Lock & Key Collection

by Rebel Rose

  The sushi is delicious. Some of the best that I’ve ever had but I find my mind wandering, thinking about Tristan and how I wish he were here enjoying it with me. I’m lonesome without him.

  No way. I did not just have that thought.

  I walk out of the restaurant and scan the casino floor. The crowd. The flashing lights. The chaching sounds. All of it draws me in like an addict to a drug.

  I want to gamble.

  I need to gamble.

  I have to gamble.

  I choose a blackjack table occupied by men and a male dealer, one who isn’t wearing a wedding band. Not that it really matters. The married ones ogle me and get distracted by my jacked-up breasts just as easily as the single ones. Maybe even more so.

  I stand back and observe the game for a while before taking a seat between two older men, getting a feel for what’s happening.

  “Hello,” the gambler on my right says.

  “Hello.”

  “This table has a twenty-five-dollar minimum, sweetheart.”

  What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

  I watched his game before I sat beside him, and I’m one hundred and twelve percent certain that I knew more about blackjack when I was ten years old than this old bastard does now.

  I point to the brass and black sign. “Is that what the sign means? That I must bet at least twenty-five dollars on each hand?”

  “That’s right, honey.”

  “Thank you for clearing that up for me. I was really confused.”

  “Sure thing.”

  I drop a thousand bucks on the table and push it in the direction of the dealer. I never gamble at a table with a minimum of less than a hundred, but I need to keep a low profile. I know without a doubt that Tristan would be furious if I gained the wrong attention here.

  According to the stats in my head, it’s time for the next hand to give a probable advantage to the dealer. I have to take some losses with the wins, so I only bet twenty-five dollars. And I lose as predicted.

  “Well, shoot. So much for lady luck.”

  “Don’t fret, little lady. It’s only your first hand.”

  I play with my chips, picking them up and then dropping them into stacks.

  “First time in Vegas?”

  “Is it that obvious?” Lie. I was born here. And I don’t even know how many times I’ve been back since we moved to the Mississippi coast.

  “Just a little bit.”

  “Are you up or down?” I giggle. “That’s gambling lingo, right?”

  “It is. And I’m down three thousand.”

  I widen my eyes. “Yikes. I can’t imagine losing that kind of money.”

  The man winks. “Losing three thousand dollars is nothing for me, sweetheart.”

  He wants me to know, or think, that he has money. Might as well feed into his trap and make him feel good about himself. “What do you do for a living?”

  “Manufacturing.”

  That could be one of a million things. “What do you manufacture?”

  “Bed liners for pickup trucks.”

  That sounds boring as fuck. “Ooh… exciting.”

  “Not really but I make a lot of money doing it.”

  Damn, I hate when a man brags about his income. Makes me want to tell this asshole that he makes chump change compared to my boyfriend.

  My boyfriend. Shit, did I really just refer to Tristan Broussard as my boyfriend? Because that’s not what he is. Not even a little.

  I need to think about the game. About the cards. About the bets.

  Not Tristan Broussard.

  I allow myself to win a few hands with some minimal bets before placing my first five-hundred-dollar bet.

  “I wouldn’t advise you to bet five hundred dollars on this hand.”

  This bastard who seems to have nominated and voted himself into the position of my gambling advisor is getting on my fucking nerves. “I think it’ll be fine. I feel lucky this time.”

  “Wouldn’t you feel more comfortable betting less? Like maybe a hundred?” he asks.

  “I’m actually very comfortable with my bet.” My voice drips with sugary sweetness, but I’m annoyed as hell.

  “Okay. But don’t say that I didn’t warn you when you lose.”

  “I won’t say a word.”

  When the hand is over, I drag my winning chips into my growing pile. I’m up a grand after about fifteen minutes. I could be up a lot more if I weren’t playing to maintain a low profile.

  “You were right, little lady.”

  I shrug. “I had a good feeling about that one.”

  I could sit here and casually win ten thousand over the next hour, but I don’t think that I can put up with this man’s advice in my ear.

