Black Light: Rocked (Black Light Series Book 1)

by Livia Grant

  Did I force her?

  He collapsed into the desk chair, putting his head in his hands, trying to make sense of it all. Only when he had it worked out in his head did he look up at his friend.

  “You’re right. I do need your help. I need to talk to Spencer.”

  “I won’t do it. He’s fucking drunk.” The dungeon master cackled.

  “Yes, and thank fuck for that.” Jonah interjected.

  Jaxson reasoned, “That doesn’t matter. He’s not a sub.”

  His old teacher and the Master of Black Light, Spencer Cook, looked at him with disgust. “Don’t I know it. I spent weeks mentoring him to be a responsible Dom and if what you’re telling me is true, he didn’t learn a damn thing.”

  Jonah wanted to defend himself, but he bit his tongue instead.

  Jaxson rebutted, “I understand your disappointment. It can’t come close to mine, but it’s either this or the cops. He isn’t walking away without consequences. He needs to have some sense knocked into him and… well… I’d like to handle this privately if possible.”

  Jonah was close enough to the mini-bar that he reached for the bottle of vodka. He hadn’t had nearly enough yet. He could still see the tears of disappointment on Sami’s face as he’d fucked her.

  Master Spencer’s hand clamped down on his, stopping him. “No more painkillers, Carter. You’re gonna feel every stroke if I do this.”

  Jonah knew he should be afraid, but he felt dead inside instead. Like something or someone he loved had died. His first thought was of Samantha herself, but realized that perhaps she’d been right. Maybe it had been the last piece of Jonah that died tonight. Only Cash was left.

  For the last few years, Jonah had counted the two alpha men in the room among his inner circle of friends, at least they had been up until tonight. He felt like shit that he’d disappointed them, too.

  His friends silently got up and moved towards the door. They stopped in front of the elevator in the foyer, turning back, each pinning him with a disappointed glare. He wouldn’t have said their approval was so important to him, but in that minute, regret consumed him. He’d fucked up two of his too-few friendships tonight.

  Three if he counted Samantha.

  He pushed to his feet, feeling stiff. He risked further censor by reaching for the already poured shot glass and downing the burning liquid, letting it scorch his throat and stomach from the inside before trailing behind them to the elevator he’d take to his doom.

  The ride three floors down was awkwardly silent. Spencer exited first and motioned for Jonah to follow with Jaxson bringing up the rear.

  The backstage space was empty with limited lighting, but he could hear the still partying crowd not far away on the main floor of Runway. It was ironic that not too long ago he’d been in front of that same crowd, enjoying entertaining, not knowing that his life was literally about to be turned upside down by a chain reaction of events no one could have predicted.

  The hallway narrowed before they stopped in front of a curtain. The men went through a doorway to the left and found themselves in a small supply closet type space. Before Jonah could ask what the hell was going on, Spencer stepped forward, grabbing the handle of an upright mop in the corner. He pulled it towards him and Jonah could hear the click of a mechanism just before Spencer pushed the handle away from them. A popping noise filled the space at the same time the edges of a secret door came into view.

  The space was now glowing in a pale purple hue. The glimmer grew as they pushed through the door to find a flight of stairs leading down, lit with the same recessed neon lighting. Jonah felt his dread growing with each step he took deeper into the bowels of the building.

  How ironic that he’d been looking forward to playing at D.C.’s newest and most exclusive of BDSM clubs. His friend Jaxson had called him months ago to invite him to not only become a member, but be their entertainment at the grand opening of Runway upstairs. Now, each step he took into the coveted club came with apprehension instead.

  As they hit the bottom landing, there was yet another door, this one opening into a large room with a rather low ceiling, adding to the basement ambience. The entire wall to the left was filled from floor to ceiling with small numbered lockers while the wall to the right sported several signs telling patrons to leave all forms of electronics—cell phones, cameras, recording devices—in their assigned locker. The signs surrounded a window that was greyed out with tinted glass making it difficult to see if anyone was on the other side.

