacks with your teeth, reach in for my cock, and lick it from base to tip.”
A lightbulb clicked, Klara refusing. “But, Sir, oral sex is on your hard-limit list.”
Which was exactly his point. She was not going to do everything he wanted. That would break the rules. “So you were paying attention on stage after all.”
“Sir, your hard limits were oral, pet play, latex, and anal... which is also on my list.” And Klara could not help but think it was a pity she had not picked something like watersports instead. The fact that they shared a hard limit only knocked seven things off the board. Also, what man in his right mind didn’t like a blow job?
From the way his cock tented his trousers and twitched each time she’d looked at it, she was certain he would have enjoyed her lips wrapped around whatever was hidden behind his zipper.
And then it hit her. She smirked, feeling crafty as she teased, “You are playing a deeper game than I am.”
Reaching behind her head to begin gathering her hair in his fist, Will pulled, arching her throat, and bringing a sting to her scalp. “Are we playing a game?”
She was bowed back, Will barely visible over the apples of her cheeks. For some reason, his rough handling was not exactly unwelcome. Klara was even smirking. “You would prefer steering the wheel to more extreme play.”