by Livia Grant
Well, Valentine’s Day was in five days. He would find out soon enough.
He gathered his phone and jacket from his locker, said goodnight to Luis, the security guard, and exited through the psychic shop, waving politely to the gypsy woman at the counter as he made his way outside. A blast of cold air hit him as his driver pulled around the corner.
Hunter crawled in the back of the black SUV and resisted the urge to type ‘Natalie Morris’ into Google and discover what she’d been up to recently. He didn’t pay attention to the news as closely as he used to, now that he’d returned to the private sector, and he couldn’t help wondering if he’d missed a recent news story about her.
The Urban Green Society sat only a few blocks away. Not that she would be there right now, this late at night, even if she were currently in the capital. A friend of a friend had mentioned she often telecommuted from her little cabin in rural Virginia.
When she saw him at the charity ball, what would she think? Would he remind her of all she’d lost? He didn’t want to be responsible for resurrecting her demons, but he still couldn’t stay away. He had to at least talk to her. To stare into her bottomless blue depths. To stroke her hair, at least one last time. To get some fucking closure.
Despite her holier-than-thou parents trying to mold her into a meek pretty face, she radiated a beautiful strength from within. He’d sensed it, and he’d witnessed it firsthand when he’d watched her televised public apology. The spark of defiance flaring in her gaze had brought him hope that she was close to snapping, close to bucking the authority that had held her down for so long—namely her controlling and ultra-conservative father.
He was glad to know she was estranged from her destructive family, but he hoped she wasn’t lonely. God, he fucking hoped she had a big circle of friends, or—even though the prospect sent white-hot jealousy surging through him—a boyfriend or a dom who truly cared for her.
The driver pulled the SUV to a stop, and Hunter glanced up, surprised they’d arrived at his home in the upscale Georgetown neighborhood so quickly. He exited the car before the driver had a chance to open the door. He hurried inside, determined to throw himself into his business ventures during the next few days to get the daughter of his former political opponent off his mind.
But first, he had to sign up for Roulette Redux. He fired up his laptop at the kitchen counter and began filling out the comprehensive form. For his pairing, he picked single partner play with a submissive female, and when it came time to list his hard limits, he only selected two—blood play and needle play.
Form completed.
A thrill jolted through him, and he found himself looking forward to the event more than he’d anticipated. The hair on the back of his neck prickled and his pulse spiked. He had an odd, almost psychic sense, that something memorable would happen on Valentine’s night.
Chapter 3
Natalie wasn’t wearing a mask. Not tonight. Not at Black Light. After convincing her to sign up for Roulette Redux as a submissive, Helena had assured her that her privacy would remain protected, as everyone in attendance tonight had to sign an NDA.
While she couldn’t afford the exorbitant fees of the exclusive BDSM club on a regular basis, the prospect of winning a month of membership, along with Helena’s guarantees about her privacy, had been too tempting to resist when she’d passed the black invitation card across the table to her in Dmitri’s.
Perhaps, if Natalie budgeted carefully, she could afford an occasional month here and there. Of course, that would mean staying in D.C. for more than a few days at a time. Well, she would cross that bridge when and if she came to it.
Her body hummed with an invigorating sense of freedom, despite her nervousness over the evening to come. She wasn’t anxious about playing with a stranger. Well, not that anxious. What put her on edge was the possibility of rolling an activity on the roulette wheel that pushed her boundaries too far.
She’d had a difficult time picking her four hard limits while filling out the sign-up form online. At Overtime, she frequented the spanking bench and the whipping post, rarely indulging in any play that would push her boundaries or cause her to overthink, and she especially avoided any scenario that would make her endure too much shame. What would she do if the roulette wheel saddled her with age play, medical play, or humiliation? She gulped hard and shivered as a frigid gust of wind hit her.
If she survived tonight and won, she could keep coming back, for an entire month, and enjoy her favorite activities without the fear of being outed. Without having to wear a mask.
But oh, how she hoped luck was on her side when she spun for her activities. The pain of a spanking or a whipping grounded her in the moment, in a place where nothing else mattered. Not her past or her future. Not her family or the infamous picture scandal. Not the knowledge that her life would be so fucking different—better, maybe?—if she hadn’t allowed Walter to snap those compromising pics of her.
A good beating was the perfect drug, simultaneously turning her mind off and sending her a rush of endorphins, allowing her to forget and fly high. She exhaled a sharp breath and worked up her courage to enter the psychic shop. The gypsy woman at the counter was chatting on the phone, but she shot Natalie a brief smile.
Natalie headed to the back of the shop.
This is it. No turning around now.
She ducked behind a curtain and was relieved to see the security guard Helena had described. The huge Hispanic man stared at her, wordlessly, and she tried her best to avoid gawking at the angry looking scar on his cheek. A shudder went through her. She couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the other guy.
She passed him her invitation, and he scanned the QR code on it before handing it back. He said something to her then, but between her momentarily zoning out and her pulse pounding hard in her ears, she couldn’t quite make out his instructions. But no matter. Helena had given her explicit details of what to expect this evening. The guard opened a door and motioned for her to step down the stairs.
