by Livia Grant
“It’s being handled. I’m going to let go of your arms, if it’s too much at any point just say yellow, okay?” Silas was still supporting the weights, and she managed a weak smile because he was still watching out for her no matter how fucking evil the bondage was that he’d put together.
Allowing herself one more breath, she nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“Fuck, you’re hot.” The sudden kiss startled her again. He seemed to be adept at kissing her just when she wasn’t expecting it, going from zero to sixty in the flick of a tongue between her lips. Finishing the kiss with a nip to her bottom lip, he let go of her arms.
Chapter 9
Bianca let out the most beautiful scream of pain as her arms dropped, and he stepped back to enjoy her struggle. Watching as she twisted atop the coconut rope and slowly lifted her arms halfway up. Not enough to really ease the pain, just enough to make it less painful.
The tears on her cheeks, the sound of her sniffling and her whines, and the way her limbs shook were everything he could have asked for in this last scene.
She hadn’t had to agree to it, and he’d done his best not to pressure her, but there was no way in hell he’d regret tonight. It could have gone horribly wrong, he could have drawn a woman with a low threshold for pain, and instead he had drawn a masochist, a girl that met him in ways he’d never thought possible. The entire situation had him growing hard again behind his fly. Gripping the little Devil’s Tongue, he reached out to snap it against the underside of one breast.
“God!” she screamed, dissolving into broken cries as she twisted side to side, sawing the rope back and forth between her legs with each weakening attempt to raise her arms.
Klara was right — he really was a spectacular asshole.
“Three more,” he offered, and she whined loudly, fists clenched white-knuckle tight. The leather popped against her other breast, bringing forth a fresh round of screams.
Another and she was sobbing, hiccupping as her arms gave out and one of her feet lifted off the ground in an effort to ease the strain. If he’d had another weight, he would have added it just because she broke position, but he settled for easing down to one knee and landing the last sadistic snap of the leather just above her cunt.
“FUCK!” Bianca screamed, but he stood fast. Dropping the Devil’s Tongue to the floor so he could lift her at the waist and reach up to pull the rope off the hook. The tension immediately dropped from between her thighs, yet he could still feel her muscles trembling.
“All done, girl. You were perfect,” he soothed, keeping his voice gentle. She was shaking like a leaf, and for the second time that night he wondered if he’d pushed her too far. Leaning down, Silas scooped her into his arms and carried her to a couch, laying her down first so he could work at the rope around her waist.
She hissed through her teeth when he rolled her towards him to unthread the rough coconut fibers from her folds, but then she was able to relax as he removed the elaborate wrist cuffs. Weights dropped to the floor by his knees, and he glanced up to see deep brown eyes watching him intently through the shine of tears.
“Check in,” he commanded.
“Just fine, Sir.”
Huffing a short laugh, he shook his head as he finished pulling the rope free of her arms, letting it fall into a pile at the base of the couch. Silas rubbed at the rope marks embedded in her skin, turning his head to more accurately assess her expression. “Honesty is important. Tell me the truth, Bianca.”
“I’m sore.”
“Here?” he asked, stroking a finger just above her pussy, right where the last bright red blur of the Devil’s Tongue rested.
“Yes, Sir.”
Helping her sit upright, he forced her to rest back on the couch before he leaned down again and pushed her knees wide, watching her shiny, abused folds open for him. “What about here?” he asked, tracing the same finger through her wetness.
“Yes.” The hiss between her teeth made him grin, but he’d had a plan all along for this.
“Poor little whore…” he mumbled, leaning forward to trail his tongue through her folds, tugging her to the edge of the couch when he couldn’t reach where he wanted. Then he repeated it, feeling her hips twitch, hearing the whimpers leaving her lips above.
Her cunt was hot against his tongue, all the blood flow from the torment of the rope making her soaking wet and deliciously sensitive. Every flick over her clit had her bucking and whining, and he dug his thumbs into her hips to force her to take it. After their time in the locker room he knew what she liked, and as soon as she stopped trying to pull away he moved one hand between her legs and slid two fingers in deep. Stroking, teasing, he sucked on her clit until she was writhing to the rhythm he created.
“That’s it, girl,” he growled as he looked up to see her head thrown back, breasts rising and falling, nipples in hard peaks, and then he pushed a third finger inside and she came. Her cunt squeezed his fingers and he immediately returned his mouth to her, dragging her into another orgasm as she screamed out her pleasure.
His cock throbbed in his jeans, hard as a fucking rock, but he focused on easing her down. Running his tongue along her clit, nipping at her thighs just to hear her squeak, and then he slowly slid his fingers free. Sticky with the taste of her, he took one more lick between her soaked thighs before he leaned up and held his fingers before her lips.
Bianca took them into her mouth without hesitation, sucking and licking, and he pushed them deeper just to hear her choke. But she let him in farther than he expected and his dick threatened a revolt, bolstered by his aching balls.