  The main attraction of the room, however, was a security guard setup in the center of the room sitting behind a tall desk type counter where a black light lamp was setup. Jonah watched Spencer and Jaxson step up to the light and flash their wrist under the beam. Their tattoos lit up as a scanner registered their membership ID.

  Jaxson greeted his employee. “How are things going so far, Danny?”

  “So far so good. A bit slow, but I’m hoping things will pick up now that the show is over,” Danny answered.

  When it was his turn, Jonah stepped up, placing his own distinctive tattoo under the scanner until he heard a locker to his left unlatch.

  “Please put all electronics in your assigned locker, Mr. Carter.” Of course the guard recognized him. He’d hoped for a bit of anonymity at Black Light, but knew he’d have to settle on their extreme non-disclosure contract keeping his proclivities from making it into the mainstream media.

  Everyone else who comes here has as much to lose by being outed as I do.

  The club was thankfully not very full once the final door opened to allow him entry. Jonah had been in many BDSM clubs over the last several years as he’d traveled across the country. Most were little more than an open space that could be used for small get-togethers of like-minded individuals.

  The better clubs had decent BDSM equipment for couples in the lifestyle who couldn’t afford to dedicate a part of their home to their sexual fetish of choice where they could come to play. He’d learned the hard way that no matter what those clubs had as privacy clauses in their contracts, when you’re a celebrity, it’s close to impossible to maintain any privacy when socializing or playing in a normal club. He had been the subject of more than a few tabloid stories to prove it.

  It was why he was thrilled his A-list friends, Jax and Chase, decided to open Black Light. And D.C. was the perfect place for the club. As he looked around the space as he followed Spencer down the few steps to the main floor, he relaxed just a bit. The pressure of always being on display for the public was beginning to take its toll. It was the price of success. The price of fame. Before he’d achieved it, it never dawned on him that he might one day miss his anonymity.

  As they weaved slowly through the different scenes in progress, Jonah started to look at the club through different eyes, and it made him uncomfortable. What would Samantha think of the submissive currently wrapped completely in latex, strapped to the gurney with only two small holes for her nostrils to receive precious air? Her Dom was walking around the table she was held captive on, using his flogger to light up every inch of her body. It wouldn’t hurt much through the thick latex covering, but it was still pretty serious play considering the possible breath depravation while unable to move or speak a safeword. The Dom watched intently to ensure his submissive came to no real harm.

  The deeper they got into the room, the more hard-core the scenes became. Blood play… hot candle wax… severe rope suspension where the submissive was writhing in agony. All edgy. All consensual. All kinky as fuck.

  And every one of them would freak out an innocent Samantha.

  Up ahead, he saw their destination. Fucking great. The St. Andrew’s Cross was elevated on one of the half-dozen platforms in the space that served as locations for voyeurs to gather around to witness the punishment of the day. As a sadist, Jonah usually got a thrill right before directing a scene, particularly one where a submissive would be restrained and on display while he delivered the pain that would ultimately br
ing them pleasure.

  But today was going to be different. He was no masochist and tonight was not about pleasure. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to relive the moment when he’d taken Samantha’s virginity. The minute that she’d begged him to stop and he’d ignored her—ramming into her for his own revenge. His own sexual gratification. Fuck, his own uncontrollable urges.

  He was a terrible Dom. Despite how hard Spencer had trained him, it was clear he sucked at it, because regardless if she was a submissive or not, a good Dom would have stopped upstairs. Would have protected her, not just today, but everyday. He tried to remind himself that she wasn’t a complete innocent in this. She’d spent years siding with her father and then had come here out of the blue and fucked with his mojo. She should have stayed away.

  They were just about to the raised platform when he saw Ryan barreling towards him, a near topless sub trailing behind. He saw the fire in his friend’s eyes and knew before River opened his mouth, he wasn’t going to like what was coming.

