Lock & Key Collection

by Rebel Rose

  “Just been waiting until the time was right.” I close the buckle of the second cuff and grip the bar in the center, pushing her legs toward her head and bending her body in half. “And the time is right.”

  I lower her legs to the bed and move up her body, dragging my lips over her soft, smooth skin until I reach her chest. I pull on one of her nipples and roll it between my thumb and index finger. I want to suck it into my mouth, but I don’t. The slick moisture of my saliva will cause the clamps to slide.

  I close the first clamp and relish the sound of her hissing in pain. “Too tight?”

  Her body stiffens. “For you, I can take it.”

  I press a kiss to the top of her breast above her nipple. “And knowing that makes me so fucking hard for you.”

  I stretch beside her on the bed after the second clamp is in place, and I simply take in the beauty of what she has allowed me to do to her. Holding her chin with my hand, I place a kiss to the side of her mouth. “You are always beautiful, but even more so when you are bound.”

  “No ropes or handcuffs or bars are needed for me to be bound to you.” Her voice is as soft as a whisper.

  “And that’s how I want to keep it.” And I have the plan for how I’m going to make it happen. The idea has been in my head for a while, but my decision wasn’t solidified until tonight.

  I push myself up, rising onto my knees. She stares up at me, her lips swollen from the harsh kiss we shared when we entered the suite. “One more thing.”

  I go to the drawer of toys and return with a blindfold, slipping it over her eyes, before turning on “The Sound of Silence,” a dark and heavy rendition of the song by Disturbed. Perfect song for my currently dark and heavy mood.

  I crawl onto the bed again and kneel between her legs. And because I can’t resist tasting her, and because I can’t resist giving her pleasure to go with the pain, I lift the bar and go down on her.

  Her body jolts when my tongue touches her, and I’m certain that she gasped. I love that sound, and it always make my dick harder, but I couldn’t hear it over the music.

  I flick my tongue over her clit and glide my fingers into her pussy. I pump them several times, coating them in her juices, before plunging them in all of the way.

  My hands are large and my fingers long. It isn’t difficult to find the string of her IUD at the mouth of her womb, especially since I’ve located it multiple times already and know exactly what it is I’m feeling for.

  This woman has been in my life for three months, and they’ve been the best three months of my life. I’ve never known a happiness like this before. Ever. I don’t want to go back to the emptiness I felt before her.

  And tonight… fuck. Hearing that shit about my mom and her brother… my dad… there’s no way that I could handle tonight without her. I don’t know what I’d be doing right now if she weren’t here for me.

  She makes everything in my life better, and I’ve made up my mind. I won’t let her go.

  I love her.

  I clutch the string between my index and middle fingers and pull. The fucker is slick, and it doesn’t feel like it gives at all before I lose my grip on it. But I’m persistent and make another attempt, this time holding a tighter grip. And it gives. I pull gently and slowly until I’m holding a little T-shaped birth control device in my palm.

  I drop it in the covers and reach out to release her ankles from the bar. The nipple clamps come off next and then the binding around her wrists. I lower my body to hers and push the blindfold away from her eyes. And I see the confusion there.

  I cup my hand around the side of her face. “I was wrong about what I need tonight.”

  “Whatever it is, I’ll give it to you.”

  “I want to connect with you. Bind you to me. Not bring you pain.”

  “Yes.” Her hands come up to cradle my face. “I want that too, Tristan.”

  I look at Emma Lia and recall the times when she’s been at her most beautiful: the night I saw her in my casino for the first time; the first time she came; when she showed me how good vanilla could be; when she played the part of Mrs. Broussard. I thought she was beautiful all of those times, but I see her in a different light tonight. She’s going to be the mother of my child. And the way she looks beneath me right now… it isn’t something I know how to label. Beautiful doesn’t begin to cover it. I’m in awe.

  I love you, Emma Lia Grant. Fuck, I wish I could say those words, but my tongue isn’t capable of forming them. Not yet, but I’m going to tell her. Soon.

  “Kiss me.” She grasps the back of my neck and pulls me down so our mouths can meet. I open, and our mouths make love. Slow. Deep. Loving. It’s the perfect kiss for what’s about to happen.

  I’m overcome by what I feel for this woman and by what could happen tonight. She could possibly take a part of me into her body and join it with hers to make a baby. Half her, half me.

  I understand that it can sometimes take time. I just hope like hell that I have enough time to make it happen before she pulls that key.

  She stares at my eyes as I hover above and runs her fingertips down my cheek. “Tonight feels different.”

  “Because it is different.”

  Her legs are parted, and I nestle my body between them until my hard cock is against her warm, inviting entrance, ready to enter. She lifts her hips and my tip glides inside her, but I take over from there, pressing my hand into the mattress and wrapping it around her lower back. I lift to pull her hips upward and sink into her as deep as her body will allow.

  I’m moving inside her slowly, and my hands move to skim the underside of her arms. I push them over her head and lace my fingers through hers. Our hands are joined as one, just like our bodies.

  “I love being inside of you.”

  “I love it too.”

