Lock & Key Collection

by Rebel Rose

Has she been his submissive? She looks young to be a submissive, younger than me. Does she know him from the club?

  Damn it. This experience is going to be ruined for me. How am I going to enjoy trying on wedding dresses when I’m looking at her and thinking about my husband-to-be fucking her?

  “Oh, you know Tristan?”

  “Known him for half of my life. I’m Ray’s daughter.”

  “Ohh… you’re that Maryse?” I’m putting it together now.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, Ray talks about you all of the time. I feel like I know you.”

  “Dad didn’t tell me that you and Mr. Broussard are getting married.”

  “We just started talking about it. Nothing has been decided.” I laugh to hide my embarrassment. “We don’t even have a date yet.”

  “Well, I’m going to help you find the perfect dress. But not before we make a toast.”

  Maryse goes to the ice bucket and takes out what I assume is champagne. “None for me, thanks.”

  “Oh no. You’re the bride and you’re being pampered and having champagne while we dress shop,” Avery says.

  “I can’t. I’m driving, remember?” That should end that.

  “One drink isn’t going to hurt you, Em.”

  Avery takes the champagne flute from Maryse and places it in my hand.

  Shit. What the hell am I going to do about this?

  I know that one drink isn’t going to do anything to the baby, but even one sip makes me feel like a terrible mother. Not to mention that I feel blah.

  “To you and Tristan. May your lives be filled with love and happiness.”

  I bring the glass to my lips and take a miniscule sip. Enough to shut her up—or so I think until I hear her gasp.

  “What?”

  “Emma Lia Grant. I saw that.”

  “You saw what?”

  She looks down at my stomach and then back at my face, studying it. “You’re pregnant.”

  Tristan and I have enjoyed keeping our little secret all to ourselves, and we were planning to hold out until I’m twelve weeks pregnant just in case something happened. But she’s calling me out, and I don’t think that I can outright lie to my best friend.

  “I am, but you can’t tell anyone.”

  “Em! I can’t believe that you didn’t tell me.”

  “I was going to, but then we read some things about waiting until twelve weeks because of the risk of miscarriage.” I don’t know how I would handle it if I lost the baby. It just seems easier to wait.

  “How far along are you?” Avery asks.

  “Almost two months. I haven’t known for very long. Only about two weeks.”

  Avery turns up her champagne, chugging it like a beer, and then reaches for mine. “Give me that.” She does the same with my flute of champagne. “Is the pregnancy why you didn’t want to come dress shopping?”

  “Yes. I have no idea how big I’ll be when we get married.”

  “I bet you won’t even be showing at the wedding; Tristan is going to want to marry you soon.”

  How does she know?

  “He hasn’t mentioned marrying me since the day after we found out about the baby. Not a single word.” It’s so strange. And unnerving.

  Avery shrugs. “He’s probably just freaking out. You know, first-time dad and all.”

  “No, I don’t know.” I don’t know at all. I’ve never been pregnant and waiting on the father of my baby to propose.

  “Don’t worry. That man loves you to pieces. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Now, let’s get you into some dresses.”

  “I’m on it,” Maryse says.

  She returns with an armful of dresses. “I pulled several. We’ll start here.”

  I stand on the platform at the bridal shop and look at myself in the full-length mirror. Do I see myself becoming Mrs. Tristan Romaric Broussard in this dress? I don’t know.

  I touch the dip in my throat where my collar once rested. I miss it. I want it back or another to replace the one that was stolen. But I can’t ask Tristan to collar me again. That’s his decision to make, and he’ll do it when he feels it’s right.

  To go from being his collared submissive who provided him with what he needed to his non-collared submissive who can no longer physically fulfill all of his sexual needs… it shakes my confidence. There’s this place inside of my head warning me that he could turn elsewhere if I don’t give him what a Dom needs.

