by Livia Grant
“Did I say you could come?”
“N-no, sir. I’m sorry.”
“I told you to beg me for it. I told you this was an exercise in patience. Did you exercise patience tonight?”
She fucking orgasmed again.
Jesus Christ, he’d never seen such a beautiful, responsive sub in his life. He wanted this girl. Needed her. This was what he’d been dreaming of, all the years of playing the BDSM scene. She was what he’d been looking for.
After the second orgasm passed, she hung from the restraints, broken and limp.
He shook his head again and flicked one brow in a threatening way. “Looks like you’re getting the cane now.”
The vibrator was still buzzing inside her, probably torturing the hell out of her. He picked up his meanest rattan cane and positioned himself by her side, tapping her ass once to take aim.
Swish-whack.
She choked on a gasp then clamped her lips together, as if determined not to cry out again.
“Bad. Girl.” He sliced the cane through the air again, leaving a second welt, just below the first. “You don’t fucking orgasm without permission.” He whipped her again.
“I’m sorry!” Her gasp held a ring of panic.
“You will be.” Again and again, he whipped her, laying neat lines down her ass to her thighs, ten in all.
The poor girl was trembling like a leaf when he let her off the cross. He wasn’t sure if she could take any more, or if he should end the scene, but he pushed her to her knees at his feet and unbuttoned his jeans.
She lunged for his cock, like a greedy little sub, used her hands and mouth with an enthusiasm he’d rarely seen before. All the time, the vibrator buzzed inside her.
Sucking hard, bobbing her head in and out along his length, she lifted her eyes to his face, pleading.
She wanted to come. Again. She dared take her mouth off to ask. “Please, sir? May I—” she didn’t finish the sentence, because he’d frowned when she came off, and she returned to her frantic sucking.
“I come first.” His fingers twisted in her hair, forcing her head faster. “And when I’m done, and you’ve licked me clean, I’ll let you finish.”
She hummed her assent, the vibration bringing him to the precipice.
As she worked, he distracted himself with learning her beauty—the gloss of her thick blond hair, the curve of her slender but muscular shoulders, the long column of her neck. He found one nipple and tortured it, squeezing and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Pinching it tight and pulling hard the moment he came like a fucking rocket down her throat.
She took all of it. Swallowed him down. Licked him clean. And then he pulled her to her feet, spun her around to face away from him, and brought his fingers between her legs. Three flicks of her clit was all it took, and she went off again, gripping his wrist to pull his hand over her mons, throwing her head back on his shoulder.
She smelled of a fruity soap, the leather of the cross, and of him.
He bit her neck and pulled up on her mons, his undulating fingers covering the whole of it while she shook and shuddered.
He removed the vibe, draped her in a blanket, and held her on a couch for a while after, giving her sips of water while she returned to the planet. “What’s your name?” he asked when she started to go stiff on him.
“I go by Slave to Pain.”
For once, he didn’t want her damn scene name. He wanted her real name. Wanted her address. Her phone number. But that wasn’t the way things worked.
“I’m Master D.”
She got up and picked up her clothes. He cleaned the equipment quickly, not wanting her to leave before he talked to her.
“Well, thanks doesn’t exactly cover it, but…” she said, an awkwardness marring the confidence with which she’d previously held herself.
“I’d like to see you again.”
“Next Friday night? Same time, same place?” she suggested.
Yeah. He hadn’t meant at Black Light, but he’d take what he could get.
“For sure. May I give you my number?”
She shook her head quickly, as if she’d prepared for this question. “No, I don’t see men outside of here.”
He nodded. He may be a dom, but he didn’t get pushy when it came to making arrangements. A sub needed to feel safe. If she had a personal rule about keeping it at the club, he would respect that. For the time being.
That had been two months ago.
They’d scened together almost every weekend since, but he still hadn’t managed to bust her security wall down and get a date.