“Please,” she gasped as she pushed his hand away from her mouth, and he tried to calm down, to give her the space to come down, relax — but then she leaned forward and kissed him, her hands reaching down to tug at the button on his jeans.
Fuck yes.
Standing up, he let her rip his jeans open, shoving them down, and then her hand was inside his boxers, grasping him and drawing his cock out on a hissed groan. His fist went into her hair, and those wide brown eyes looked up at him for permission. “I cleaned us both up after I fucked you earlier, don’t worry.”
“May I, Sir?” she asked, thumb stroking along the underside of his shaft, and he almost came right then from the sheer sight of her looking up at him like that.
“Yes, you may.” He managed to say it in a steady voice, but he was as desperate as she sounded, and then his dick was out and her tongue flicked over the head. Fuck. Tightening his fist in her hair, he struggled to maintain control, which was almost wrecked completely when she suddenly slid her hot, wet mouth over him. Bumping against the back, he felt her tighten for a moment and suddenly he was in her throat.
Everything went fuzzy and crystal clear at the same time. Static filled his ears as he felt her humming moans all the way to his balls, and then her lips were wrapped tight around his base and he jerked his hips against her. Barely able to breathe himself, he felt her choke and tighten, and she slid back, stroking her tongue along him as she took in air and then went down again.
She’d stared at his cock with a hunger that had made him wonder just what fucking her throat would be like, but he’d never expected this. Bianca wasn’t tentative, her other hand reached down to stroke his balls, kneading them as her thumb stroked the base of his cock, and she alternated between teasing licks along the head and pulling him into the throat. Her nails were digging into the back of one of his thighs, and he was trying to hold out, to make this ecstasy last a little longer — but it was impossible. Fire stroked down his spine, his balls tightened, and then everything disappeared as he came into her throat.
Swallowing, Bianca felt that gleeful self-satisfaction at feeling Silas lose control. Fist tight in her hair, he shouted, groaning as he held his cock still for another moment and then slid back to let her breathe. She gasped and swallowed again as he took a half-step backwards, before turning and dropping onto the couch beside her.
“Holy shit,” he mu
ttered, and then laughed as he pulled her into a kiss. There was no hesitation as his tongue dipped between her lips, devouring her mouth as intensely as he had at any other point that night.
When he started to kiss down her throat, teasing her with tickling light licks, she shivered and moved closer to him. Silas wrapped an arm around her, hugging her tight to his side, pulling her legs across his lap with the other. Bianca felt herself relax, even though she was impossibly sore in more ways than she could even describe, it was the good kind of exhausted. The well-worn feeling of a hard workout… or an intense play session.
Whatever.
All that mattered was that tonight hadn’t been a total failure, and even though there was still a little time on the clock, they weren’t the only couple that had settled somewhere across Black Light to wind down.
“Blanket?” The low voice above her made her open her eyes, and she smiled as Terry looked down at her, offering one of the ultra-soft fleece ones that she adored.
“Thanks, fairy godmother,” Silas replied, snagging the blanket with a grin to wrap it around her.
“Do I look like a fucking fairy godmother, Silas?” Terry asked.
“No,” she answered, grinning.
Silas huffed. “Have you seen that movie with The Rock where he plays the tooth fairy?” he asked. “You’re like that, except with blankets and whips and chains.”
“I haven’t seen that movie, but it’s nice to know you watch kid’s movies in your spare time.” Terry lifted an eyebrow in a move so similar to The Rock that Bianca couldn’t help but laugh.
With a grumble, Silas reached down and pinched her ass. “Time’s not up yet, girl. I can still belt you for fun.”
“Your belt is with the rest of your clothes, and hers, in a locker.” Terry gestured toward the co-ed locker room. “Staff cleaned up your scene and gave me the locker number.”
“And the number is?” Silas prompted.
The two men stared each other down, and Bianca rolled her eyes, reaching an arm out of the blanket to take Terry’s hand. “Muscles, come on, I can’t walk out of here naked.”
“It’s thirty-four, Bianca. And if this guy bothers you after time is up, just whistle for me.” Terry winked at her, squeezed her hand before he let go, but Silas just laughed.
“I think he likes me,” Silas said as Terry walked away to talk to another couple.
“Men.” Rolling her eyes, Bianca leaned her head against his shoulder, and settled in as he tucked the blanket and then his arms around her once more.
“Well, as much as I can hear the disdain in your voice, it’s probably a bad idea to ask if you’d like to play again sometime, but—”
“Definitely.” She cut him off with her answer, and then yawned so wide her jaw may have cracked. When she opened her eyes again, his pale blues seemed to be a little confused.
“You want to play with me again?” he asked, and she smiled at the hint of nerves in the well-known asshole’s tone.
“For the last time, yes. Now, don’t keep asking or you’ll seem desperate, and desperate isn’t hot.” Bianca traced the Grim Reaper’s hand on his chest as he laughed low.
“I don’t know, your desperation to suck my cock was pretty hot.”
“Asshole,” she muttered on a laugh.
