Black Light: Roulette Rematch (Black Light Series Book 20)

by Livia Grant

  I forgot all about her as Braxton lifted a clipboard from its hook at the end of the table. Moving to stand before me, he took a pen out of his pocket, clicking it loudly. “Let’s go over a few things before we get started.”

  “All right.”

  “Are you on any medication?” he asked.

  “Only birth control,” I said.

  “Do you have any food allergies?”

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  He made a check mark on the paper. “Allergic to insects?”

  “Does shuddering if I even see one count as being allergic? I detest bugs,” I answered honestly.

  “You don’t have to like them, but I need to know if you’ve ever had a bad reaction to a bug bite or a sting.”

  “Not that I recall.”

  He looked up at me. “Any swelling beyond just a bit at the site of a bite?”

  “No.”

  “You’ve never had your throat close up? Or had trouble breathing?”

  For the first time since he’d started asking questions, I hesitated.

  Don’t look. Do not look down!

  Totally ignoring that voice in my head, I dropped my gaze south and heard him chuckle.

  “Let me rephrase the question. Discounting any sexual activity, have you ever had trouble breathing?”

  I could feel my face heat but managed a soft, “No.”

  “Any irritation or excessive itching?”

  “I did get poison ivy once when hiking. It was pretty itchy,” I answered, beginning to wonder exactly how dangerous this little game could be.

  “I think we’re good.” Braxton moved back to the counter, exchanging the clipboard for a pair of latex gloves before choosing something off the tray. He grabbed a long cotton swab out of a jar and then came back to me. “You mentioned you weren’t sure what chemical play involved.” I nodded and he continued, “It’s vital I know if you’ve had any bad reaction to food, insects, and even plants. The goal is to have you feel sensations but not to have an attack that has your throat closing or your body breaking out in blisters.”

  “Good goal,” I said lightly, though I was pretty sure if he pressed a stethoscope against my chest, he’d hear my heart rate had kicked up a notch or two.

  “Hold out your wrist,” he instructed, tapping my left wrist with the wooden end of the swab before sticking the cotton end into the brown bottle in his other hand.

  “What’s that?” I asked, holding out my wrist as he withdrew the now saturated swab.

  “Your first test,” he replied, setting the bottle down beside me and taking my wrist in his hand. When I couldn’t quite conceal the flinch, he stroked his thumb across my skin. “Relax, this isn’t going to hurt. I’d never use anything on you I hadn’t already tested on myself.”

  My respect grew at knowing he’d done so. I watched in fascination as he drew the swab over my wrist in tiny circles.

  He chuckled and used his free hand to lift my chin until I looked at him. “Just breathe normally, Ember.”

  I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Opening my mouth to correct him in using my actual name, I realized it was rather silly. It wasn’t as if we both didn’t know exactly who the other was.

  A quick repeat on my right wrist had the scent of cinnamon filling the air. Another smear from a third bottle decorated my left inner thigh and my nose crinkled as the sharp smell of ginger added its aroma to the room.

  “What about here?” I asked, touching my right thigh. “I’m feeling a little off-balance.”

  “I believe I like having you unbalanced,” he retorted and then grinned in a way that had my blood racing.

  “Go ahead and lie back,” he continued, stripping off his gloves and pulling on a new pair as I slowly pulled my legs up and then lay back. “Scoot down until your butt is right here,” he said, patting the very edge of the table.

  Evidently, my perception of when to stop scooting didn’t match his. I yelped as he grabbed my ankles and tugged me down another six inches until I feared my ass was going to fall off the edge.

  “Lift your hips.”

  I gave a quick look toward the two-way mirror, but it was impossible to know if anyone was outside looking in. I closed my eyes and lifted my hips, biting my lip as my ‘doctor’ helped me finish disrobing.

  “Ahh, I’m afraid these cute little copper curls have got to go.”

  The statement had my eyes popping open and looking down the length of my body.

  “What?”

  He reached down to tug at the hair covering my sex as if thinking I needed a visual aid. “Close your eyes again.”