Tonight. Dammit, tonight he needed her digits because this Valentine Roulette thing had him about ready to hogtie her, pick her up, and march the fuck out.
He didn’t want her to play with another dom.
Not even for a second.
Jennifer swallowed, eyes flicking over to Master D. He didn’t pretend not to see her. He stared a hole right through her—his gaze hot, dark, and demanding.
She resisted the urge to wipe her clammy hands on her dress.
Never show fear.
She wasn’t afraid, not really. No dom here could do anything to her she couldn’t handle. She was Army-tough, for God’s sake. But an underlying anxiety had her buzzing. Her father always said the best way to address fear was to name it and blow it up with a hand grenade. So what was she afraid of?
It had something to do with Master D. Her fear of not being with him. Was that the same thing as being afraid of another dom? No, it wasn’t.
Did she feel disloyal?
That thought registered like a punch in the gut.
Yeah. She did. She was actually afraid of Master D’s reaction to her scening with someone else. He’d been offering his number, asking for hers for weeks now. She’d steadfastly refused, following her ironclad rule of keeping BDSM at Black Light and her personal life personal.
She didn’t date. It just didn’t work. Period. She’d tried—Lord, she had tried. During Basic, she’d fallen in love. Sal had been a hot alpha male from New Jersey. He’d turned her on with his strong, decisive personality. But the same thing that made him attractive ended up breaking them apart. He was protective and possessive to a fault. He became controlling. Jealous. And when she’d been promoted quickly, he couldn’t take it. It drove him nuts that she had a higher rank than he did. He’d ended up hating her—doing everything he could to tear her down.
She’d been sent to Iraq, and Sal had been sent to Afghanistan, and that had been the end of it. Later, she found out the separation had been her father’s doing. Which figured, since he was the original controlling man in her life.
No. What turned her on sexually didn’t work in real life. It just didn’t. She was a career woman who needed to be strong. The kind of man she liked—an alpha male, not a beta—couldn’t take that.
She jerked when, suddenly, Master D appeared in front of her, his barrel chest clearly defined with muscles beneath his tight black T-shirt.
“Jesus, where’d you come from?”
Damn, he was stealthy for such a big guy.
He shoved her up against the wall, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, the other gripping her jaw to hold her face in place. His thigh wedged between her legs, forcing her feet apart and giving her something to grind down on. “Did you wear that dress for them?” he growled.
A wave of knowing washed over her. Yep. He was going to see this as a betrayal. Something in her stomach knotted. She opted for a truth that wouldn’t piss him off.
“I bought it for you.”
The thumb of the hand gripping her jaw eased and slid over her skin, stroking her cheek. “Did you?” His voice was a purr now.
“Yeah.” She’d lost her breath. It always seemed to happen when he dominated her. Sometimes she hated herself for it—she wasn’t allowed to feel fear, after all. But, at some point, she’d drawn a line. The sub she became in Black Light was someone else. Someone who liked to surren
der. Liked to get scared and excited by a man bigger than she was. It didn’t reflect on Major Jennifer Dibbs. It wasn’t a personality flaw—it was a kink. Just about sex and the way she liked to do it. Another reason to keep things separate and clean. She didn’t need her headspace to get fucked up by her kink.
He yanked the neckline of her dress down under her breasts. If the fabric hadn’t been so stretchy, it would’ve torn. He shoved the cups of her bra down next. “Are you going to let them see these pretty little boobies?”
Ouch. Yeah, they were little. She knew it. They weren’t her best asset. But she still didn’t love hearing them called little boobies. He probably guessed that, like he guessed everything about her. His hand cupped one, somehow making it seem bigger than it was by wrapping around to hold her muscle on the side, too. Bless the man.
“I- I don’t know.”
He arched a brow. “You don’t know?” His voice sounded incredulous. “Well, you’d better decide, little slave, or the decision will be made for you.”
Her head wobbled on her neck. “Probably,” she whispered.
His face turned stony. He pinched her nipple and twisted.