  But then I remind myself of the lengths to which Tristan went in order to ensure that I didn’t slip away from him. No man does the things he has done and then throws it all away over a few months of vanilla sex. He knew what he was doing when he chose to get me pregnant. Surely, he realized that we wouldn’t be able to continue doing everything as we had been.

  Maryse studies me. “What do you think of this one?”

  I look at myself in the mirror. “I like the shape and style of this dress, but I feel like the color is too white for my skin tone.”

  “I was about to say the exact same thing,” Avery says.

  Avery and I share a brain when it comes to most things, but especially fashion. Our taste in clothing is nearly identical, and there’s no one else on earth that I’d want to help me choose my wedding dress. But when I do choose it for real, Nana has to be here.

  “I think that I’ll look washed out in this color. Let’s try something with a little more yellow undertone.”

  We go through a few more dresses, and nothing catches my eye.

  “Can we look at something that would work for a beach destination wedding in case she decides on that?” Avery asks.

  “Tristan will probably want to take me to Vegas and elope.” And why wouldn’t we? Neither of us has a huge family or hordes of friends that we’d invite to an elaborate church wedding.

  “I bet he’ll want to do something more romantic than eloping in Vegas.”

  “I hope so. I’d love a destination beach wedding.”

  “I have a dress that I think would be perfect for a beach wedding. It’s a formfitting shell beneath a layer of gossamer tulle. The neckline is plunging but what’s cool about it is the cold-shoulder design. That element changes the look entirely. It’s a very romantic dress, but it almost looks like lingerie because it’s so thin and airy.” Maryse grins. “It’s very sexy and not a dress that just anyone can pull off. Would you be up for something like that?”

  Romantic. Sexy. Lingerie. Tristan would love that.

  “Let’s try it.”

  Maryse pulls the gown, and I become excited as she takes it out of the bag. I didn’t get that sensation when I saw the others.

  “You’re smiling. That’s a good sign.”

  “I love it. It’s stunning.” And I may be heartbroken if I don’t look good in it.

  I hold my hair out of the way, and she drags the zipper up. “This could be it.”

  “I’m not going to look until I’m on the platform under the good lights.”

  I gather the bottom and walk out, my eyes avoiding the mirror until Maryse has smoothed the dress and it’s lying perfectly. “Okay. Look and tell us what you think.”

  I look up at myself in the mirror, and I instantly want to cry. I love it. Love it with all of my heart, but I’m afraid to say the words aloud. “What do you think, Ave?”

  “It’s perfect.”

  “I was afraid to say so, but it is, isn’t it?”

  “I can see you in this dress, standing on a beach at sunset with Tristan.”

  “I can too.”

  Avery lifts my hair and twists it upward. “Your hair in a romantic upsweep of some sort, but no veil. Just something floral and simple.”

  “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  “Classic, understated jewelry. Nothing sparkly.”

  “Again, same thought.”

  “Small bouquet.”

  “Small and not put together perfectly. Like flowers in a bunch, not in a ball. And maybe even wild flowers instead of something
traditional like roses or lilies or whatever. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Agree totally.”

  I look at myself in the mirror trying to picture what I’d look like with Tristan beside me in a buff-colored suit and white shirt. I’m not sure that Tristan could handle being so casual. He dresses up more to go to work every day.

  I look like a real bride—Tristan Broussard’s. Except that we aren’t even engaged.

  He’s knocked me up. On purpose. What the hell is he waiting on?

  Maryse tugs at the waist, smoothing it. “This is a perfect fit for you. It wouldn’t need altering at all.”

  The only way that would happen is if we get married in the next two months. After that, my options decrease by the month.

  “Can this dress be sold off the rack?” Avery asks.

  “Absolutely.”

  “If you sell it before she comes back, how long to get another one?”

  “At least six months.”

  “You can’t take that chance, Em. You have to get it today.”

  What is she thinking? “Are you crazy?”

  “No, but you are if you don’t get this dress.”

  “I can’t get this dress today.”