  “Why?”

  Instead of immediately answering, Braxton just quirked that sexy brow of his. Sighing, I closed my eyes and then gasped when my obedience was rewarded with a finger sliding just a fraction of an inch inside me.

  “You feel that?” he asked unnecessarily as there was no way he wasn’t aware that I did. My response had been instant the moment he’d started twirling his finger, fluid gathering in my sex and my hips lifting higher as if begging him to go deeper.

  “Yes.”

  “How about now?”

  The only thing I felt was the removal of his fingertip, and after a couple of seconds, I had to shake my head.

  “You may open your eyes.” Waiting until I had, he added, “And that’s your answer. The entire purpose of chemical play is for you to feel the sensations against your skin. Your pubic hair is a barrier.”

  I couldn’t argue with his logic and nodded, watching him cross to the counter to turn on the faucet at the sink. As the water ran, he returned to me and extended the metal poles at both sides and then flipped down the stirrups. “You know the drill. Feet up and knees wide.”

  I knew the moment I complied I’d be exposing myself to anybody who cared to look. My submissive self obeyed, my legs lifting, my feet sliding into the cold metal cradles. My knees fell apart simply due to the positioning of the stirrups, but evidently not quite wide enough as Braxton adjusted the poles until I was as blatantly displayed as possible.

  “Just relax. By the time we’re done here, I’ll know the results of the tests.”

  I looked down at my wrists, surprised I’d actually forgotten all about the substances he’d spread across my skin.

  Once the water’s temperature was satisfactory, he pulled a white cloth from a drawer, wet it, wrung it out, and then placed it over my sex. The warmth felt good but nowhere near as nice as when he gently ran his fingers over my breasts in ever-tightening circles.

  “It’s important to know how sensitive your breasts are,” he said, falling into his role as easily as I was falling into submission. Reaching my nipples, which were standing at full attention, he flicked them a few times before taking each one between his index fingers and thumbs. “Tell me, do you have sensitive nipples?”

  “Yes, Doctor. Very sensitive.”

  “How fortunate.” He grinned as his fingers closed around the taut buds. I gave a long groan when he pulled back, elongating each one until I began to arch up in an effort to ease the pressure.

  “Lie back,” he instructed firmly, not giving me an inch of relief. I obeyed, the sensation intense, but his eyes locked on mine were even more so. “Good girl,” he praised, squeezing just a little tighter and pulling just a tad bit harder until I was whimpering. “Very nice.” Releasing my nipples, he bent to give each one a quick kiss.

  He left me wanting so much more while he pulled back the cloth covering the tray and picked up a package. After opening it and removing the razor inside, he added a pair of small scissors, a can of shaving cream, and a small basin. Did the man think of every possible scenario when he played? Of course he did. He might be playing doctor, but he was Braxton Foster after all. The man was always prepared. Hell, he’d probably been the poster child for the Boy Scouts.

  Hooking a rolling stool with his foot, he dragged it over to the end of the table. Removing the cloth over my sex, he set it
beside my hip. “Ready?”

  I wasn’t sure how he expected me to be prepared for something so out of the box it had never crossed the realm of possible outcomes in my mind.

  For fuck’s sake, Ember, he’s not asking you to join a think tank here.

  “Just so you know, I’ve never shaved before,” I informed him. “Not there.”

  “I’m honored to be the first,” he said, and, for some reason, I believed he truly meant it.

  I was busy telling myself it was just hair and would grow back when he bent forward to press a kiss to the curls he was about to shear, ending my one-sided conversation. Within minutes he had used the scissors to cut most of the hair away. I gave a small start as he shook the can of shaving cream and then squirted it on me. He just grinned and added far more than was necessary until it looked like I had a snow-capped mountain between my legs. He finished with a twist of his wrist to form a little curl at the peak.

  I knew Braxton as a stoic, serious businessman… tonight I saw a far more playful side of him.

  And I liked it.