  I release her hands and move mine down her body, grasping her bent legs on each side of my hips and pushing them back. She moans when I slide my hand between our bodies to that place where we become one. No beginning. No end.

  I’ve come to know mon bebelle’s body as well as my own. She needs something more and I find that spot—the one that drives her crazy every time I touch it—and stroke my fingers over her clit. A moment later, her breath quickens as she grasps my back and pulls me against her tighter, grinding her hips upward. “Right there, Tristan.”

  Her legs tighten, and I know what will come next. And then it happens. Her inner walls squeeze around my cock, contracting in rhythm. Once. Twice. And then again and again until I lose count because I’m lost in my own world coming apart. Exploding inside her. Filling her womb with my seed. Hoping that one tiny part of me will join with that very special part of her.

  I push her legs back and apart, thrusting as deeply as possible one last time. I’m making this one count. But it wouldn’t be a shame if she doesn’t get pregnant tonight and we have to do this over and over again.

  I can’t believe the extreme measures I took to prevent a baby, and now I’m trying to put one inside her. A baby. The thing I once thought I’d never want has now become my greatest desire. What a difference three months and falling in love can make.

  My upper body is braced on my elbows as I hover above her. With my cock still inside her, unmoving, I push the hair away from her face. I press my forehead to hers. “You are mine.”

  “I am yours.” Emma Lia’s hands grasp the sides of my face. “And you are mine.”

  And you are mine. My head jolts upward when I hear her say those words; many times, she has told me that she was mine, but never that I was hers. And there is a difference.

  A submissive belongs to a Dom. A Dom never belongs to a submissive.

  But I belong to her.

  Part III

  Their Destiny

  32

  Emma Lia Grant

  My God, Tristan was insatiable last night and then again this morning. But not in the way that I expected.

  I was wrong about what I need tonight. I want to connect
with you. Bind you to me. Not bring you pain. Those were not the words or actions I anticipated when I saw the agony on his face after learning the truth about his mother and her brother.

  He has tied me down multiple times. His doing that didn’t frighten me.

  He applied the nipple clamps much tighter than ever before, and I wasn’t frightened.

  He restricted my legs with the spreader bar and blindfolded me, and still, I wasn’t frightened.

  I was prepared with open arms for whatever deviant acts he was about to inflict upon me. I was ready to go as far as he wanted to take me. But then calm replaced the frenzy within him, and his demeanor changed.

  And that frightened me.

  Tristan became different in the blink of an eye. Something happened inside of him last night. Something significant. He was one man when he tied my wrists to the bed and another when he removed the blindfold from my eyes. I can’t identify the change, but I’m certain of one thing: last night, Tristan Broussard became mine.

  It’s wonderful and terrifying at the same time.

  I don’t know for sure how many times that we’ve made love since arriving at the hotel suite. There were at least three times, maybe four, during the night when I drifted off to sleep only to be awakened by his moving inside me. Same as now.

  Closing my eyes, I focus on the movement of his body inside me, on the way his breathing changes as the penetration deepens, on the way his body fuses with mine to become one. This man is my world, my everything, and I want him so much that I ache from the need I have for him.

  His grip tightens on my shoulders, holding me in place, when his body shudders inside mine. “Oh… bebelle… uhh.”

  Doll. I once detested his calling me that, but now I relish it. The word soaks through my skin and muscles and bones and penetrates my heart, causing it to swell every time I hear it come from his lips.

  Because I love him.

  His body hovers above mine, his weight supported on his arms, and he stares into my eyes. I feel like there’s something he wants to say, as though the words are on the tip of his tongue, but nothing leaves his mouth.

  I reach up and touch the unruly spike on top of his head. It’s sexy and very different from his usual groomed, side-parted hairstyle. “You have a rooster comb.”

  “I should with my amazing cock.”

  I giggle and tug on his spike. “How are you this morning?”

  He smiles and wiggles his softening cock inside me. “Thoroughly drained. Can’t you tell?”

  “Waking to have sex every other hour will do that to you, but I think you know that’s not what I mean.”

  He groans and pulls out of me, rolling to his back to lie beside me. I turn with him to my side and a small gush of cum is expelled from between my thighs.

  “Don’t shove this under the rug, Tristan. Talk to me about it.”

  His hand moves to his head, pushing his fingers into the top of his unruly hair. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “It isn’t healthy to keep your feelings bottled up inside.”

  He stares at the ceiling, saying nothing. And that hurts more than I care to admit.

  “You told me at the beginning of our relationship that I would eventually place all of my trust in you, and there’d be nothing that I couldn’t tell you. You said that our relationship wouldn’t be like anything I’ve ever experienced, and you were right. We are everything that you promised and so much more. But I need you to place all of your trust in me too. I don’t want there to be anything that you can’t tell me.”

  He’s quiet for a moment, and I take his resting hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. “Trust me the way that I trust you, Tristan.”

  His hand tightens around mine. “She must have hated me. How could she not when she looked at me and saw the living, breathing proof of her rape?”