  “I’m glad to see you came to your senses and lost the daddy’s girl. I hope you told her to fuck off,” Ryan slurred.

  Jaxson was nearby and stepped between them. “You need to head back to the hotel now, River.”

  “Screw that! We just got here. We haven’t even started playing yet.” He pulled his date closer as he teetered a bit.

  Even in his precarious state, Jonah could tell River had had way too much to drink to be SSC - safe, sane and consensual. Jaxson leaned in and tried to handle the situation confidentially, “You signed the contract. You know we have a max drink limit of two over a six-hour period. The rule is a non-negotiable. Go back to your hotel and sleep it off. Come back tomorrow.”

  “I’m flying to New York tomorrow.”

  “Then you fucked up, didn’t you?” Jaxson wasn’t backing down.

  Jonah was just relieved they weren’t talking about him.

  Spencer had been wiping down the heavy cross that formed an X before turning to him and asking him one last time for his consent.

  “You’re sure about this?”

  He could say no. He didn’t think Jaxson would call the cops on him, but in that moment, he considered going to them on his own. He was pretty sure he deserved it. Instead, he answered, “I’m sure.”

  “Okay, then. You know the drill.” Spencer was all business with his former pupil.

  As Jonah moved towards the platform, it became evident to his friend River what was about to happen. He elected to make a scene.

  “What’s going on here, man?” When Jonah ignored him, he pressed in closer. “What happened upstairs?” There was a manic urgency in his voice.

  Of all the people on the planet, Ryan just might be the only one who actually did deserve the truth. He’d been there through it all—the good, the bad and the utterly horrific.

  He kept pressing, “Tell me you sent her packing. She doesn’t deserve to lick your boots.” His friends hands were squeezing his forearm, trying to get through to him.

  Jonah answered truthfully. “She’s gone, yes.”

  “But? What aren’t you telling me? Did you give her what she deserved?”

  Had he? At the time, he’d sure as hell thought she’d deserved what he gave her and more. After seeing the disappointment in her eyes as he hurt her—well he wasn’t so sure.

  “I can’t talk about this now, River,” he asserted.

  It was Jaxson who tried to pull River away and send him on his merry way. River was having none of it. He turned on Jaxson to defend Jonah, “I don’t know what the hell you and Cook here are planning to do, but trust me, no matter what happened to Sam upstairs, she deserved worse.”

  “Ryan, let it go, man,” Jonah tried to appease him.

  His friend turned on him, “Hell no, I’m not gonna let it go.” He’d started so push and shove to stay free of the dungeon monitor who’d come over to keep the peace. As the monitor started to pull River away, he started shouting back to Jaxson, Jonah and Spencer. “Don’t let her do this to you again, man. I’m not gonna scrape you off the floor and prop you up again like last time. You’ve got so much more to lose now.” When his words failed to get through to Jonah, he added, “I’m not gonna keep visiting you when you’re back in jail.”

  Could he have shouted that a bit louder? Jonah wasn’t sure the press upstairs in the dance club had quite heard the news.

  He felt Jaxson’s glare on him as he waited. He heard his quiet question, “Jail? Anything you’d like to talk about?”

  “Naw, not really. Let’s get this over.”

  Jonah moved in slow motion, his back to the rest of the room to try to shut them out. If he could, he’d have asked Jaxson to clear the room for him to avoid the possibility of gossip, but he suspected he didn’t deserve that accommodation either.

  He took his leather vest off first, revealing the wife-beater tank top underneath. He pulled the damp white cloth over his head, flexing his muscles a bit in an attempt to relax, knowing from experience it was better to remain loose.

  He stepped up to the platform, leaning in and pressing his chest against the center of the X. The one advantage was that at least he wouldn’t have to watch the spectators who would surely line up to watch the popular musician being strapped down to the medieval style cross.