  “I feel like my luck has come to an end. I’d better cash out.”

  “You don’t have to go so soon.”

  I push away from the table and stand, straightening my dress. “I should. I’d hate to lose what I just won.”

  He slides a stack of chips in front of me. “Put your money away and stay a while longer. You can play on my money.”

  This isn’t a first. I’ve had plenty of men slide chips in front of me to keep me gambling at their table. And they all want the same thing. “And what if I lose it?”

  He shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. Plenty more where that came from.”

  Tristan is still in his meeting and probably will be for a while yet. If I don’t stay on the casino floor, I’ll be left to entertain myself some other way. May as well spend my time doing something that I enjoy. “All right.”

  It’s almost midnight. Tristan’s meeting has run much longer than expected. What kind of business meeting carries over into the night like this?

  He could be with another woman. If he is, there’d be nothing that I could say about that. But if he’s fucking someone else, I’d have plenty to say about that. I may owe him a debt, but he doesn’t wear a condom, and he owes me monogamy until this is over. He has no right to put my safety in danger by sleeping around with other women while we’re having sex.

  I push all of the chips in front of me over to Craig, the man I’m on a first-name basis with now. “This has been fun, but it’s time for me to call it quits.”

  “You can’t quit yet.”

  “It’s late and I’m really tired.”

  Craig leans over and places his hand over mine. “You should come up to my room,” he whispers.

  I ease my hand away from his. “I can’t.”

  “I think that you can.”

  “I’m here with my boyfriend.”

  Craig smiles. “There hasn’t been anyone to come by once and check on you all night long.”

  “His business meeting ran late, and I was on my own tonight.”

  “Then he is a fool for leaving you on your own tonight. I would never leave you to fend for yourself in Vegas, not even to tend to business.”

  Yeah, right.

  I feel the touch of Tristan’s hand on my upper arm before I hear his sexy Cajun accent behind me. “Bebelle.”

  I twist on my stool. “Tristan… what are you doing here?”

  “My associates and I were walking the casino floor and I saw you. It was impossible to miss the most beautiful woman in the place.” He kisses the side of my face. “But I see that you found someone to keep you company in my absence.”

  “This is Craig.”

  “I suppose I should thank you for keeping my girl occupied.”

  “The pleasure was all mine.”

  “I’m sure that it was.” Tristan’s eyes are narrowed, and I hear a possessive tone in his voice. “Are you ready to go up, love?”

  Love?

  “I am.” I turn around and smile at Craig. “Good luck.”

  “No luck needed. I’m done too—now that my lady luck is leaving.”

  Tristan places his hand inside mine and leads me toward the elevators. I say lead because he’s walking so fast that he’s practically dragging me across the c
asino floor.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “Don’t talk to me right now.”

  “Tristan… did I do something to upset you?”

  “You heard me, bebelle.” Shit. He’s using his Dom tone. His command voice.

  The tension in the elevator as we rise to the top floor is suffocating. I want so badly to ask him again what is wrong, but something deep inside urges me to keep my mouth shut.

  He unlocks the door and holds it open for me. That’s Tristan—he treats me like a queen in public and like a whore behind closed doors.

  A gleam enters his eyes. It’s one that could only belong to a predator, full of both heat and anticipation, making me breathless and edgy. “Are you going to tell me what I’ve done?”

  “Bedroom. Now.”

  I do as he orders, turning around to face him once we’re next to the bed. “Are you going to tell me?”

  “You think that you can cozy up with another man while I’m your Dom?”

  Is he serious? He thinks I’d bother with another man when I have him? “I didn’t cozy up with that man.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “I was keeping myself occupied while I waited for your business meeting to be over.”

  “You were occupying yourself with another man.”

  Well, I’ll be damned. Tristan Broussard is jealous. “I was gambling. He just happened to be sitting beside me.”

  “You belong to me, bebelle. I don’t want another man to ever be under the impression that he can have you as long as you’re with me.”