  “Regardless of the way you were conceived, your mother loved you. I’m sure of it. Anyone can look at that picture in the library and see it in the loving way she’s cuddling you in her arms.” You don’t see that when you look at the pictures of my mom holding Adam and me. She looks miserable.

  “I’m sickened by what he did to her. Ashamed that I’m the result of his vile act against her. But mostly, I hate that you know how damaged I am.”

  I move over and sit on top of him, forcing him to look at me. “You are not damaged, Tristan Broussard. Not even a little. You are perfect.”

  He breathes in deeply, his chest expanding and then slowly deflating. “Not only am I the son of a rapist, I’m the result of incest. A brother raping his sister. That’s beyond fucked up.”

  “Your parentage doesn’t define you.”

  “But it must to some degree.” His hands move to my hips, gripping them tightly. “I saw you, wanted you, took you against your will, and forced you to stay and be my submissive. Normal people don’t do things like that.”

  I can’t believe that he used the word normal. He hates that word, but even more, he hates comparing himself to what the world sees as normal.

  “Look at all of the wicked things I enjoy doing to you, bebelle.”

  “You don’t do anything that I don’t want you to do. I love everything that we experience together.” I can’t imagine going back to ordinary sex. And I can’t imagine sex with anyone else now. Tristan is the only man I want. Ever.

  His hands follow my bent legs to my knees, and he rubs the other sides of my thighs up and down. “You’re young and beautiful and sweet and innocent, filled with so much light. You’re like an angel… and I enjoy hurting you. Your pain feeds my addiction. What does that tell you about me?”

  “I enjoy the hurt, Tristan. I crave it.”

  “You enjoy the hurt because with it comes pleasure. I’ve conditioned you to enjoy it. That makes me a monster, just like him.”

  I once thought Tristan was a monster. But I was wrong. So very wrong.

  I lean down, pressing my forehead to his. “You are not a monster, and you are not like him. Don’t you dare give that another thought.”

  “Oh, bebelle.” He sighs and a deep groan rumbles in his chest. “I’m not looking forward to it, but I have to confront him.”

  “I’ll go with you if you like.” I want to support Tristan in any way that he feels he needs me. His seeing that I am here for him and that I’m not going to run because we hit a bump in the road is essential for our relationship.

  “I don’t want you there in case things go badly.”

  “Go badly how?” I’ve seen Tristan’s temper. It isn’t pretty.

  “That all depends on how he responds. And if he has anything else derogatory to say about you.”

  “You plan on defending my honor?”

  “I will always defend your honor, bebelle. Always.”

  Always implies that we have a future. A future beyond pulling that key.

  We agreed on allowing fate to determine our time together. But what if we want more? More beyond the repayment of my debt?

  I do. I want more. A lot more.

  But does he?

  33

  Tristan Broussard

  I find my father working in his office. I stand in the doorway studying him before he notices me and damn, I see how much I look like him. It isn’t only the light blue eyes and dark hair flecked with gray. We’re also the exact same height. Same body build. Although his is thinner and grayer, my hairline is identical to his. Our hands are even the same shape. What I don’t know is how I didn’t see the abundance of similarities before.

  Most people weren’t aware that my uncle had adopted me when I was a baby. They often commented on our similarities, saying how much I looked like my father. It’s not unheard of for a boy to favor his mother’s brother. I believed that was why we were so similar, so I let the comments go without further thought. But it all makes sense to me now.

  Fuck, I have considered this man to be my father for my entire life. And now, I learn that he really is but could never truly claim me as
his own.

  Because he’s a sixteen-year-old-sister-raping motherfucker.

  He looks at me over his glasses. “Son… come in.”

  I enter his office and sit in one of the chairs opposite him. I look at his face for a moment, wondering what the fuck goes through a grown man’s mind when he looks at his teenage sister and makes the decision to rape her.

  “I’m glad you came, son. We obviously have some things to sort out after last night.”

  “Agreed. You go first.” I want to hear what he has to say for himself.

  “I understand exactly what you see in Grant’s daughter. She’s young and beautiful, no doubt about it. But that girl comes from a family of gambling cheats. Surely, you must see that she’s only interested in your money.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “And why do you highly doubt that?”

  “Because I caught her cheating at the Biloxi casino and gave her two options: live with me until she works off her debt or go to jail.”

  He chuckles. “So she chose to whore herself out instead of going to jail? Sounds about right for a Grant.”

  Hearing him insult mon bebelle makes me want to fly across his desk and wrap my hands around his throat. “Never call her that. Emma Lia is not a whore; I’m the only man she’s with. She is mine.”

  “You don’t have to hint at what kind of relationship you have with Miss Grant. I know about your lifestyle and what you like to do with women behind a closed door. But this woman… you don’t need this one in your life. Give her up. Find another one to submit to your needs. You won’t have a problem finding a replacement. Countless women would be thrilled to take her place.”

  I had no idea that my father knew about my lifestyle. But how?

  Has he sensed the sadistic Dominant inside of me?

  Does he have it inside of him too?

  Is that why he was obsessed with my mother?

  “You’re wrong about Emma Lia. I’ve never needed any woman the way that I need her. She’s irreplaceable.”