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

by Livia Grant

  As if on cue, the radiator started clanging. Mina had christened the fifty-year-old radiator ‘Gangbang’ because it ‘sounded like a bunch of guys with giant tools’.

  “Oh my god, Mina.” Chessie threw her pillow with half-hearted force. “Fine. I’ll do it.” Three months rent would be worth it.

  “Awesome. You can borrow an outfit. Just… when you do bring a guy home... don’t have sex on my bed.” Mina disappeared with a wink.

  Chapter 2

  “Three months rent, three months rent,” Chessie chanted as she entered the club. She’d clutched the invitation like a weapon, showing it to the doorman at the super secret entrance to Black Light, wondering how in the hell life had lead her here. Only Mina could talk her into something like this night out of her wildest fantasies. In addition to the monetary bribe (not to mention the promise of potential orgasm), Mina had pulled out the big guns and dared her, practically called her a coward. And Chelsea Wilhelmina Jones was no coward...at least, not last night, when Mina had gotten in her face. Right now, she was trying not to shiver as she descended into the opulent underworld.

  Black Light was basically one large room, with a few curtained off areas lining one wall, offering some privacy. Various equipment dotted the floor – tables, stocks, wooden structures for strapping subs to, even a hot tub and – oh God – a stage in one corner for public displays.

  This was such a mistake. Shifting uneasily in her knee high boots, Chessie resisted the urge to pull down her short black dress. On Mina, it fit perfectly. On Chessie, it was a tad too tight, the hem hovering scandalously at mid thigh. The fabric hugged her curves, making her cleavage pop so that she didn’t need a bra, not that she could’ve worn one under the sheath.

  For her journey to the club, she’d covered the whole ensemble with the longest coat she could find, finally surrendering it with her purse and cellphone in the locker room, but based on the looks she was getting from the men in the club – and some of the women – she had no reason to hide. So far she blended in with the well-dressed patrons. There weren’t any naughty school girls, or subs in head to toe fetish leather, or beautiful slaves naked but for a collar...

  ...yet.

  “Excuse me, are you here for the Roulette?” A dungeon monitor moved her politely, but firmly, towards the line of subs waiting to go on stage.

  Relax, Mina had said. Everyone’s nice and professional. I’ve made friends. If you let yourself, you’ll have a good time.

  Forcing herself not to fidget, Chessie surveyed the club. On the other side of the giant wheel they would spin to begin the night’s activities, a line of men waited. Some were chatting, and others observed the line of subs across from them, much as Chessie was doing. When their gaze swept over her form and stopped to feast, she felt heat spill from her cheeks into the rest of her body. Tonight, one of these men would claim and command her. Hate it all she wanted, she couldn’t deny it turned her on.

  Mina had given her pointers: be yourself, use your manners, and call the dominants “sir” and “ma’am” unless they tell you otherwise. One of the Doms – a tall, burly man with muscles straining to pop out of his black t-shirt – crossed his arms and leveled a look at her. Chessie had to fight to keep from dropping her eyes automatically under the overpowering gaze. Instead, she looked away, swaying on her heels a little.

  What had she gotten herself into?

  “It’s all right,” one of the subs beside her whispered.

  “What?”

  “You look as if you’re about to faint. New here?” At Chessie’s curt nod, the sub continued. “All the dominants are really, really good. Experienced. They’ll respect your safeword. And there are dungeon monitors who will stop play if anything gets out of control. So it looks intense, but it’s actually pretty safe.”

  “Thank you.” Chessie tried to call up some inner poise and channel it onto her face.

  “They’ll probably get rid of your mask first thing, though.” The sub gave her an almost pitying look, and Chessie touched the stiff black satin molded to her face, the only piece of her armor she had left.

  “Most Doms won’t like you hiding any part of yourself from them,” the sub prattled on. “But it’s not like you’ll be paired with someone you actually know.”

  Biting back the urge to tell the oh-so-helpful sub to mind her own business, Chessie merely nodded and turned away, just in time to meet the perusal of pretty blue eyes.