  Every stroke of the razor had me holding my breath until at last he picked up the discarded cloth and cleaned off any remaining cream. When he lifted the cloth away, I could feel the air drifting across my pussy, but it was the long, slow lick of his tongue across the newly bared surface that had me sucking in my breath again and my knees trembling.

  He lifted his head and grinned. “Feel the difference?”

  “I’m not sure. Perhaps you’d better give me one more test,” I suggested.

  Braxton’s brow lifted and I shrieked as his fingertips slapped down against skin that had never been as sensitive as it was now.

  “I mean, yes, Doctor, I definitely feel the difference.”

  After putting the shaving supplies away, he picked up my hands and turned them over to examine my wrists. “How about here and on your thigh? Any sensations?”

  “I feel a slight tickling on my right wrist, but nothing intense enough to be worrisome,” I answered.

  “That’s nothing to be concerned about.” Choosing another bottle, he wet a cotton ball with its contents and wiped it across my skin, leaving a sheen and a slight aroma I recognized.

  “Is that olive oil?”

  “Good nose,” he said with a nod. “You don’t use water to remove chemicals because it only spreads the oil or whatever has been applied.”

  I laughed and shook my head. “So, basically, if you have a decent pantry at home, and you’re tired of cooking, you can play instead.”

  Braxton chuckled. “True, but it’s best if you combine the two.”

  Before I could respond, there was another knock on the door. Braxton moved toward it, and it took everything I had not to yank my feet from the stirrups. He opened the door and took another tray from the woman.

  I waited until he’d thanked her and placed it on the counter before asking, “What do you need tea and milk for?”

  “Milk is another safe way to ease any irritation. I just wanted it on hand before we get started.”

  Get started?

  I was about to ask what it was we’d been doing when he poured a small amount of the olive oil into a glass and then tore the corner off a cellophane envelope. After choosing some sort of capsule from the bag, he opened it and dumped its contents into the cup. Using a tongue depressor, he stirred the concoction together.

  My concern about what he’d created was replaced by fascination as he dipped the tip of his finger into the liquid and then licked it.

  “Um, do I even want to know what that is?” I asked.

  “Let’s wait and see if your sense of touch is as good as your sense of smell.”

  The man truly did like to keep his cards close to his chest. Picking up the cup, he made a point of extending his pinky finger as if he were enjoying tea with the Queen of England instead of drinking it with a buck-ass naked woman splayed on a table.

  “To your continued good health,” he said, toasting me before taking a sip. He didn’t immediately swallow. Instead, he swished the liquid around in his mouth like mouthwash. After he’d repeated the swishing with a second mouthful, he put the cup down, moved to stand between my knees, and bent forward over my body.

  I thought he was going to kiss me or maybe transfer some of the liquid to my mouth like some sort of twisted version of a momma bird. Thankfully, Braxton proved he was definitely not concerned with feeding a baby chick when his target became clear. Instead of my mouth, his lips landed on my breast, and the only liquid I felt was the wetness of his tongue as he began to flick it over the peak of my right nipple.

  He licked and sucked, nibbling a moment before his tongue traced a line down the valley between my breasts and back up until he could give the same attention to my left nipple. It felt good… really, really good. I hadn’t been joking when I’d said my nipples were sensitive. Every lick of his tongue and draw of suction had little sparks of electricity shooting straight to my sex. I was losing myself in the glorious haze of sensation when it stopped. I opened my eyes to find my fingers tangled in hair the color of coal and a pair of blue eyes meeting mine.

  “Did I give you permission to change position?” he asked.

  “Um, sorry,” I muttered, dragging my fingers from his hair only to see him grin.

  “I was talking about your legs.”

  Looking over his head, I saw a pair of feet, but it took me a moment to realize they weren’t where they belonged. I truly hadn’t been aware I’d moved my legs to wrap around his body. Uncrossing my ankles, I slid my feet back into the stirrups. Braxton gave my nipple a sharp nip and then began to lick down my belly.