She shrieked and tried to rise up on her tiptoes, but he had her pinned too tightly.
“You will be punished for any and all transgressions I see tonight.”
What the fuck? They didn’t have any rules or arrangements for her to transgress against. But her pussy had just turned molten at his words, the idea of punishment at his hands so terribly exciting she didn’t care how unfair the statement had been.
He continued to hold her nipple in a tight twist, sending shards of pain sprinting out through her breast.
“Yes, sir,” she squeaked.
He waited one beat. Two. Then his grip on her breast and wrists eased, his palm massaging her wounded breast as he leaned over and bit her ear. “I’ll be watching,” he growled against her neck, then kissed it, his lips suddenly soft, the gesture oddly tender.
It made her knees go weak.
Good thing he was still holding her up.
Chapter 2
Derek took some small satisfaction in knowing he’d just turned his beautiful sub on.
For some other asshole.
He eased away from her, putting her breasts back in their padded push-up cups and making sure she was steady on her feet before he let go completely. The subs and doms were gathering beside the stage, getting ready for their pairings.
“It’s showtime. Don’t forget—I’ll be watching you.” He made the ‘eyes on you’ gesture, which was so over the top they both grinned.
He knew the possessive thing both turned her on and made her uncomfortable. It came too close to getting personal, and she didn’t do that with him.
“Let’s go.” He hooked a palm through her elbow and guided her over to the stage. As if she needed his help. No, his girl could take care of herself. He knew that. But protecting was in his blood. He couldn’t stop the desire to be at her side or back at all times, ready to defend her safety or honor.
Turns out he’d been wrong about her having to be nuts. She was that perfect. No cray cray had ever reared its head. In fact, he found in her the perfect playmate—intelligent, greedy for his commands, impossibly obedient, and always ready to go off like a firecracker once she’d had her punishment. She wanted more pain than any sub he’d encountered and required zero emotional support, not that he hadn’t tried to offer it. He wasn’t a fuzzy warm dom, but he understood the dynamic enough to know a sub was vulnerable after a scene and required care.
She let him take care of her physical needs after a particularly rough session—let him wrap her up in a blanket and hold her on a couch until the shaking stopped, but she never cried. Never wanted to talk. Always got up and walked out alone at the end.
So she might not be crazy, but he thought something was off with her. She had a secret. He’d figured she must be married. Or famous.
When he’d seen her at the Pentagon, the pieces had fallen into place. She had a career to protect. An extremely impressive career. He admired the hell out of what she’d done in the Army.
And that just made her even more desirable.
The fact was, Jennifer fascinated the hell out him. He wanted more from her but hadn’t figured out how to break the rigid boundaries she set up for herself.
Which didn’t mean they hadn’t had sex. She sucked him off when he demanded it, and he’d even fucked her on a few occasions.
But, bizarre though it was for him—the sadist who didn’t do happy endings—he craved a deeper connection. He wanted to take her for coffee, or to make her laugh. He wanted to share something more than what they already exchanged.
But tonight that probably wouldn’t happen. And that pissed him the fuck off.
He almost hadn’t signed up to participate in the stupid roulette. He wouldn’t have, if Jaxson hadn’t asked him personally because they needed one more dom. How in the fuck would he keep an eye on Jennifer to be sure nothing bad happened to her? To be sure she got what she needed if he was scening with someone else? What if she got some asshole show-off who didn’t know what he was doing?
Christ, if any guy did wrong by her, he would rip him to shreds. With his bare hands. And so...yeah. He was in a quandary about how to scene with someone else without losing his shit over what was going on with his sub. Yes, his sub.
Because Jennifer belonged to him. They fit together. She knew it on some level, even if she wasn’t ready to admit it to herself.
They reached the stage and joined the other doms and subs gathered there.
