by Livia Grant
So damned stubborn.
“Nine minutes,” he said, glancing at the clock on the wall.
She nodded, wearily adjusted her grip on the hook and then her stance, and then she raised her eyes to his. When he didn’t immediately descend on her with wicked wand at the ready, a touch of bewilderment lit in the fogginess of her gaze. “What? Don’t hold back with me. I’m fine.”
How could any man, dominant or vanilla, not admire that? Newton shook his head. Any other submissive… Any other time or place…
Tapping the footswitch, he turned the wand back on and then he took her back to hell. On the lowest possible setting, he spared her everything he could but left no inch of her untouched. From the sensitive bottoms of her kicking feet and tightly scrunched toes, to the backs of her knees where she howled, laughed, and howled all over again. He sharpened the contact across her ass, making her dance and wobble every bit as energetically as if he were wielding a cane instead. And God help him, in those last failing seconds of the final minute as he narrowed the focus of his torment down to that glistening pink pearl trapped within the aromatic folds of her fully aroused sex, he’d be damned if he didn’t make her come. The sharp bow of her back, the bending of her knees, the full guttural shout she made as her hips shook helplessly under the relentless spasms—they were the most satisfying accomplishments he could, in this lost moment, ever remember achieving.
It was in those spasms that Abby lost her grip on the suspension hook. Newton caught her as she began to sag. He shut the wand off, his helpers from the crowd jumping in to assist him. The Little rushed to throw her own My Little Pony blanket over Abby which Newton helped tuck in around her without ever letting her go. Her knees were buckling in and out, and she shook wildly.
“Guard my stuff,” Newton told the time-keeper, even as he started gathering things together. “I’ll be right back.”
“No problem,” the man returned. He moved Newton’s suitcase of a playbag up against the nearest wall, neatly stacking his toys and tools on top as he cleaned up the station. The night was almost over, but just in case someone decided to switch stations, it was the polite thing to do.
Grabbing her slinky nightie and shoes off the floor, Newton half-walked and half-carried a barely responsive Abby through the crowd to the semi-private spaces against the far wall that veteran members had long ago christened as Black Light’s answer to suck-and-fucks. The biggest kink in any BDSM club would always be voyeurism, but not everyone was an exhibitionist and to that end, the owners of Black Light had built several curtained off alcoves barely big enough for the beds they housed. It wasn’t ideal; there was no knowing who had used this bed before them, but everything looked clean and Abby needed rest now more than anything else. He laid her on top of the blankets, propping her up with pillows and nestling her in securely.
“How you feeling?” He checked her eyes—dazed. He checked her pulse—a little fast, but steady. Her response was slow to come though.
“I’m… fine…” Her teeth chattered just a bit. “D-did we w-win?”
“Three minutes over,” he assured her, tucking the blanket the Little had given her in around her chin. “Are you thirsty?”
She nodded.
“Okay, don’t move. I’ll be right back.” Newton left her lying on the bed long enough for him to fetch a bottle of cool water and a plate of little sandwiches from the bar. He snagged a couple green olives from a dish near the pickles and chips and was still munching on them when he ducked through the thin bordello-red curtain that offered all the semi-privacy that rooms in dungeons like this were allowed. It took his eyes a second to adjust to the dim recessed lighting, but it took his brain a half second longer to register that the bed was empty.
Both Abby and the blanket he’d wrapped her in were gone.
Newton backed out of the tiny closet of a room, double-checking to make sure he got the right one. But no, of the private rooms available, this was the one in which he’d left her. Abby had vanished.
Turning in a full circle, Newton swept the room for sign of her and, failing that, tapped the shoulder of a woman seated at the table nearest to the closets. “Did you see a woman come out of this room?”
“You mean Abby?” Nodding, the woman twisted around far enough to point at the stairs. “She just left.”
Left? Newton stared at her, the plate of little sandwiches now forgotten in his hand.
Well… shit.
Abby stood with her back to the mirror in the ladies locker room, her transparent babydoll nightgown hanging forgotten in her hand, and didn’t move. For the longest time, she simply stared, head craned far enough over her shoulder to see her reflection and in specific, the three-word phrase written on her.
I am strong—all in caps across her shoulder, down the ladder of her spine, and strongly reminiscent of a tramp stamp just above her ass.
I am strong. Abby didn’t know how to feel about that. She didn’t know how to feel about Newton having put it on her. She didn’t know how to feel about the way her body still hummed, still tingled, still ached to the phantom caresses of his fingers and hands. It was ridiculous to think that one night spent with the man could so thoroughly change her opinion of him, but it had and to be honest, she didn’t know how to feel about that either. How did one go about looking a man she had so badly misjudged and mistreated for two long years in the eyes as if she had the right to feel the fondness that had over the course of this night taken root for Newton inside her? She was so embarrassed. She was so ashamed.
And she was so strong. It said so. Right there in black felt marker in three bold places on her back.