“You know it.”
THE END
About the Author
Jennifer Bene is a USA Today bestselling author of dark romance. She’s been in the Amazon Top 50, and had #1 top-selling books in BDSM, Suspense, Thrillers, Horror, and more. While she’s been writing for years, it's always been the dark stuff that makes her tingly, so her books are full of aggressive alpha males, feisty women who may or may not have a submissive streak, and intense, psychological story lines. Don’t worry though, she always insists on having a nice little happily-ever-after, because without the dark we'd never appreciate the light.
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Brat
A Black Light: Roulette Redux Novella
By
Livia Grant
Chapter 1
Mid-January
“Hello. Gabriella Castle here to see Mr. Lambert.”
The twenty-something receptionist in the too-tight blouse had been engrossed in her iPad for a full minute while Gabriella waited for her to acknowledge her presence. Only when it registered who was standing on the other side of the marble counter in the opulent lobby of Lambert, Urbanski, and Reed law firm, did the employee glance up, a look of familiar curiosity on her face.
Ella was used to being the subject of the subtle inspection the woman behind the counter was completing. It started at her mane of thick, blonde hair made famous by her endorsements with Pantene. The inspection then moved to her face, covered in the high-end cosmetics she’d helped make famous through her huge social media presence.
Gabriella was spared the last half of the inspection thanks to the receptionist’s desk that hid her stylish skirt and boots combo she’d emulated from her fashion trip to Paris the previous season.
She smiled her public smile. The one that was as much a part of her wardrobe as her make-up and boots.
“Is Mr. Lambert in?” she repeated.
Shaking her head, the receptionist seemed to remember her job. “Do you have an appointment?”
“I don’t need one. He always sees me. Just tell him Ella is here.”
The woman glanced away, grimacing as she refused to look Gabriella in the eyes.
“I’m afraid Mr. Lambert left instructions not to be disturbed.”
Annoyed, she took a different tactic. “Is he in a meeting? If so, when is it scheduled to end?”
The receptionist typed on her keyboard before confirming. “He has his entire day blocked as do not disturb. I can make an appointment with him for next week if you’d like.”
“I’m flying back to New York tomorrow. I need to see him today.” She hesitated before tacking on, “It’s important.”
“I’m sure it is, but his instructions were very clear.”
“Oh for crying out loud.” Exasperated, Gabriella pulled her phone from her Gucci bag and went to her favorites list before tapping the contact labeled ‘Uncle Charles.’ He always answered her calls, no matter how busy he was.
Always, until today. The call went to voicemail.
Annoyed, Ella debated lying and pretending he’d answered and told her to come back to his office, but then thought better of it. Instead she hung up just before the call went to voicemail.
A text would get his attention faster.
She shot the message off before advising the woman still eyeing her, “I’ve sent him a text. I’ll wait here until he comes to get me.”
She didn’t wait for permission or even an acknowledgement. Instead she retreated to the line of uncomfortable looking chairs in the upscale waiting room of Washington D.C.’s top international law firm.
Ten minutes passed while she waited, each minute raising her aggravation level. Uncle Charles, who wasn’t really her blood relation, had never made her wait in the lobby before. Appointment or not. The previous receptionist had known that and would have shown Gabriella back to the smaller waiting room in the foyer just outside the senior partner’s grand wing of the large firm.
She would have been served a fresh cup of coffee by now and been offered a light snack while she
waited for the founding, and most powerful, partner of the firm to see her.
Waiting was not what she needed today. Not because she was impatient––although, she was impatient. But no, it had taken her days to work up the courage she needed for this meeting. She wasn’t leaving empty handed.
She’d purposefully not made an appointment knowing it was much easier to keep Uncle Charles, her father’s oldest friend, securely wrapped around her little finger when she surprised him. She’d learned the hard way that calling ahead gave him the time he needed to mentally prepare to hold her to the strict limits outlined of the eight-figure trust fund he managed for her.
Two more years. Twenty-six can’t come soon enough.
A few minutes later a window of opportunity opened. As the receptionist left her desk area to assist a handicapped client who needed help opening the front door, Ella made her move, heading straight back to the partner’s wing. She knew the way after previous trips over the years as she’d come to seek permission for access to her own fucking money.
I’m not bitter at all, Grandfather.
She moved quickly down the marble hallway with oil paintings of stuffy looking men in suits on the walls as she tried to keep her high-heels from drawing too much attention. Around the corner, past the thankfully empty richly appointed boardroom with the glass wall. Skirting around the gaudy eight-foot tall bronze ‘Blind Justice’ statue with the Greek woman holding the scales of justice.
She was close. The statue marked the entrance to the hall where the senior partners had their lavish offices. She’d only been down the opposite hall once and knew it was where the half-dozen junior partners and dozens of paralegals were crammed into a much less grandiose space.
Luck was on her side again. She’d expected to have to get past Donna, Charles’ administrative assistant, but the desk where Donna normally sat in her impeccable business suits was vacant.