Chase, one of the kinky pretty-boy co-owners of both Runway upstairs and Black Light, took the mic and explained to the audience how the evening would work. Each dom would spin the roulette wheel to choose a sub. Then the sub would spin to pick the activity. Both had been given the opportunity to declare four hard limits. He hadn’t declared any. If he knew Jennifer, she hadn’t, either. And he sure as hell didn’t want her getting something dangerous with some jerkoff who didn’t know what he was doing.
He ground his molars. The only solution was for him to land on Slave to Pain when he spun that fucking roulette wheel. He had to be her dom tonight. If ever he needed a little luck, it was right now.
He stuck his hand in the bucket Chase was passing around and drew his number. Four.
Fuck. He needed number one. Needed to reduce the odds he could get his girl. Fingernails punching holes in his palms, he lined up on the side of the stage.
Jennifer sent another quick glance his way, and this time he glimpsed the flash of anxiety in it. She needed him just as desperately as he wanted to be the one to take care of her.
“You hoping for your usual sub or looking for someone new?” the dom beside him asked in a Southern drawl. A senator who had long been on the scene in the most private of circles, Derek had seen him at Black Light a few times. Tall and fair, Senator Kane looked like ‘money’ with patrician blue-blood good looks. He had his eye on a very nervous sub in a black mask and dress who appeared to be hiding behind the other subs but couldn’t stop craning her neck to openly stare back at the senator.
“Yes.”
“This whole roulette thing is annoying as hell. I’d rather just do what I want to do.”
Derek chuckled. “Spoken like a true dom. Looks like that one in the mask recognizes you.”
The senator’s lips curved into a smirk. “Yes,” he drawled. “I think she might. And I believe she’s more than a little out of her element.”
“Well, let’s hope you get her, rather than me.” Derek knew the senator to be a precise and intense, but very caring Dom. He’d be a good for a beginner, unlike Derek. Patting newbie subs’ asses wasn’t Derek’s thing. He liked to scene with someone he didn’t have to baby.
“Master D, you’re up next,” Chase announced.
Derek strode up to the wheel and threw his ball in too hard after Chase gave it a spin.
“Easy, big guy,�
�� Chase joked.
The ball spun around, finally bouncing and landing on…Ms. Jones.
The senator’s girl in the black dress and mask tottered forward.
“Ms. Jones!” Chase called out. He handed Derek her card with the hard limits listed on the back. Electrical pain play, blood play, needle play, and water sports.
“Ms. Jones, toss your ball in.”
The sub, who looked terrified but actually not very submissive, stepped up to the activity wheel and threw her ball in after Chase spun it.
“Sybian Orgasm Torture!”
Ms. Jones’s shoulders hiked up a half inch.
He crooked a finger at Ms. Jones, but it took all his resistance to keep from looking over at Jennifer.
Sorry, sweetheart. I wanted you.
Senator Kane stepped up to the wheel. And landed on...Slave to Pain.
The gods were laughing their asses off at him. That was the only explanation, because why in the fuck would he and the senator each get the other’s girl? On one hand, he didn’t need to worry about Jennifer—she’d partnered with the senator before, and they’d be fine together. But if the man put his cock anywhere near her, Derek would have to cut his balls off. Seriously.
He sought her out with his gaze. If Jennifer’s eyes hadn’t darted to meet his, he might have been able to let things stand. But she hadn’t looked at Senator Kane—she’d gazed at him. She wanted him—needed him. She shouldn’t be scening with anyone else.
“Slave to Pain,” Chase cried and handed her card to the senator.
Derek wondered if she’d listed any hard limits at all. Probably not—that girl never shrank from a challenge.
“Let’s see what the lovely lady gets.”
She stepped forward, impossibly balanced and comfortable in stiletto heels, even though he could just as easily see her in combat boots. Chase spun the wheel, and she threw her ball in.
Senator Kane stepped over and claimed her, holding her hand as they both watched the arrow spin. She stiffened and glanced down at their connected palms as if confused about why he would do such a thing. It almost made Derek smile. Almost.
