Black Light_Roulette Redux

by Livia Grant

  “No, writing a smut column will do that to a girl!”

  “It’s not smut!” But my protestations were cut short when his mouth crashed on mine. I pushed him, only because I wanted him to push back. He swallowed my moan, consumed my breath, my heart racing in my chest. One hand traveled to the back of my head and held me like that, holding me close, as his other traveled between my legs and rubbed, friction between my thighs making me pulse with need.

  I squirmed and moaned, but he took what he wanted, plundering my mouth, pushing my knees apart with his own. He pulled his mouth off mine just long enough to whisper in my ear. “I missed this. You. Me. Us. Your snarky mouth and gorgeous ass. You beneath me like this. I want to fuck you again, Della. I want to take back what’s mine.”

  I’d have spread my legs for him at ‘I missed this’. “Fuck, yes. And, Sir?”

  “Mmm?”

  “I might be okay with you spanking me for swearing.”

  His rumble of a laugh washed over me as he lifted me bodily in his arms, stalking with long strides down the hall.

  “What happened to cleaning me up and tucking me in bed? Maybe reading me a bedtime story?” I teased. He slapped my ass, hard, the tender skin aching.

  “Oh, I’ll clean you up and tuck you in,” he muttered.

  I giggled. I liked this Brayden. The handsome, sweet, bossy boy I’d fallen in love with had grown into a man who made me shiver. I could love him again. I knew I could.

  I wasn’t sure I’d ever stopped.

  Every time I’d gone out with a man, I’d rejected them. This one wasn’t a gentleman. This one was too wishy-washy. The next was rich but didn’t know how to kiss. I’d been a foolish, foolish girl.

  My thoughts came to an abrupt halt when he brought me to his room. A huge, king-size bed with a thick mattress, decorated in blacks and browns, stood in the center of the room, the posts adorned with metal rings.

  “What are those?” I whispered.

  “You remember that whipping post at the club, Baby?”

  He grinned wickedly. I would never forget the whipping post at the club.

  I nodded.

  He tossed me down on the bed. “Lose the clothes, Della.”

  I eagerly stripped for him, tossing my clothes in the general direction of a chair that sat by his bed, and when I did, my jeans knocked into a picture frame. It skidded but stopped at the wall, and it caught my eye as we both joined each other on the bed.

  Holy shit.

  “Brayden,” I whispered. It was a picture of me, sitting at a picnic table at a rest stop we’d visited on our way to Boston. I was looking out at the trees, the wind blowing my hair. “You kept that picture.”

  “Kept all of them, Della.” He knelt on the bed next to me and helped me with my bra, unsnapping it, then tossing it aside. I lifted my face to his. I needed to taste him. Wrapping my arms around his broad shoulders, I pulled his head down to me and kissed him with passion, with heat, with forgiveness, intimacy reunited in the power of our kiss. He moaned into my mouth as we continued to kiss, then pushed my panties down over my hips until I was bared to him.

  He released my mouth and his eyes blazed into mine. He nimbly pulled his t-shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor, revealing his broad shoulders, hardened abs, the planes of his stomach dipping low where his jeans still hugged his hips.

  “Wow,” I breathed, unabashedly worshipping his beautiful body. Spurred on by the drink and the memory of what we’d done at the club, determined to not let my control-freak tendencies get the best of me, I said exactly what was on my mind. “Brayden, you’re gorgeous. So fucking hot. I could kick my own ass for not…” Heat flamed my cheeks. I hadn’t meant to be that free with my words.

  “Della?” Stripped down now, he knelt on the bed.

  “Yeah?” I croaked. He laid me down and grasped my wrists, pulling my arms up over my head. His breath washed over my naked skin and I shivered, the powerless feeling of being pinned under him making me squirm. “I mean,” my voice shook. I swallowed hard. “Yes, Sir?”

  “You’re fucking beautiful,” he breathed, leaning in to kiss me, but this was no ordinary kiss. He started off gentle, then the next thing I knew, he had my lip pinned between his teeth, his soft breath on me as I moaned and bucked beneath him. My pussy was molten, my thighs soaked, I needed to climax again.

