Black Light: Valentine Roulette (Black Light Series Book 3)

by Livia Grant

  “You’re in big trouble, little girl.” Master D’s deep growl reverberated in her entire body, seeming to speak within her, the only voice or sound she heard. She’d gone into submission that fast, even with the audience and the unusual position. His hand beat at a steady pace, right buttock, left buttock, his left arm wrapped snuggly around her waist, holding her tight, though she’d never struggle or kick.

  She wasn’t the kind of sub who liked to pretend she hated it, not that she judged. She didn’t need to be tied down or cuffed or strapped to a spanking bench. She prided herself on following her dom’s instructions explicitly.

  Even so, she found the tight, intimate hold pleasurable. The heat of his lap and the wrap of his arm felt almost like an embrace. A tender spanking—a completely foreign experience for her.

  “Do you know why?”

  He paused.

  Oh dear lord. Was this going to be one of those question and answer scenes? She’d very much prefer a ball gag and hood—keep it anonymous and silent.

  “No, Daddy.”

  He picked up the intensity, and she lifted her ass to meet the punishing blows. As usual, her cheeks had reached the perfect level of sting, so that the increased force he used didn’t shock her system but came as delicious pain.

  She breathed into the fire, endorphins flooding her system, the early stages of bliss already creeping to the edge of her state.

  “You’ve been holding yourself away from me, little girl.”

  She hadn’t thought it possible with just his hand, but he spanked even harder. She absorbed the sensation, sharpening her experience to nothing more than his voice. His hand. Her body, which belonged to him. His words didn’t make sense to her—holding herself away from him in what way? But she wasn’t the type to question or argue. Whatever he said was truth in that moment.

  “You show up here, take your punishment, and leave. Week after week, since Black Light opened. It’s not good enough, little girl.”

  Not good enough.

  She gritted her teeth. She was never not good enough. Or at least she spent every minute of her life making sure she measured up. What in the hell more did he want from her?

  He paused the spanking and pumped the ginger root in and out of her ass, twisting it. A slight warmth tingled everywhere it touched, a prelude of the burning that was sure to follow.

  She felt needy, but for more than just pain. The foreign longing irritated her like a scratchy sweater. She’d thought she’d figured things out in this place. She submitted, received pain, found release. But this new craving—this blinding desire for approval, the need to be right in her master’s eyes?

  Ugh.

  When he resumed spanking, it was with the smooth, flat side of a wooden hairbrush.

  She sucked in her breath to keep herself from wriggling away from it, her eyes watering from the pain. “What do you want?” she gasped, knowing she sounded disrespectful, shocked at her own breakage of protocol.

  “I want you to give me everything, sunshine. I want you. All of you.”

  She didn’t answer, not knowing what to say. Not wanting to speak as every part of her body tuned into the steady beat of the hard brush on her tender ass.

  A moan escaped her lips.

  “Bad girl.”

  He didn’t usually use words like that, and they struck her like a javelin to the chest. Usually her pain was for his pleasure—a sadist enjoying his torture. But to hear disapproval from him caused her more discomfort than the spanking, which was getting intense. The pain had built, her ass becoming a heated, throbbing mass of nerve endings that screamed in protest at the thuddy, insistent smack of the hairbrush.

  “No.”

  Shit. Had she actually just whimpered no? What the hell? She wasn’t the sort of sub to beg, certainly not one to ever tell her dom no.

  “No?” His voice rang sharp and cruel, and he brought the hairbrush down with even more force.

  She had to close her throat to keep another whimper from tumbling out.

  “Have you given yourself to me, little girl? Do you let me see beyond the perfect obedience, sub?”

  “No.”

  Why in the hell were actual tears in her eyes? Not the kind that just came from her eyes watering, but real emotional ones. Her throat closed, and she held her breath.

  “Why is that, baby girl? Are you afraid of breaking protocol?”

  Why was he asking her these questions? Of course she was afraid of breaking protocol! She never broke fucking protocol!