  “I told him that I was here with someone.”

  “And he still asked you to come to his room.”

  Tristan was clearly standing there listening for a while. “He asked, and I declined.”

  “He shouldn’t have had the opportunity to ask.”

  “Are you going to punish me?”

  “Yes, bebelle. I am definitely going to punish you.”

  My heart races from both excitement and fear. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “I’m going to spank your ass so that you’ll wear my marks when I fuck you.” The thought alone triggers a tingle between my legs. “Take off your clothes.”

  I turn around and lift my hair. “Unzip me?”

  Tristan lowers my zipper, and my dress falls from my shoulders. I expect him to lean in and kiss my skin or whisper something filthy in my ear, but he doesn’t. Instead, he walks away, and I immediately feel the loss of his warmth. I’m surprised by the disappointment that I feel.

  I’m completely bare when Tristan returns, stalking toward me. “Turn around.”

  I turn and face the bed, awaiting his next instructions. He grabs my hands and pulls them to rest at the small of my back, binding them together with something that I can’t identify. It’s not cold as I would expect handcuffs to be. Maybe rope?

  He pushes a finger between my wrists and whatever is tied around them. “Not too tight?”

  “No.”

  “Put your knee on the bed.” I do as he says, and he helps me climb onto the mattress.

  “Like this, on my knees?”

  “No. Facedown.” I was afraid of that; I won’t be able to see what’s coming.

  He helps me lower my upper body so that I don’t face plant. And that’s how I lie while he strips out of his clothes. I wish I could see him getting naked. Watching him is like having my own private strip show, only a thousand times better.

  His hands roam my shoulders, my spine, my ass and then they move down the length of my legs, each touch sending me up in flames. He delivers a light smack over one cheek with his palm, and I immediately gasp. Then he pets the area, soothing away the hurt as the warm burn of pleasure rapidly takes over. Before I’m able to brace myself for the next one, he brings his hand down over my opposite cheek. Fire singes over my skin, but the pain disappears quickly, replaced with the warm hum of decadent, forbidden pleasure.

  “How many should I give you, bebelle? How many can you take?”

  I know the answer that he wants to hear. “As many as you want to give me, Master.”

  He rubs his palm over my cheek. “Who do you belong to?”

  “I belong to you.” I think he must love hearing those words from me; he asks me so often.

  “I’m angry with you, bebelle. Very angry.” I wait for the next swat, but it doesn’t come. “I didn’t like seeing you with that man, and I damn sure didn’t like your gambling with his money.”

  “I’m sorry, Tristan. I was only passing the time while you were tied up with your meeting. I’m yours and only yours. Yours to do with as you please. You know this.”

  I slipped. I called him Tristan instead of Master, yet I know that I’ve pleased him by the warmth and gentleness of his caress as he rubs his hand over the area he just struck.

  “You were made for me, bebelle.” I hear satisfaction in his voice. “And yes, you do belong to me, and you are mine to do with as I please.”

  He pops my other cheek, causing me to flinch and then moan as euphoria swallows me. The events of the evening fade to obscurity, forgotten, as he delivers my spanking, each swat harder, stronger, than the last. He’s careful to not overwhelm me. He gradually works me up from lighter to harder and as the pain increases, so does the indescribable pleasure.

  “Your ass is red with my mark, my stamp of possession. So. Fucking. Beautiful.” Tristan’s voice is gruff as he rubs his hand over my throbbing flesh. “Tell me, bebelle. Do you want more? Or do you want me to fuck your sweet pussy that also belongs to me?”

  My pussy clenches when I hear Tristan say that it belongs to him.

  “I want it all, Tristan,” I whisper. “I want you in me, on me, around me, all at the same time.”

  My words barely leave my lips before he moves to his knees behind me. He fingers me lightly, smearing the slick moisture over my lips, before spreading them apart and plunging hard and deep into my pussy.