“After the first guy in the back of the psychic shop scans your card, you’ll head through a creepy tunnel and then go through another door and get checked in by a big dude named Danny,” Helena had told her. “The whole check-in process might seem a little over the top and intimidating, but I promise it’s for your safety, and for everyone else’s peace of mind as well. Trust me. This club is a hundred times better than Overtime. And you’ll fit right in, I promise.”
“Um, thank you,” she mumbled as she passed the security guard.
By the time she came face to face with the aforementioned Danny, her heart was pounding a frantic rhythm in her chest. Her hands shaking, she passed her driver’s license and her invitation to him. He gave her a once-over, handed her license back, and scanned the invite. At that moment, a locker popped open to her right.
“Welcome to Black Light. Please place your electronics in the locker. Phone included.”
Though her legs suddenly felt like jelly, she managed to walk over to the locker and shove her phone, purse, and jacket inside. She closed the door with a sharp click and moved toward the entrance. The guard opened the door, and she hesitated only an instant before stepping inside. A welcome rush of warm air hit her.
She walked further inside, eager to take in her new surroundings. The club was pretty much one big room, and larger than Overtime. Nicer and newer looking, too, with top of the line equipment. She let her gaze wander around, a sense of awe filling her. She glanced from the spanking benches, to the stocks, to the hot tub, to the St. Andrew’s cross, and more. As she spun in a slow circle, to get a better look at all the stations, her pulse spiked at the sight of the medical play area.
She’d almost listed medical play as one of her hard limits, but not being able to list more than four, she’d eventually decided on blood play, needle play, water sports, and breath play. Hopefully, the odds would be in her favor when she spun the activity wheel tonight. A tingle raced across her ass at the pr
ospect of a hard paddling or whipping.
She smoothed her hands down her short black dress and headed for the area in front of the stage where a muscular man wearing a staff T-shirt was instructing the submissives to start gathering. On her way over, a sexy, shirtless blond man stepped in front of her, holding a tray of drinks.
“Champagne?” he offered.
God, yes. She’d never been so thirsty in her life.
She nodded and smiled her thanks, accepting the drink. The man started to walk away, but when he noticed her downing the beverage in a few quick gulps, he paused and waited for her to hand over the empty glass. She wouldn’t mind another right now, but as a participant in Roulette Redux, she wasn’t allowed more than two adult beverages. A sound rule, she supposed, and she wanted to save her second drink for later—in case she found herself in desperate need of some liquid encouragement.
She’d arrived a few minutes early, but the place was already crowded. The tables in front of the stage were packed, and there were people gathered in small groups around the bar, chatting and… fucking. Her breath caught in her chest at the sight of a Dom ramming his cock down a naked sub’s throat, while behind the woman a second Dom pounded into her pussy. Heat suffused Natalie’s cheeks.
Her head swam momentarily, and she wasn’t sure if it was due to nerves or the effects of downing the champagne so quickly. She took her place with the gathered subs and politely smiled at a few of them. Most of them looked anxious, though several wore blank or excited expressions. She envied those who didn’t appear worried.
If she had her mask, would her stomach still be tied in countless knots?
She touched her face, unexpectedly mourning the loss of her anonymity. She cast a cautious glance around. She recognized a senator seated at a table, a singer from a band whose name had escaped her mind, and thought a few other faces looked familiar too. After a series of deep breaths, she managed to calm a bit, the knots in her stomach loosening, if only a smidge.
The participating doms had gathered on the other side of the stage, along with a few dommes, and she allowed herself a casual peek, wondering which man she would be matched with for the evening.
One of them, a tall man wearing a suit, had his back turned to her as he conversed with someone. For a reason she couldn’t pinpoint, he gave her an uneasy sense of déjà vu. She glanced down at her feet, not wanting to be caught staring, and noticed she’d scuffed her heels while walking here from the parking garage.
Maybe she was more anxious than she realized. She hadn’t ruined a pair of shoes in years.
Step! Step! Feet straight! No, no, no. Try again! If you’re pigeon-toed, you won’t even make it to the finals. For God’s sake, Natalie, are you trying to make a fool of me?
Her mother’s shrill voice cut into her thoughts, a sharp blade across her consciousness. A wave of nausea overcame her, as it always did when a reminder of her long days spent preparing for and competing in beauty pageants visited her. She’d hated every minute of it. The heavy makeup. The big hair. The ridiculous dresses. Starving herself so she could fit into a size down when her mother had lamented that all the other girls didn’t have such fat hips.
Most of all, the pressure to be perfect. God, it had weighed her down. Suffocated her. Made her feel like less of a human being.
She knew she wasn’t perfect. Not even close. But all she wanted was to be enough for one person. Just one fucking person. She’d thought she’d been enough for Walter, only to catch him in bed with Marcy, her so-called best friend. Natalie should’ve known he would share the scandalous pictures after she broke things off, but she’d still been as surprised as her parents when the photos showed up on his social media accounts one fateful morning.