  “What happens if you screw up?”

  She shifted on his lap, violating her own vow to always hold still for her dom. She wanted the damn scene to be over. This wasn’t her thing. Not in the slightest. To make matters worse, the ginger in her anus had begun to seriously burn, the discomfort making her itchy to move—to get up and walk away—no—run away from this whole crazy event.

  Her master went on relentlessly, spanking with too much force now—it was all too much. When he spoke, his voice sounded harsh and angry. “I asked you a question. What happens if you screw up?”

  “You beat my ass!” she shouted, angry now.

  “Language, little girl. This isn’t a dungeon scene.” This time the rebuke was cold and tight.

  It had the effect of lassoing in her errant emotions, drawing her up tight to toe the line he drew for her.

  “Apologize and try again.”

  Oh God. She hated screwing up. Hated it more than anything in the world. Her face burned, pressure building behind her eyes and nose. “Sorry...Daddy. You beat my bottom.” Her voice choked, but she still managed to inflict a little sarcasm into the last word.

  “That’s right, baby. So is that any different than when you don’t screw up?”

  What kind of mind fuck is this?

  She really didn’t want to play this game anymore.

  “Is it?” His voice snapped like a whip.

  “No, sir.” A tear dropped onto the stage floor.

  Jesus fucking Christ. This wasn’t her. She didn’t cry.

  He didn’t correct her.

  “So why isn’t it okay to screw up?”

  Stop. Just stop. She needed him to stop this interrogation.

  As usual, her dom seemed to know exactly where she was, because he didn’t force an answer this time.

  “Who needed you to be perfect, angel?” His voice came softer now, a caress after the sharpness, though the incredible, steady beating of the hairbrush never paused, never stopped.

  It took her a moment to understand the question. Was he asking about her childhood?

  “Was it your father?”

  Oh, fuck no.

  Something inside her ripped. She was a child again, the one who never measured up. She had never been physically punished—no. That would’ve been a relief compared to the withdrawal of love she experienced any time she misstepped. The general had extremely high expectations for his only child, the daughter he reminded over and over again she must be a good reflection on him.

  “Did he need you to be perfect?”

  A sob crested her throat and erupted. Tears poured from her eyes, dripping in a mess on the black stage floor.

  With just one stupid question, she cowered and crouched in the shadow of not good enough. Of wrong. Of the place she always suspected she belonged and had worked her whole life to avoid.

  Her back shook with sobs—real crying with genuine tears, not just panting through pain. Oh God, she was a total mess.

  It flew out of her in a torrent, choking her.

  Breaking her.

  Derek lightened up on the spanks but didn’t break the rhythm, giving Jennifer a chance to release everything that was coming up.

  He hadn’t been sure he could do it. Most of his questioning had been guesswork, since he and Jennifer hardly spoke more than necessary in a scene. But he’d busted a wall, and the real Jennifer was leaking out in the most beautiful, messy sort of way.

  Yeah, ageplay wasn’t his thing,
but he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. Getting through to Jennifer, finding out what she kept hidden so well, and helping her to release her demons meant more to him than he’d known.

  And while messy emotional stuff wasn’t usually his gig, he actually welcomed the opportunity to hold his sweet sub and provide every level of comfort she needed.

  Her sobs gradually subsided, and he stopped spanking, laying the brush down on the floor beside his chair. He eased the ginger finger out of her anus and dropped it back into the plastic baggie he’d brought it in.

  Smoothing Jennifer’s skirt back down, he lifted her to her feet, rising from the chair so he could take her into his arms.

  The audience broke into applause.

  And then she swung at him.

  Fuck.

  He dodged her flying fist, and the clapping stopped abruptly, morphing into a tight silence punctuated by several gasps and whispers.

  “Whoa—out of line,” one female cried out, indignant on his behalf. “That’s what a safeword is for!”

  His heart jammed up in his throat. He’d taken it too far. Or not far enough. Either way, his sub was furious with him, and if he didn’t fix the situation quickly, he might lose her.