  Fuck. Oh no. Oh no, oh no. Not him.

  Senator Kane stood in the line next to the muscled Dom. He must have just arrived – a faint tinge of pink on his cheeks lingered from the outdoor cold. Otherwise, he looked much like he had at the dinner a night before, tall frame encased in a fine tailored suit. Blue-blood good looks softened by a good-ol’ boy smile as he spoke with the man next to him.

  She trembled even as she reminded herself she wore the mask. With all the people he met, the senator wouldn’t remember her anyway. At least, she hoped he didn’t.

  Worrying about this was enough to make her zone out through the club owner’s opening remarks. What if the Roulette paired them? Would he recognize her? They’d be up close and personal, scening intimately for up to three hours. His elegant hands touching her, guiding her. He’d start by tracing her collarbone, dipping to explore her cleavage.

  You’ve been a naughty girl, he’d whisper in her ear, so close she could inhale the clean scent of his aftershave, or touch her lips to his jaw. His hands would rest on her tiny waist and glide along the flare of her hips, appreciating her hourglass figure. You need to be punished. He’d grip her ass, hard, and smack her bottom.

  “Hey, that’s you,” the sub’s harsh whisper propelled her forward.

  “What?” The sub pushed Chessie a few steps forward before she realized the MC was calling her name.

  “Ms. Jones! Her hard limits are electrical pain play, blood play, needle play and water sports.”

  Next to the wheel, the giant Dom glared down at her, and all moisture left her mouth. This was her Dom for the night? He looked like he popped steroids for breakfast and washed them down with nails. If he whipped her, she’d probably end up bloody.

  The MC handed her a white ball and motioned for her to drop it on the roulette wheel that would decide her fate. “Ms. Jones, toss your ball in.”

  Fear and acid taste in her mouth, Chessie obeyed with jerky, hesitant movements, body like a robot out of her control.

  “Sybian Orgasm Torture!”

  Torture? What the fuck? And what was a Sybian? She wracked her brain for Mina’s explanation, like a student who’d crammed all night before the test.

  This had to be a nightmare.

  Teetering on her heels, she faced her new Dom. Black t-shirt, bulging arms – add a whip in his hand and a shivering, naked sub on a rack and Mina would dub him ‘The Torturer’. Except Chessie was going to be that poor, helpless sub.

  The Torturer crooked a finger at her.

  As she waited next to him the glare of the stage lights fried her brain, and whited out any of the action in front of them. The club safeword ran through her head over and over again.

  Once the Roulette wheel had spun for the last time, the Dom gripped her elbow and dragged her off the stage. Finding a seat, he dropped into it and pointed at his feet.

  “Kneel, Ms. Jones.”

  Here? Now? Around all these people?

  “Um…” When Chessie hesitated, his scowl turned fierce.

  “Little sub, if you don’t want me to start your orgasm torture with the worst caning of your life, you need to kneel at my feet. Now.”

  Caning? After her little run in with the senator, Chessie had looked up pictures of women getting caned. Advanced implement, indeed. She could tell by the red lines, raw and angry, sliced onto supple thighs.

  Fuck three months rent.

  Darting back as if he’d reach out and grab her, Chessie whispered, “Red.”

  With a disgusted sigh, the Dom rose like a mountain be
fore her, grabbed her arm, and pulled her across the floor. Half walking, half dragged, Chessie went without a fight – until she realized where the Torturer was taking her.

  “No.” When she tried to dig in her heels, the huge Dom gave her a tug that sent her flying forward – straight into Senator Kane’s arms. The senator had been sitting talking to his sub for the night – a stunning blonde in a barely there dress – but he somehow got to his feet and caught Chessie with an arm around her waist. Sagging in his firm hold, Chessie found her feet and stared back at her would-be torturer for the night.

  “What’s going on?”

  “She safeworded,” the Torturer explained to the Senator, “but I don’t want her to flunk out so quickly. She just needs a different Dom.”

  Chessie found herself dipped back in the senator’s strong arms, like they were dancing.