Stop it, stop it, stop it. She dug her nails into her palms, needing the pain to distract her from her musings of the past. Her eyes traveled to the two roulette wheels on the stage. Hopefully at least one of her three rolls on the activity wheel would result in her getting the pain she craved.
She resisted the urge to cup her ass cheeks. The pain from her last paddling had faded already, but oh how she hoped tonight’s festivities left her sore and aching. Left her with some lingering pain to grasp on to, some discomfort she could reinvigorate the next day by squirming in her seat or caressing her behind.
Heat gathered between her thighs, a hot pulsing sensation that made her nipples tighten and burn against her lacy bra with each breath. She pressed her legs together, hoping to alleviate the building ache. But it didn’t work. If anything, her urgency only increased.
The lights in the club dimmed, and the emcee took the stage, holding the mic as he smiled down at the crowd. The murmuring voices around her gradually quieted, and Natalie noticed that behind the emcee, the roulette wheels had lit up. She blinked at the lights, imagining the weight of the marble in her hand as she prepared to roll for her activity. Big money, big money, spanking.
The handsome emcee, who was wearing a tuxedo, introduced himself as Chase and welcomed everyone to the club. Next, he presented his assistant, a beautiful young woman named Emma. Then he wasted no time in explaining the rules of the game.
Natalie only half-listened. She’d read the rules on the website, and Helena, having attended last year but unable to come this year due to a family commitment, had explained them to her as well. Her gaze returned to the participating dominants.
The man she’d only seen from behind earlier had turned around. Oh, God.
His familiar dark gaze met hers, and for a moment, Natalie thought she must be hallucinating.
She closed her eyes and counted to five. But when she opened them, he was still standing there.
Still staring at her.
Holy fucking shit.
Her stomach flipped, and she grabbed ahold of the young woman standing beside her, to prevent herself from falling. The woman gasped but kindly supported her until the wave of dizziness passed.
Natalie had suspected Hunter Knox was a dominant, but actually seeing him here in Black Light, as a fellow participant in Roulette Redux, no less, left her beyond shaken.
“You okay?” the pretty redhead asked in a whisper. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Did one of the doms give you a mean look? I know some of them look scary.”
“Oh, I’m fine. Thanks. I just…I know one of those doms. From a long time ago.” Years. It had been years, and Hunter Knox still looked as handsome as ever. If anything, the new streaks of white in his otherwise black hair made him even sexier. Distinguished. All-powerful. She swallowed hard at the same instant her pussy spasmed.
“Well, maybe you’ll get lucky, and he’ll roll your name, honey,” the redhead said, giggling.
The idea of Hunter rolling her name made her freeze with terror. But so did the prospect of playing with another dominant in full view of him, or witnessing him play with another sub. She dared another glance at him. His predatory gaze burned into her, causing her to fidget in place.
She hadn’t even decided if she would attend the charity ball yet, where she would no doubt have run into him. But now here he was, storming into her life and not giving her a choice in the matter.
Finally, through an act of sheer will, she tore her eyes from his and focused on the emcee.
The pairings had begun, and she watched as a couple of male/male, female/male, and female/female groupings were matched and spun for their activities. But a commotion in front of her soon caught her attention. One of the submissives dropped to the floor, and everything paused as a concerned crowd formed around her. The fainted girl roused after a few moments, though still appeared disoriented. Natalie felt for her. The poor thing, probably passed out from nerves. A man carried her off, and the pairings for the main event soon got back underway.
She couldn’t resist another side glance at Hunter Knox.
He was still staring at her. Of course he was.
Chapter 4
Natalie.
She was here.
At Black L
ight.
Hunter couldn’t believe it. He knew she wasn’t a member of the club, and he wondered who had invited her. His blood heated, his body thrumming with the longing for her. Her huge blue eyes called to him, and it took all his self-control to remain on stage with the other doms, awaiting his turn to spin for his sub.
Fuck. He would combust if another dom rolled her name. He glared from side to side, silently daring another man to touch the submissive he craved, the very girl who entered his thoughts unbidden, as if to taunt him with what he couldn’t have.
One way or another, he would fucking have her. Tonight. Even if he had to make a scene and break the rules. He didn’t care about winning. Did Natalie? Is that why she’d come? To win a month of membership? Maybe, he supposed, as he returned his gaze to her, staring her down and basking in the blush that stained her cheeks. Her job at the nonprofit couldn’t pay very well, and a girl like her—a young lady who’d already endured enough public scandal for one lifetime—was probably drawn to the exclusivity of the club.
Once the non-M/f pairings were all finalized, he held his breath as the first solo Dom tossed a marble into the spinning wheel. He couldn’t help but notice Natalie’s shoulders sagged with relief when Chase called another girl’s name.
The pairings continued, and by some miracle, the former beauty queen’s name hadn’t been called yet. Of course, Hunter’s nerves were so frayed by the time Chase announced his number—ten—that he didn’t hear him at first.
“Ten? Would the dominant with number ten please step forward?” Chase said louder, and Hunter glanced at the number in his hand and walked across the stage. He passed the number to Chase, who gave him the marble.