  “Can she put a deposit down to hold it?”

  “Of course.”

  “How much?”

  “Twenty percent.”

  “Twenty-four hundred dollars today to guarantee that this dress doesn’t get away. It’ll be the best money you ever spent.”

  “I don’t care about the money. It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “My stomach won’t fit in it if we don’t get married soon. Like very soon.”

  “Can she transfer the deposit to another dress if needed?”

  “I would do that for her.”

  “See? Zero risk.”

  I want the dress. It’s the one—I know that. But buying it before Tristan has actually proposed feels like I’m jinxing things. “I don’t know.”

  “She’ll take it,” Avery says.

  Oh my God, wait. What the hell am I doing getting a wedding dress for a wedding that isn’t even in the works?

  Love is giving someone the power to destroy you but trusting them not to. And I trust Tristan.

  “Yes. That’s my dress.”

  43

  Tristan Broussard

  Our wedding. Everyone that we love is going to be there. And Emma Lia has no idea. Yes, it’s my making another major decision about our lives without her input, but it’s a risk that I’m willing to take. She’s already agreed to be my wife. And I want to do something out of this world to show her how committed I am to her and our child.

  Her demeanor has changed this week. I’ve seen the unspoken questions in her eyes. The tense expressions while her mind is a million miles away. I’m certain that she’s wondering why there isn’t a ring on her finger or a collar around her neck. Both will be after this weekend.

  “We have another trip.”

  Emma Lia’s eyes alight. “Where are we going this time?”

  “Vegas again. Some issues have come up with the new casino.”

  The light in her eyes is gone as quickly as it appeared. “Oh.”

  “You aren’t excited for another Vegas trip?”

  She shrugs. “I can already predict that you’ll be tied up with business most of the time, and I’ll be on my own.”

  Oh, mon bien-aimé. Someone may get tied up, but it won’t be me with business.

  “I recall that you weren’t entirely on your own the last time. You earned seven keys but were probably owed more like fifteen if the truth be told.”

  “Fifteen sounds about right. And if I were still earning keys, I bet that I’d earn more than that on this trip.”

  Emma Lia is occasionally nauseated, but when she isn’t, she’s horny as fuck. And I don’t hate that one single bit. I’m happy to oblige her anytime she likes. The frequency helps to cushion the lack of intensity.

  “I promise that I’ll make time for you. You may even get to be Mrs. Broussard again.”

  She smiles, but the happiness that I usually see there when I mention our little game isn’t there. “Great. I love pretending to be Mrs. Broussard.”

  No more role-playing, mon bien-aimé. Come Saturday at sunset, you will be Mrs. Broussard.

  “Elizabeth will be bringing your packed bag on Thursday morning before we leave.”

  “I don’t get to try on my clothes before the trip?”

  “There’s no time. Elizabeth has some prior engagements and can’t bring them any earlier.”

  “My stomach doesn’t bulge, but it also doesn’t sink in anymore like it once did. What if the clothes don’t fit?”

  “You don’t look any bigger to me.”

  “I feel bigger.” She places her hand across her chest. “I mean, look at these. They’re already bigger.”

  “Show me.”

  Her smile is sheepish. “Tristan…”

  “Show me. I want to see them.”

  She grins and untucks her blouse, unbuttoning it. When she’s finished, she opens her shirt. “See?”

  “Come to me. I need to feel of them.”

  She walks around my desk, and I pull her onto my lap. Holding her around the waist, I use my free hand to squeeze one of her tits.

  She grimaces and narrows her eyes. “Ow.”

  “Am I hurting you, mon bien-aimé?”

  “Yes, Sir. They’re very tender. Even the slightest squeeze hurts.”

  Sir. Fuck, I still get hard when I hear her call me that, just like the first time she said it.

  There was a time when hearing her tell me that I’m hurting her would send me into a frenzy. And it still does but for much different reasons. Her breasts are tender because she’s carrying my child.