  “Sounds like you’re mine now.” A smile tipped the senator’s lush lips. Up close he was even more beautiful. “Unless you want to safeword out of the whole thing.”

  She licked her lips to wet them, only to have Kane's gaze sharpen on them like a hawk’s.

  “You’re going to get us all disqualified,” the blonde said.

  “I’ll run it by the Dungeon Master. Besides, the senator will cover our fees if that happens.” The Torturer winked, a strange look on a terrifying man, but Senator Kane didn’t speak.

  “Have fun,” the blonde waved as the other man led her away.

  Slowly, he righted her so she stood on her own. "Shall we begin?"

  She jerked her head ‘yes.’

  A twitch of the sculpted lips, and he said, "Try again, and address me properly."

  Just like that she was wet, even though her answer came out hoarse. "Yes, sir."

  “Good girl.”

  Liquid heat poured through her, arousal and embarrassment swirled together in a confusing cocktail. Why did two condescending words make her feel so good?

  The senator laid a finger on her lips, and everything in her focused on the light point of contact. For a moment he just regarded her. Chessie wondered if he was going to kiss her. When he broke contact and stepped away, she could’ve cried at the loss.

  Did Doms not kiss their subs?

  “Follow me, two steps behind, now.” He walked on without a backward glance, leaving her to scramble behind him, wondering if she’d done something wrong.

  Throughout the club, couples were starting to scene. One tall dominant actually grabbed a handful of his sub’s hair and pulled her towards the pool area. Chessie didn’t realize she’d slowed to watch until Kane loomed over her.

  “If you cannot obey a simple order, I can leash you.”

  Her spine stiffened. He didn’t think she could obey? “Forgive me, sir,” she murmured, her voice a sultry caress.

  He raised a brow, but seemed satisfied. When he moved on, she dogged his heels as gracefully as she could.

  Kane led the way to one of the semi-private rooms. He snapped his fingers and pointed to a spot on the floor for her to wait while he went inside and laid out his implements.

  Frustration built as she waited. She’d signed on for a night of make-believe, whips and chains and kinky fun. Not to be intimidated by scary men who spent too much time at the gym, or to be treated like a dog.

  The fact that her pussy dripped like a faucet when he did was neither here nor there. She deserved respect. Be yourself, Mina had said. Submissive or no, she wasn’t a pushover.

  But she’d already safeworded once, and fate led her to the senator, the one Dom she itched to scene with. Whatever he asked, she’d do. Her whole being wanted to serve him.

  Returning, Kane walked around her slowly, and his examination, like she was a car on the lot, only made her stiffen further.

  “Name?”

  “Ms. Jones,” she responded.

  He paused a beat. “Remaining anonymous, are we? Very well.” He sang a few bars of ‘Me and Mrs. Jones’ in a low, confident tenor as he removed his cufflinks, stripped off his jacket, and rolled up his sleeves. A pleasant hint of muscle in the taut forearms made her hope to God she got to see the rest of him.

  “Eyes down, sub,” he murmured, as if ordering someone to look where he told them to was perfectly natural. Worse, she immediately obeyed, glaring hard at the tip of her boots while he finished getting ready.

  She was back to the internal chant, ‘three months rent’. If she wasn’t careful, her inner bitch would break out and tell him to ‘Fuck off’.

  At least it was obvious he didn’t remember her from the night before. Of course he didn’t. The amount of people he met on a daily basis... why should he remember the girl in red shoes he wanted to ‘spank and then fuck hard’.

  She was relieved, really. They’d scene and she’d wear the mask, because she damn sure wasn’t taking it off for him. It was all very good for a white man who wore power like a suit coat to flaunt his identity here. Not her.

  “And so we begin.” Kane had returned to stand not a foot away. She felt his heat melt her body, like strong arms wrapping around her, promising a night of adventure, of sensuous comfort, promising everything would be okay.

  He reached for her mask.

  “No,” Chessie darted her head away. “The mask stays. I will safeword and leave if you take it off.” Three months rent be damned. She’d safeword again – he knew she’d do it. She wasn’t risking her career for an orgasm, even at the hands of this supremely fuckable man.