  He’d expected to have his arms and legs immobilized at the ankles and wrists. The extra straps across his biceps and thighs and one final thick belt across his ass had him feeling a tad bit claustrophobic. He tested the restraints and found them completely unforgiving. In a way, it suited him.

  He hadn’t shown Samantha any mercy.

  He sensed someone close behind him before he heard his mentor speak quietly in his ear. “What’s your safeword?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “Bullshit. Not in my dungeon. Everyone playing has a safeword.”

  “This isn’t a game. I’m not playing.”

  “Safeword or we’re done here,” Spencer insisted.

  “Fine. Samantha.”

  Spencer hesitated, adding, “I’ve never seen a woman get under your skin like this one.”

  Jonah let the silence stretch between them. When he sensed his mentor pulling away, he made a final request. “Hey Spencer.” When he knew his friend was listening, he added, “Don’t stop until I bleed.”

  He heard the sharp intake of breath, but that would be the only answer he got before the sound of a bullwhip snapped as Spencer warmed up. There was a new silence to the room. As he had suspected, the scenes around the club ground to a halt with everyone interested in watching the A-list celebrity about to be whipped. Most would incorrectly assume he was a closet submissive.

  Time stretched out as he waited for the first lash. Even knowing it was coming, the first strike took his breath away. He’d spent hours practicing the delivery of this very punishment so he knew that the man at the other end of the whip was a true professional. It was an art using a bullwhip on human flesh. It took superior control and aim to not strike in danger zones.

  The next lash came a bit lower on his back, striking fresh flesh as did the third and fourth lashes. Each stroke of the whip drew a louder involuntary grunt of pain.

  Jonah was having trouble catching his breath. The strikes were coming faster than he normally delivered them when he was at the other end. He fought down the panic that threatened when the first bites of pain seared through his body. He tried to focus on the small lamp on the wall directly in front of him. It didn’t offer much light, but it provided a focal point that helped him fight down the panic.

  The pain was settling in deep and he welcomed it. He let it wash over him, bringing a welcome clarity. His body was awake and with the new alertness came a flood of memories he wanted to avoid. Buried memories from their past merged with newer remembrances from just a few hours ago. He fought to think about his justified vengeance, but tears of pain and shame clouded his view as memories of the pain on Samantha’s face hurt his heart just a
s the bullwhip destroyed his flesh.

  Each strike took him deeper in his anger at her family for tearing them apart. Deeper in his desire to possess her in every way. Deeper in his regret at scaring her.

  It was when the strikes started criss-crossing his back, wounds compounding on top of already raw strips of skin, that the pain drew long groans. He should have known Spencer would take his job seriously. Eventually, the pain made it impossible to think of anything else but the temptation of making it stop. He didn’t deserve it. He hadn’t stopped when she’d asked him to.

  He tasted his own blood after biting his inner cheek to keep from shouting out his safeword. The dungeon master had slowed down his delivery, but the added time only allowed him to apply harder strikes.

  Jonah felt it the moment the leather broke through his punished skin. It was precisely the same second he screamed her name at the top of his lungs.

  His screamed “Samantha!” hung in the air as the room remained silent, listening as Jonah broke into tears. Everyone in the dungeon assumed he was crying from the pain of his punishment, but he knew the tears were for the empty spot in his gut as he remembered the words she had left for him on her short goodbye note.

  Consider us “closed.” If you ever see Jonah again, tell him I used to miss him.

  Chapter 6

  He didn’t remember much of what happened after they’d released him from the cross. Jaxson had been there with a dungeon monitor who assisted with aftercare by applying a lotion that stung like a sonofabitch to the worst of the lashes on his back before helping him navigate the way back up to the suite on the top floor.

  Jonah was emotionally and physically exhausted. When he realized where they were taking him, he wanted to argue to return to his upscale hotel room downtown. He wasn’t crazy about the idea of sleeping in the very bed he’d taken Samantha’s innocence, but the second his head hit the pillow, the last of his energy left him in a whoosh.