  Unacceptable.

  He raised his hand to shut up the crowd, never taking his gaze from Jennifer’s flushed face. Her eyes and nose were red, mascara smudged under her eyes. Fists balled at her sides, her chest heaved with rapid breath.

  His chest tightened to see her this way, even though he’d been the one to cause her pain. Sadism was like that—with the desire to hurt also came the equal desire to comfort, to protect.

  “It’s okay. I get it. I hurt you. You want to hurt me back?” He beckoned to her. “Come on, throw another one. I promise I won’t duck this time.”

  Her knuckles slammed into his jaw, not with enough force to knock him off balance, but definitely with enough to bruise.

  He rubbed his jaw as the crowd muttered again. “That’s a beautiful right hook, baby. Now—”

  But Jennifer was walking swiftly away, and if he didn’t catch her, he feared he’d never see her again.

  She headed straight for the door out of the club then seemed to remember how she was dressed and made a sharp right turn, beelining it for the women’s locker room. Thank God she wasn’t in street-worthy clothing.

  He jogged to catch her. Chase had taken the stage, introducing the next couple, thankfully shifting the attention away from his drama. Accelerating his speed, he caught her right before she went in, darting in front of her to block her way.

  The security guy, Terry, came over, frowning.

  Jennifer sidestepped to get by him, but Derek shifted as well.

  “Okay, maybe she just needs a little break,” Terry said.

  Derek had to work very hard to keep his hands from forming fists. “Just give us some space, here. I’m not touching her, and she hasn’t safeworded. There’s no need for you to be involved.”

  Jennifer’s lips pressed into a thin line, her tear-streaked face completely closed and angry.

  He caught her eye and tried to hold it, but she glared resolutely over his shoulder. “Listen to me”—Baby didn’t sound right— “Jennifer.”

  Her eyes flashed wide when she heard her name, but her face turned even stormier.

  “We had a bad scene. You’re upset. I’m not letting you walk out of here without aftercare.”

  A glimpse of surprise flickered on her face, but then she visibly hardened again.

  “You don’t have to talk to me about what’s going on inside your head. You don’t even have to say a goddamn word, but I need to make sure you’re taken care of.”

  She drew herself up, an effect that was lost by the way her lips still trembled and defeat still shadowed her eyes. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

  “Baby.” He said the word softly, infusing it with his regret. He wanted to argue with her, to tell her he knew damn well that wasn’t true, but seeing the firmness in the set of her mouth, he abandoned that tack. “I need it.”

  Her eyes flashed. “I don’t give a shit what you need.”

  Somewhere across the club, a sub screamed as she dropped into the water tank.

  The fucking security guy still hovered nearby, waiting to get involved. Derek chose to use it to his advantage. “Fine.” He flicked a glance toward Terry. “If you won’t accept it from me, Terry will find someone else to give it to you, but you’re not leaving this building without aftercare.” He honestly didn’t want to trust her fragile state to anyone else’s care, but if came down to that or nothing, he cared more about her than about his own need to be her man.

  They both turned to look at Terry, who appeared startled to be put in the middle of it. Derek prayed they had enough brotherly trust between them for him to back him up.

  Terry considered for a moment then gave a single nod. “That’s right.”

  Jennifer rolled her eyes, but he could see the signs of another break—tears starting to swim, lips quivering.

  He moved in quickly, slipping an arm around her waist with the lightest touch. “Come on, angel,” he murmured encouragingly. “I’ll give you a whipping, if you still need it.”

  The offer was the carrot for her, not the stick. Only in this upside down world of Black Light was that a treat rather than a punishment.

  Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and her lips twitched.

  “I’ll even let you punch me again.”

  She gave a choked snort but allowed him to lead her away from the locker room. He picked up his duffel bag of dom equipment on the way and escorted her into a safe room where people went to chill out and be away from scenes when they’d had too much. It had red leather couches and warm lighting. No one else was in there.