  Yes, security was paramount at Black Light, filled with world famous celebrities and politicians getting their rocks off in the kinkiest ways. But she didn’t need protection from the paparazzi. She was more worried about meeting the powerful people she might meet later in the real world, petitioning them as a lobbyist. People who would judge her for her submission, even while they didn’t bother to remember her name.

  People like him.

  “You seem to have a chip on your shoulder, Mrs. Jones,” he murmured, as if reading her mind.

  “Ms,” she corrected, and defied his order to meet his gaze head on. Her satisfaction at the flicker of annoyance in his face drained away when the air between them turned to stone. Kane’s gaze went hard, his body still as a predator preparing to pounce. A second of silence passed, and he seemed to grow taller, assuming a mantle of power right before her eyes.

  She was about to say something when his hand shot out, collaring her throat lightly.

  “I think that,” he said in a dangerously calm tone, “you need a reminder of who’s in charge here.” His other hand dropped to cup her breast, squeezing gently, possession in his touch. Her pussy moistened at his casual claim of her body.

  “Kneel,” he ordered, releasing her neck. His touch made her so weak it was a wonder she didn’t fall to the floor on the spot. Still, she hesitated until he gripped the back of her neck and applied gentle pressure to ease her down.

  “Good girl.”

  Again her heart rate fluttered at the endearment, even though she was kneeling on a club floor in a nice dress in front of a man she barely knew. Her body was coming alive, pulsing like there was an electric shock running through her. Her thoughts skittered through these facts as Senator Kane paced another circle around her.

  He prowled back into their semi-private room and returned with a pair of shears. She couldn’t keep her eyes on the floor when he snapped the scissors thoughtfully.

  She opened her mouth, but he spoke first.

  “From here on out, you do not have permission to speak unless I give it.”

  “Excuse me?” she spoke aloud before she realized it.

  “You heard me, sub. Push me and I’ll gag you. Now, choose a hand signal as your safeword.”

  Gaze still locked in a battle with his blazing blues, she didn’t have to think before she extended her middle finger.

  Instead of losing his temper, he nodded. “Your protest is duly noted. Now, choose something more respectful, please.”

  Chapter 3

 
Kane watched his ‘submissive’ seethe on the floor. She was obviously new here. A regular at the club, he’d clocked her as soon as he’d come in – the feisty beauty from dinner the night before. No wonder he’d wanted to engage with her last night; he’d picked up on latent submissive tendencies. They were deep but they were there. He’d hoped his ‘turn her over my knee’ comment would encourage her to approach him, but instead she’d turned and run away. Away from him, away from what she obviously desired.

  Now she was here, and she was still running.

  He liked scening with newbies, but submitting was the last thing on the delectable Ms. Jones’ mind. It wasn’t him she was fighting so much as herself, her need to obey and give over control. Perhaps she was ashamed of her desires. He’d have to work her through that while he put her through her paces in tonight’s play.

  The rules of the night dictated they spend three hours together, and at least half an hour in the kink the Roulette chose for him.

  Around them play was starting. He preferred a little more time to learn his sub, get an idea of what she liked and disliked, the way her breathing changed when she answered his questions. Once he learned more, he could lead her with the subtle leash of dominance. He’d obviously made a mistake and assumed she had some ideas of the basics. He’d come off domineering, and now she had her hackles up.

  Time for a change of pace.

  She looked startled when he reached out again and stroked her hair. He respected a woman who would submit to him. Submission was a treasure he could never deserve, only handle with care when it was in his hands.

  “Ms. Jones, I’m waiting for a hand signal safeword.”

  She raised two fingers in the Victory sign. He suppressed a smile.

  “Thank you.” She looked surprised again, as if she didn’t expect he would use his manners. Of course, being polite didn’t mean he wasn’t going to lay out the rules. “I won’t be calling you Ms. Jones. I asked your name as a courtesy. I prefer ‘slut’, ‘sub’, and ‘slave’. If one of those bothers you to the point of distress, you may safeword and go home. Understood?”