  His finger had felt good when we’d been in the theater and he’d traced a circle around my navel. His tongue felt a thousand times better. Like a kitten lapping cream from a saucer, he dipped his tongue into the slight depression. It was unexpected and the fact I arched my back to protest when he pulled away had me flushing. I couldn’t suppress a mewl when his lips ran over my denuded mound to the entrance of my pussy.

  Using just the tip of his tongue, he burrowed between my outer lips, spreading them apart in order to take long, leisurely licks up my center. When he reversed, his tongue trailing down over my perineum to begin circling my anus, the rattle of metal accompanied my mewls as my legs began to shake. Again and again, he feasted, proving to me that eating while playing was beyond good… it was about to be mind-blowing. I could feel my climax approaching with each swipe of his tongue, every nibble of his teeth over my clit.

  The scent of cinnamon filled the air and I recognized that must have been the substance he’d added to the oil. Suddenly, I realized my blood wasn’t the only thing beginning to heat. My nipples were tingling, the skin of my abdomen and my pussy joining in the slow burn. I understood the titillating excitement of his tongue tracing around the tightly puckered skin of my anus was no longer simply due to enjoying the act considered taboo by so many. The sensation grew as if every flutter of his tongue stoked the fire inside me.

  “Um… is it getting warm in here?”

  Braxton lifted his head, his lips and chin shiny with proof of exactly how hot he made me. “It takes heat to cook.” He slowly licked back up to my sex. “What you’re feeling now is just the preheating. It’s going to get hotter,” he added before he lowered his head and drove his tongue into my pussy, thrusting it in and out, in and out until I writhed beneath him.

  I’d always dismissed the stories about spontaneous combustion as urban legend, but now? Now I was wondering if Mr. Boy Scout had thought to have a fire extinguisher on hand. It turned out, he didn’t need one as, suddenly, he simply stepped away leaving me on the table.

  I could only lie there watching him rinse the cup he’d used, replacing the mystery brew with tea.

  “I’ve never known anyone to stop in the middle of a scene for teatime,” I said. Was my tone snarky? Probably, but I was having a slight problem reconciling the fact he’d left me cold… okay, that wasn
’t true. The man had left me smoldering and needy while he enjoyed his bloody tea!

  His response was to fill his mouth with the tea and then spit it out into the sink. I smirked, but before I could verbalize the rather unsubmissive thought that it served him right the tea couldn’t quench the fire he also must be feeling, he poured a second cup and drank it down.

  “I quite enjoy having you unbalanced and smoldering,” he said, turning to look at me as he whipped the towel off the first tray. He picked up a big, fat, knobby ginger root and a sharp paring knife. My ass cheeks clenched tightly. I might not have ever tried chemical play, but I’d scanned enough FetLife and YouTube videos to have a very good idea of exactly what he was doing. The aroma of fresh ginger intensified with every inch of peel he removed. If I had any doubts whatsoever, they disappeared as the root took shape in his hands until he looked up and caught me staring.

  He grinned as another long, greenish gray peel fell to the countertop. “Ever been figged before?”

  “No.” A quirk of his eyebrow reminded me of my place and his. “I mean, no, Master… Doctor.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “Master Doctor… I like it.” He put the knife down and stood. “You can lower your feet and roll over.”

  How I’d forgotten my legs were spread wide open I’d never know, but I quickly remedied the situation. Before I could become too comfortable on my stomach, he added, “Up on all fours, knees wide, tits to the table and ass up in the air.”

  Not looking at the mirror, I pushed up and arranged myself as directed. Any onlookers had already seen the goods, this was simply a different view. I watched him use the tip of his knife to score several long lines through the flesh of the penis-shaped root.

  “Reach back and spread your ass cheeks apart.”

  What the hell? How does a man make a statement like that as casually as he would ask someone to pass the salt? Forget facing him across a conference table knowing we’d played together. Acknowledging the other had an affinity for kinky games was something we’d both share. But this felt far more intimate. This was asking me to actively participate in exposing the most secret part of myself while he remained fully clothed.