  “Just you and me, the way it’s supposed to be.” He pulled a blanket from his bag and wrapped her up in it, scooping under her knees and lifting her into his arms. “I know we don’t usually do things this way, but tonight’s unusual.”

  She leaned her forehead against his jaw, and the gesture nearly broke him. He hated to see her so fragile, but the honor of comforting her in this moment was priceless.

  Sinking to sit on the loveseat, he tucked her up against his chest.

  “Baby, I know I pushed your buttons tonight.” He tugged the elastic bands out of her hair to release the pigtails. “I won’t say I didn’t mean to, because we both know I did.” He combed his fingers through her silky blonde hair, watching the strands feather out over her shoulders. “I wasn’t trying to humiliate you, at least not in a way that’s not sexy.”

  He rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head.

  Her eyes lifted.

  Yeah, he knew. The affectionate dom thing wasn’t usually his gig, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know how to do it. And with her, it felt right.

  “It wasn’t about winning the bet, either.” He held his breath, praying she wasn’t going to tell him that bet was off, because he knew how close he was to having her sever all ties.

  She stilled, clearly listening, but didn’t speak.

  “It came from the deepest connection with you. I don’t want you to work so goddamn hard to please me, week after week. And that’s something you’ll probably never hear from a dom’s lips again.”

  She gave a shaky chuckle.

  He brushed some hair back from her face and cupped her cheek. “You are the perfect sub.” He smiled when a slight blush of pleasure bloomed on her cheeks. “I think we have something together. Something that could go beyond Black Light.”

  She made a restless move.

  “No, wait—I know you’ve been keeping your walls high. You like to keep things separate and neat and clean. But life isn’t fucking clean. And I want to be part of your messiness.”

  Her nostrils flared, eyes widened in alarm.

  He tightened his arms around her, afraid she’d try to bolt. “Don’t you fucking run from me,” he growled.

&nb
sp; She liked the dominant threat. Her pupils dilated, breath sucked in over her berry lips.

  “You think I can’t handle you in real life, too?”

  “I don’t do this in real life.” She jerked again, in a clear attempt to get off his lap.

  “I know you outrank me, angel.”

  She stilled. Swiveled on his lap to look him square in the face, measuring him.

  “I saw the insignia on your uniform, baby. Did you really think I’d fail to notice the sexiest officer in the entire fucking Army when she passed me?”

  A reluctant smile tugged at Jennifer’s lips. “You were in civilian clothes.”

  “Retired Navy SEAL doing contract work. And you’re a major already, turning the military on its head. Your career far outshines mine.” He attempted to show in his expression and tone that his respect was genuine, in fact, it went beyond respect. He was downright proud of what she’d accomplished. “Yeah, I’m beneath you. You might be impressed by my security clearance level, though.” He winked.

  “Navy SEAL is impressive enough,” she muttered, blushing.

  He brushed a kiss across the bridge of her nose. “What I’m trying to say is that I know who you are. In here and out there. And I want both.”

  She shook her head. “That doesn’t work.”

  “Don’t fucking tell a SEAL he can’t make something work.”

  She rolled her eyes, and he was glad to see the return of humor. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “No? It’s Derek. Derek King.”

  He leaned his forehead against hers. “So, are you going to let me have that date?”

  “I don’t...think...” she whispered, but he heard the longing in her voice.

  “I did win the bet.” He made his voice teasing, hoping it wouldn’t piss her off. “Come on, just one date. To see what else is possible between us.” When she didn’t answer, he prompted, “So, we have a date?”

  She searched his face.

  He held his breath, not sure what she was looking for.

  Dragging her lower lip between her teeth, she drew a breath and let it out slowly then nodded.

  He had to restrain himself from fist-pumping. “Good.” He kissed her forehead. “You won’t be sorry.” He stroked his hands up and down her body. “You ready to spin again? Or do you want to accept Dom’s Choice this time?”