  I pull the cup of her bra down and lean forward, sucking her nipple into my open mouth. I suck softly and roll my tongue around her hard bud before releasing it.

  Her fingers push into the back of my hair. “You’re going to have to learn how to share these soon.”

  I groan beneath my breath. “I know, but I’m going to enjoy having them and you all to myself until then.”

  I release her breast and lean in, pressing my mouth to the side of her neck. She shivers when I lick and kiss the soft, smooth skin below her ear.

  “That still gets me every time,” she whispers.

  I move my hand up her thigh until I reach her pussy and rub her there through the thin fabric of her leggings. “And this still gets me every time.”

  “You aren’t tiring of the same flavor day in and day out?”

  “You’re my favorite flavor and the only sweetness that I crave.” My mouth moves higher, over her ear. “And I’d like to have a taste of you right now.”

  She looks at the open door of my office. “Ray is still here.”

  “Then let’s shut the door. Or better yet, take this to the bedroom. What do you say?”

  “He’s going to be serving dinner anytime now.”

  “I want my dessert first tonight.” Surely, she didn’t think that she could come into my office, show me her tits, and get out of here without my wanting to stick my cock in her tight little pussy. “Say yes and I’ll lick your pussy with my warm, wet, soft tongue. It’ll glide over your clit until you get tingly and explode. It’ll feel so damn good.”

  She bites her bottom lip and moves her hips, forcing her pussy to rub harder against my hand. “Bedroom.”

  The instant that the bedroom door closes, we go to work on stripping away all fabric barriers preventing our bodies from being bare against one another. She undresses herself while I do the same, my eyes never leaving her body.

  She’s reaching behind her back to unfasten her bra when I move toward her and grasp her thong, pulling it down her legs and tossing it on the floor.

  When we’re both naked, she glides her hands up my arms until they meet behind my neck. My mouth possesses hers as we move towa
rd the bed. In one fluid motion she sits and slides backward. She lifts her hair before lying down and it spreads on the bed around her when she lies on her back. She looks so feminine and delicate when she does that. I don’t think that she has any idea how much I love seeing her that way.

  She’s stretched side to side across the bed. Wet and wanting. Knees bent. Thighs spread wide, showing me her pretty pink pussy.

  I grab her ankle and bring it to my mouth, kissing the inner side. My hand glides up her calf to her thigh. “I love your legs.”

  “You love how easily my legs spread for you.”

  My mouth moves up her calf, spreading kisses in its path and trailing them up her inner thighs. “No truer words have ever been said, mon bien-aimé.”

  I crawl over her and grab two pillows. “Lift that sweet ass so I can eat this pussy the right way.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  She lifts and I wedge her pelvis upward, positioning her so that my talented tongue can deliver a stellar performance. “Beg me to lick your pussy.”

  This pregnancy has put a hiatus on a lot of the fun that we’re used to, but dirty talk won’t hurt a thing.

  “Please lick me. My pussy is aching to feel your mouth. My clit wants the stroke of your tongue against it.”

  She stretches and tilts her hips up from the pillow, showing me more of her pussy when I push her legs apart and nibble each side of her groin. And I nearly come when she reaches down and spreads the top of her slit. “Please, Master. Right here.”

  Her legs are trembling on each side of my head, and she gasps when my tongue slowly glides up her center. “Everything down there is so sensitive.”

  “Sensitive good?”

  “God, yesss.”

  She fists the top of my hair and moans when I lick her the second time. “You like that, don’t you?”

  “I love it.”

  I lick the center and nibble her outer lips, teasing her a little before moving back to the middle.

  “Your mouth feels so good on me.”

  I wrap my arms around her thighs and hold her still while sucking her clit. First soft and then hard, alternating back and forth between the two. The sounds in the room are an erotic mix of sucking, slurping, moaning, and panting. If I’m not careful, I’ll come just from hearing our sexy noises.

  “It’s starting. Are you going to let me come, Master?”