She wanted to cry, but she hated crying. She wasn’t big on it and never had been, but if she didn’t get out of here and fast, that teary eye-stinging need was going to swell up bigger and faster than she could evade its swamping grip, and then she’d start bawling right here where someone was bound to stumble upon her, and God if they asked her what was wrong, then she’d have to explain it, and she’d be damned if she could explain it even to herself right now!
Hands shaking, she got dressed as swiftly as she could. Her legs still felt like rubber. That last scene had taken a lot out of her. She felt weird—dehydrated, and the way she sometimes got when her blood sugar bottomed out. She had a juice box and a HoneyStix in her car. She just had to get to it before someone—Newton—stopped her and started asking questions she didn’t know if she could answer.
Leaving the My Little Pony blanket where she hoped its owner might find it, Abby grabbed her coat and purse and ducked out of the locker area. She kept her head down, weaving her way along the wall and past what few people were gathering their things to leave a little early, making her way to Danny’s security desk.
Danny barely glanced up when he heard her approach, but he promptly did a double take. “Whoa, somebody had a good time.”
Her hands went to her hair. After all the thrashing she’d done tonight, it was inevitable that she’d walk out of this place looking freshly fucked… whether she had been or not. She spared a moment of regret that she hadn’t made herself more presentable in the locker room, but she could fancy herself up once she had her purse and was safely in the car. She had to get out of here first and all of her limbs felt as strange as the pit of her stomach, still fluttering over those words ‘I am strong’ as they danced through her head. “Can you help me with my coat?”
“Sure.” He held it for her while she shrugged into the sleeves. She was just pulling the two halves tight around her and buttoning down the front to conceal her state of undress when he handed her a folded over slip of white paper. “He left this for you.”
Abby froze, her hands on the second to last button, staring at that piece of paper as if it were a coiled and hissing snake. “He?”
“Newton,” Danny specified. “He said it was important that you get it and if you refused to take it, I was to hold you down and read it to y—”
She snatched the paper fro
m Danny’s hand. Trying to pretend as if her own weren’t trembling, she opened two folds and silently read the note. Just like his playbag, Newton’s penmanship was very neat. The missive was also blunt and so very to the point that it made her chest hurt.
If you subdrop and have no one to call, don’t go through it alone. Call me. Abby let her finger trace over the cell number he’d left below before she noticed, written at the very bottom of the page, almost like an afterthought: You did great tonight.
Abby crumpled the note in her hand
“You okay?” Danny asked, those knowing eyes of his gazing into her much too deeply for her comfort. He was too much like Newton in that regard. What was it with the men here tonight?
She tried to smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
She also tried to throw the note away—her life was suddenly much too complicated with it—but somehow, that crumpled ball ended up in her pocket where it promptly began to burn a hole through her clothes, into her leg and her consciousness.
Call me.
“Want me to have Luis walk you out?”
Digging out her keys and her mace, Abby shook her head. “N-no. No, that’s okay.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“Okay.” He looked dubious. “I’ll see you next time.”
Her answering smile felt brittle, but it must have been good enough for him because Danny buzzed her on through the door into the secret passage and she was off, retreating back through the passage that eventually emptied out into the psychic shop, and then the street.
She’d forgotten about the ice and was so rattled that halfway across the street she nearly went down on her butt. She barely caught her balance. More importantly, she made it the rest of the way back to the parking garage without falling or getting run over. Pulling her collar up higher, she made her way down the stairs to her parking level and the far corner where she’d left her car.
All night parking garage lights meant city birds kept late hours and it wasn’t like Abby couldn’t hear the chirping masses right from the moment she’d exited the stairwell. But the significance of the loud chirping and their proximity didn’t dawn on her until she was rounding the corner and suddenly spotted her car.
“Holy bird crap!” She stared in shock at what had been her car. Realistically, it still was her car. It was just parked under a splattered blanket of white-and-seed droppings, lovingly delivered by the massive flock of birds that had decided to ostracize the parking garage three blocks away and instead spend the night in the concrete nooks, crannies and rafters that filled this corner of the garage. Only a hint of the red paint color could be seen around the back fender. The windows were completely covered and she couldn’t even find the door handle.
The truck that had been parked beside her was gone now. She still eased in by her car, keys in hand but was unsure where to start digging for the lock. She bent down and was just thinking about using her driver’s license as a scraper when a flash of yellow lighting fell over her. A familiar black SUV pulled partway into the vacant spot beside her car. The driver’s door eased open. The shadow of a head, barely seen beyond the glare of the headlights, poked out.
“Not to be creepy or stalkerish,” Newton called, “but I thought I’d stick around long enough to make sure you got to your car okay. And now, seeing it… Would you like a hand?”
This was probably the most disgusting thing she’d ever dealt with, and she couldn’t believe she’d actually wished this on someone else. Not just anyone else, but on Newton. This was karma, that’s what this was. A big ol’ steamy pile of karma and birdseed all over her car.
She deserved this. But then, as was written all over her back, she was strong and she could also handle it.