  He pumps into me over and over, his hips smacking hard against my ass. I close my eyes, squeezing hard around his cock as he rides me hard, almost brutally. I jolt when his hand swats my hip, fast and furious. The edge of pain mixed with pleasure is a heady sensation, and I close my eyes, biting my bottom lip.

  I begin trembling as Tristan brings me closer to release. Just when I think that I’m going to topple over the edge, he withdraws and leaves me so very close to orgasm.

  Shit. Is he going to deny my orgasm as punishment? Probably. It’s much crueler than any kind of spanking he could give me.

  “Please don’t do the edging thing, Tristan. Please.”

  “I won’t if you don’t want me to, bebelle.”

  “I don’t.” Even as good as it is in the end, I can’t take it right now. I’m too stimulated.

  Fire ignites over my ass as his hand descends, taking my breath away. My chest heaves, and I inhale sharply as the pain fades, giving in to the euphoria. I close my eyes as blow after blow rains down on my cheeks, and I enter a hazy world that blurs around me where only bliss exists.

  He moves behind me again and parts my folds. He enters me, forgoing his former roughness, and thrusts long and slow, setting a leisurely pace. His body lowers against mine and his hand finds the sensitive nub at the top of my slit between my legs. He leans down and presses his lips to my spine, kissing his way up to my nape. I don’t feel his earlier anger anymore.

  “Come, bebelle. Now.”

  And I do.

  My orgasm floods me. It’s the sweetest, slowest spasm to ever encompass my body, setting each nerve ending on fire. I tingle from head to toe, delicious chill bumps spreading over my skin, making me hypersensitive to his touch.

  His hands move to my shoulders, and he uses his grasp to hold me in place when he thrusts harder. “Oh fuck. I’m coming.”

  I feel his cock jerk inside me, and then the warmth of his cum heats my body from the inside out.

  Tristan’s palm flattens between my shoulder blades and works its w
ay down to the small of my back. My hands are suddenly freed, and he coaxes me to turn over. “Come here.”

  I place my hands on the bed and lift my upper body, looking at him over my shoulder. Nervous. On edge because I don’t know where his head is.

  Is he still angry with me for talking to that man and gambling with his money?

  Tristan pulls on my arm, and this time I go to him, but I feel overwhelmed. Confused. Mostly because I crave his consolation.

  He pulls me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me. He cradles me like a child that he’s comforting after a scuffed knee, and I cling to him as though he isn’t the person who just spanked my ass until it feels blistered.

  His hand strokes the back of my hair. “I’m very pleased with you.”

  I lift my face from his shoulder and our eyes connect. I thought that he was angry with me for talking to Craig and gambling with his money. “You’re pleased with me?”

  “I pushed you harder this time, and you handled it beautifully. So yes, bebelle, I’m very pleased with you.”

  Sometimes I wonder just how far I’d allow him to go. How hard I’d allow him to push me if it meant pleasing him.

  This man is changing me. But I think that I am also changing him.

  And I can’t wait to see who we become together.

  25

  Tristan Broussard

  I open my eyes and see three glowing red numbers: 5:13. Not the three numbers that I need to see.

  “Shit, bebelle. Get up. We overslept.”

  “Hmm?” she groans.

  “Get up, Emma Lia. We’re late.” Damn. I can’t believe that I fell asleep.

  It was really late—or early—when Emma Lia and I stopped fucking around. I didn’t set the alarm because I was going to stick it out for the hour rather than go to sleep.

  So fucking stupid.

  I told Emma Lia to get a little rest, and I’d wake her when it was time to get up. But she felt so good curled around me. And I was so relaxed after coming three times. I couldn’t stop myself from drifting off into a bebelle-induced post-orgasmic coma.

  “Can we make it?”

  “It’s chartered. They’ll wait, but we need to get a move on so they don’t cancel on us.”

  Emma Lia goes to her drawer of clothes and yanks out a top and bottom. “Sorry, but it’s going to be a leggings, tunic, and messy hair bun day. I won’t be looking my best.”