  He released my lip long enough to graze his teeth along my collar bone, and when he sank his mouth into the tender spot just above my breasts, I swore, then bucked with desire, the tingle of pain quickly fading and making my body teem with electricity. He took my nipple between his teeth and bit down. I squealed, but I could take it. I wanted to take it, hurt and helpless and turned way the fuck on.

  He brought my wrists down by my sides and pinned them there. “Do not move,” he growled. “You let me fucking worship the body that was meant to be mine. I punished you for leaving me, Della. You paid what you owed me.” So that’s what that was. “Now I need to make amends.” His tongue laved my tender nipple once, twice, then he tugged the hardened bud into his mouth. My pelvis jerked but I did not move my hands. He moved lower still, hovering over my pussy, and inhaled deeply, like a drowning man coming up for breath.

  “Jesus Fucking Christ,” he swore. “I missed this.” He breathed me in and parted my legs, bringing his mouth to my mound, kissing me with a deep, possessive graze of his mouth. I whimpered beneath him as he took my ass in his hands, the burn reignited under his calloused fingers, and he brought my pussy to his mouth. Slowly, lazily, his eyes on me, he rumbled, his breath traveling over my body. “You can bring those wrists up and grab me if you need to hold onto something. And when you’re ready to climax, you beg.”

  Yes, fuck yes, all the yesses.

  I nodded, glad he didn’t ask me to speak for I was sure my words would be incoherent. Then he fucked me with his tongue.

  My mind erased, my body possessed by him, my hips bucking as he plunged his tongue between my legs, hungrily lapping at my core before he pulled my nub into his mouth. I lost my mind; my head tipped to the side. I’d never felt anything like this before. One hand let go of my ass and the other squeezed, the fingers of his freed hand plunging into my core, pumping hard. He groaned. “Fucking soaked my hand. Christ, you’re so responsive. I could fuck you all night and day and not grow tired of it.” His breath made me need him even more, the gentle caress along my skin amping my need.

  He flicked his tongue and lapped, then plunged his fingers between my legs again, pumping with vigor, gauging my reaction, stroking along my G-spot. Holy hell, no man had ever done that to me before. He plundered my body as if he could read my mind, commanding it to obey him to climax. My hips rose, my breath halted, my body tensed when I remembered his admonition.

  “Sir!” I begged, pleading, my voice sounding foreign. “Let me come. Please, Sir!”

  He took his mouth off me just long enough for a deep, guttural, “Come, baby.”

  I exploded, lights blinding my vision as my senses overcame me, unable to do anything but feel, drowning in waves of ecstasy. A second climax built on the first, and I was on the verge of climaxing harder when he let me go, pulled his mouth off my pussy, and straddled me.

  “On your knees,” he growled in my ear, giving my ass a sharp smack. I scrambled to obey, arching my back and falling to my knees in front of him. From the corner of my eye, I watched him shoving his boxers down, sliding a condom on before spreading my legs. He grabbed my wrists once more and pinned them to my sides, commanding my body to obey, one rough knee dragging my legs apart before the hard tip of his swollen cock explored my folds. “Keep those hands there. Gonna fuck that pussy,” he growled in my ear, my wrists held by my sides, his mouth at my neck. He bit, and as my pelvis jerked from the feel of it, he took me, impaling me with a savage, delicious thrust of his cock.

  “Yeah, baby. Give me that sweet pussy, Della. Give it all to me.”

  I climaxed with the fourth thrust of his cock filling me
, pushing me, my pussy throbbing. I’d never been taken like this before. He slapped my ass, hard, then one more shove and he was toppling over the edge himself, grunting in my ear like a savage, and I fucking loved it, the wild, uncontrolled, animalistic fucking I craved.

  We rolled over onto the bed, and he pulled out of me, making me mewl a little. I liked his cock in me.

  “Here, baby,” he whispered. “Come here.” I dropped my head to his chest. “You never let us cuddle after sex,” he said. “Always had to get cleaned up. You get up now, and I’ll whip your ass.”

  I laid against his bare chest, the prickly hairs pecking at my cheek.