Forcing a smile, she shook her head. “No. I’ve got it.”
He nodded, seeming unsurprised by that response and was about to withdraw back into his SUV when she both stopped and probably even surprised them both. Certainly, she surprised herself. “Hey, Newton?”
He stuck his head back out of the car. “Yes?”
“I don’t suppose you…” She hesitated, feeling stupid. “W-would you like to go for coffee… with me… sometime?”
She tried to shield her eyes, wishing she could better see his face beyond the glare of the headlights.
“There’s a coffee place right around the corner,” he suggested. “How about now?”
She almost couldn’t see it for the brightness of his headlights, but when he smiled it did terrible things to the cluster of knots tangling up her insides. Terrible and delicious things. A pulse of heat. A latent shiver that had absolutely nothing to do with the cold.
“Yeah, how about now,” she mused, already stepping towards his vehicle and starting to smile now herself.
Big, dumb—she smiled to herself—jerk.
The End
About the Author
I am a coffee whore, babygirl, pain slut, administrator at two local BDSM dungeons, resident of the wilds of freakin’ Kansas (still don’t know how I ended up here) and submissive to the love of my life. With more than twenty years of writing under my belt, I’ve hit the USA Bestselling Author’s list, have penned more than 120 novels, novellas and short stories, and am the author of the Masters of the Castle series, of which Kaylee’s Keeper reached #1 on all Amazon. Writing kinky since before it was cool, my favorite past times include provoking my Dom into testing out all the fun sexy things I put my characters through.
Where to find Maren Smith:
Friend her on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/maren.smith.10
Maren’s Blog: https://www.badgirlscorner.wordpress.com
Maren’s Email: [email protected]
Find her on Twitter: @MarenSmithBooks
Other Books by Maren Smith
Newest Releases:
Goldi in Chains (The Dark Forest Anthology)
Coming February 10, 2017
Unbroken (Black Light: Valentine Roulette Anthology)
The Red Petticoat Saloon Series:
Jade’s Dragon
Warming Emerald
Masters of the Castle Series:
Book 1, Holding Hannah
Book 2, Kaylee’s Keeper
Book 3, Saving Sara
Book 4, Sweet Sinclair
Book 5, Chasing Chelsea
Book 6, Owning O
Book 7, Maddy Mine
Corbin’s Bend:
Last Dance for Cadence (Season 1, Book 8)
Have Paddle, Will Travel (Season 2, Book 7)
A Few Other Titles:
B-Flick
The Great Prank
Jinxie’s Orchids
Life After Rachel
The Locket
The Mountain Man
Something Has To Give
Bared by Measha Stone
A Black Light: Valentine Roulette Novella
by
Measha Stone
Chapter 1
"Riley!" Her name rang out over the crush of people. "Riley." The booming announcement called for her again, magnified by the mic.
"Riley, get your ass up there." A friendly voice chided her from the sidelines.
Snapping to attention, she found Sydney standing among the spectators and shot her a solid glare over her shoulder. "I'm going. I'm going," she muttered, and made her feet start moving toward the stage, leaving behind an obviously upset Veronica Masterson behind. If she’d been paying attention, she probably would understand why Veronica was irritated, but as it was, she’d been in her own head and missed most of the previous rolls.
The tension among the submissive players around her mirrored her own feelings. She'd been fighting her nerves about the play event all day, and once she arrived at Black Light she'd finally settled herself down enough to get through the check in process.
Entering the psychic shop had been easy enough, but once she handed her invitation over to Luis at the first checkpoint, her stomach began to twist. Sydney all
but shoved her down the steps and into the well-lit, but chilled tunnel to get them to Black Light on time.
The decision to join the Valentine Roulette party hadn’t come easily for her. She’d been bouncing the idea around since she’d received the emailed invitation. Valentine Roulette offered a chance to play with something new, and someone new. Not having had a good session in a while, she’d decided to throw herself into the mix.
Maybe she'd meet someone who wouldn't mind her wanting just a bit of casual play. A lot of the Doms said they were cool with just doing a scene, but too often she ended up having to pull them from her leg as she walked out. She would have thought men with as much power and prestige as those she played with would have more pride.
It probably didn't help her cause to stick with such newbie Doms but any attempt to make something work with the more experienced ones ended badly before it even started. Besides, none of them could hold a candle to the one who'd brought her into the lifestyle in the first place – but she wasn’t going to think about him.
Riley made her way to the stage, smoothing out the black skirt she'd slipped into for the evening. Nothing too tight, so if her partner wanted to spank her on the bare, he could easily yank up the skirt. She'd donned a thong for the evening's event as well, so all her bases were covered. Very rarely did she disrobe in the club during play. It generally gave her partner too much hope for anything other than the spanking or flogging she wanted from him.
"Nice of you to join us," Garreth muttered as he offered his hand to help her navigate the steps. Ignoring his hand, as she had all of his other advances toward her, she stepped up onto the stage and took a deep breath.