  “Jesus, Della. I still love you. You know that? We’ve got years to catch up on, but I’m game, baby. I’m game.”

  “Me, too,” I whispered. I closed my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Brayden.”

  “No more apologizing, baby. You’ve apologized. I have. I forgave you and now I don’t want to hear I’m sorry again. Do you believe me when I say it’s behind us?”

  “It seems too simple,” I whispered.

  “Sometimes things become unnecessarily complicated,” he said, entwining my fingers with his as he held me. “I want to keep things simple between us. Raw. Honest. You’re the same beautiful, loving, brilliant girl I married. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it when I make love to you. We’ve grown, you and I. But let’s give this another shot.”

  I grinned up at him. “Yes, Sir.”

  He grinned back and kissed my forehead.

  One Year Later

  I sat at my computer and read the article I’d just written, about finding true love and making it last.

  And sometimes, I wrote, love is more about giving and less about expectations. About two people meeting each other where they are, willing to bend a little, willing to make it work. Sweet lovemaking can be the door that opens, the tie that binds, the glue that holds a couple together. For there is nothing that makes us more vulnerable, nothing that requires such give and take, as the simplest, most basic expression of love.

  Readers of this column will be happy to know that this writer has found her dreams, and made them come true, and on that note, there will be no column next week or the week after, as I take a much-needed honeymoon. I will return, hopefully with much inspiration and enthusiasm, as my new husband fancies himself the man behind the column. Chase your dreams, readers, and remember, love is just around the corner.

  I hit send on the article to my editor, and shut my computer.

  “No computer,” Brayden had ordered. “Phones will be used for emergencies only. Just you, me, and a white sandy beach with the ocean as far as the eye can see.”

  “Might raise a few eyebrows, taking that bag of toys through customs,” I’d muttered, gesturing to the velvet bag of toys packed with his silks, a leather strap, a bullet dildo he loved to torture me with, and a whole arsenal of delicious, pain-inducing, orgasm-inducing sex toys.

  “They’re packed in my carry-on. You never know what I might need at the airport. And I still have these.” He twirled his hands in front of him. “And this.” He tapped the leather belt at his waist. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  “Abso-fucking-lutely.”

  His lips quirked. “About that mouth of yours…”

  “You wouldn’t fucking dare!”

  He shook his head. “So prim and proper, and swears like a goddamned sailor.”

  “Takes one to know one.”

  “Your mouth,” he repeated, pointing to his lips. “Here.” I grinned and pounced on him, sitting on his lap and tipping my head to the side. He loved me just the way I was and we’d make our way. We’d left behind the people we once were, and embraced the ones we were to become.

  The End

  About the Author

  Jane is a USA Today bestselling romance author writing in multiple genres, including contemporary, historical, sci-fi, and fantasy. She pens stern but loving alpha heroes, feisty heroines, and emotion-driven happily-ever-afters. Jane is a hopeless romantic with a houseful of children, and is married to her very own Prince Charming. She loves the ocean, chocolate, coffee, and sexy romance.

  Connect with Jane:

  http://janehenryromance.com

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  Roulette Redux Conclusion

  Jennifer Bene & Livia Grant

  Event Conclusion

  Unfortunately… the night has to end, but keep reading to find out what happens when Roulette Redux is over!

  Standing in the middle of Black Light, Spencer watched the staff already beginning the clean-up process. There were still a few straggler couples making their way to the exit, but it was only fifteen minutes after the official close of the party — he wouldn’t start dragging doms out by their shirt collars for another ten minutes at least.

  “Hey, boss. We’re going to need more bleach wipes after tonight.” Terry was carrying a collapsible wooden pony under one arm, not even breaking a sweat.

  “I’ll make a note of it,” Spencer replied, glancing towards the door to glare at the lingering guests. He was glad they’d come, glad they’d spent their money and enjoyed themselves, but now he wanted them to go the fuck home. Mostly so that he could go home and fuck his sub. Klara had been running the bar with those bright red lips and that bossy attitude all night, and his fingers were practically itching to get her back in their bed.

  “Want me to nudge them along?” Terry asked, chuckling.

  “Might be a good idea to suggest they take their conversation outside. Tell Daniel I need him to come see me.”

  “Sure thing, boss.” With a quick adjustment of the wooden pony in his grip, Terry marched over to the couples still laughing and chatting just outside the door to the security room. He felt a smirk tick up the edge of his mouth as the couples scattered and rushed out the door. The DM was basically a big teddy bear, one of the nicest guys on staff, but he was a big motherfucker and would absolutely throw someone out on their ass if they so much as put a toe over the line of consent. It was why he was on staff, and why Spencer was sure to pay him enough that he didn’t do nearly as much work at Overtime anymore.

  A minute after Terry followed the couples into the security room, Danny exited and looked around. Raising his hand, Spencer beckoned him over, feeling the exhaustion of dealing with all of the drama that night hit him like a train — but he still had a lot more to handle before the night was over.

  “What’s up?” Danny asked as he stopped in front of him and tucked his thumbs into his front pockets.

  “I need you to tell me what happened with Charlie and Hannah, and whoever that was with her tonight. They caused quite a scene.”

  Danny sighed, running a hand over the back of his neck. “Yeah, that was a mess. I’m just glad Silas and Muscles came over before the idiot decided to throw a punch.” He shrugged. “Charlie admitted he’d had a few drinks at a bar and then got the reminder for Roulette on his phone… so he came here to try and win Hannah back.”

  “And shouting at her like a crazed lunatic was his grand romantic gesture?” Spencer let the words come out in a droll tone, almost smiling when Danny rolled his eyes.

  “I didn’t say the guy was smart, just in love, but I think Hannah made it pretty clear she’s done with him. Muscles and I had to keep her from tearing his head off, and when we made her back down she just made out with John.” Danny chuckled. “Honestly though, it wasn’t a bad sight. That dress Hannah was in was…” He let out a low whistle, and Spencer finally cracked a smile.

  “Right. I saw her. But there was no violence, right? Nobody actually threw a punch?”

  “Nah. We kept her off him. She’s feisty as hell. I hope John knows what he’s getting himself into. He’s a nice guy, and that girl is a whole lot of red-headed crazy.”

  “You still filled out an incident report, right? Just in case Charlie decides to pursue Hannah a little harder?”

  “Of course.”

  “
Good,” he answered, nodding. Spencer didn’t think Charlie would actually hurt Hannah, but love made people do stupid shit, and he wanted it on record if the idiot went any further. “Make sure he knows that this is his only warning. If he threatens a member, or acts like that toward any submissive ever again, we’ll revoke his membership.”

  “I’ll make sure he knows,” Danny said with a more serious tone. “Anyway, I should get back to relieve Terry and see if there’s anyone who didn’t collect their things from their lockers.”

  “Wait a minute.” Spencer demanded, catching Jaxson’s eye as the man walked across the club, laughing with an arm around Chase and Emma. When he tilted his head, the man looked more than a little irritated to be interrupted on his journey towards the VIP elevator back to their private floor, but Spencer really didn’t give a shit. Things needed to be handled so he could get home too.

  “What?” Jaxson asked after he’d walked over, short and abrupt.

  “We need to discuss the Ethen incident.” Spencer shook his head when both Jaxson and Danny let out a groan. “Decisions have to be made tonight, because I’m not waiting for someone to show up at Runway serving us papers when Ethen files a lawsuit, and you know he will, Jaxson.”

  “I do.” Growling low, Jaxson glanced back to Chase and Emma with a resigned look in his eyes. Then he took a deep breath and nodded. “First and foremost, Ethen is banned for life. Sneaking a cell phone in here is bad enough, but to use it to record a submissive for what could have only been despicable reasons is beyond unacceptable. He’s going to make for a good example on how we handle people who put our security at risk.”

  “Good,” Spencer nodded, satisfied that Jaxson wasn’t thinking of backing down just because Ethen was a shark of a fucking lawyer. Turning to Danny, he felt a frisson of anger that he tried his best to tamp down. “You have an explanation for how that asshole got a cellphone inside anyway?”