Roulette Read online

  Gasping for air, my hips were lifted and I wondered when he unclipped my thighs from my ankles. Then I stopped caring because what was slowly pushing its way into my body was not a finger or a tongue. My hands were still trapped in place and my fingers flexed as I cried out, his cock invading my pussy swollen from orgasms and lack of use beyond vibrators.

  “Oh God. Oh Jesus,” I whispered, my ass pushing back to take him deeper into me. His hands tightened and he pulled back, retreating from my body. When I tried to follow, his cock popped free and a hard hand snapped down on my ass with so much force I cried out, my body jerking at the sensation.

  It hurt. Especially when he delivered another loud, skin snapping crack down on the exact same fucking spot. I felt the same hot, fuzzy feeling when he had pinched viciously down on my nipples, like the pain was a gateway for an even deeper pleasure. A third spank had my pussy softening. A strange heat flowed through my body, like I was melting and evaporating at the same time.

  A sigh escaped and my fingers now limp twitched when I felt him slide into me again, his way eased by the welcoming wetness brought forth by the three spanks. This time I held still as he sank deep into me, cock stretching and filling me until he could go no further. A hand caressed down my back and I shuddered at feeling the swelling tell of his cock twitching before he came. It triggered my own orgasm that was far more quiet than all the others but no less intense. I squeezed and tightened on him, trying to draw more of that erotic fluid from him.

  I don’t know how long we stayed like that. My ass lifted to him, my body this limp pile of bliss, while his cock softened within me. My ass tingled and burned from his spanks and everything ached beautifully. Everything was heavy as he finally slid free. My wrists were released and I collapsed onto the bed. I needed to see who had done this to me and yet the energy to do so wasn’t there.

  I know what you need.

  That’s what he had said.

  How? I thought as darkness wrapped around me like a warm blanket and pulled me under. How did he know when I hid that from everyone, especially myself?

  Chapter 2

  When I awoke, it took a few minutes for everything to register. A tiny bolt of energy moved through me and I lifted my arms. No more cuffs. The elegant but somehow bland bedroom stank off fresh coffee with lingering traces of stale sex. A soft whimper of denial came from me because that sex scent was all over me. My body ached in ways that told the story of someone else touching me. The tight, sticky feeling on my thighs were all that remained of my orgasms. Beneath the covers, my hand slid between my legs, pressing where I still felt him. A ghost memory that sent tiny ripples through me and against my fingers I grew slick again.

  Closing my eyes, I returned to the memory of everything from his cuffs to feeling him inside me.

  Good sex should have homage paid to it.

  Writhing, I slowly stroked all the places he had licked, sucked and touched. Muscles twinged from being held open and immobile. I arched, fingers gliding from my clit to where his cock had invaded me. “God,” I whispered. Rocking over my hand, I slid my fingers down. A gasp of pure delight escaped when I pushed two fingers into my pussy. I was so wet from the memory of last night, of the lingering feel of him.

  I know, love. I know what you need.

  I fucked myself to that recollection until the orgasm pulsed beautifully through me and I came with a keening cry.

  “You have succulent tits, Amy, but the way you come...delicious.”

  The deep voice startled me and I sat up with a startled gasp. Joshua Lashva sat in a chair beside the bed. My eyes went wide and I grabbed the sheet, pulling it up to cover my breasts. Cool blue eyes studied me as if he had just realized I had breasts. Lifting the mug to his mouth, he sipped and continued to stare at me. That explained the coffee scent I had noticed then ignored.

  “I’m surprised to see you here,” he said, lowering the mug to rest on his hip. He was shirtless and it was a beautiful sight. Muscles were delineated from his slouched position and the tattoos marking his skin looked wicked in the morning sun trickling through partially opened curtains. His black jeans were snug over his erection from watching me masturbate in one of his guest rooms.

  Jesus. Fuck! “What time is it?” My voice was scratchy; probably from those screams Number Four had dragged from me. Had it been him? Oh, shit. Had it been Lash who had fucked me into eternity? The fantasy was one thing - the reality of that idea made me a little nauseous.

  The man was beautiful and sexy, like all dangerous things were but he was also a major asshole with a bitch goddess fiancée.

  “Does it matter?” He stood, sipped his coffee then sauntered away. “Lunch is as ready as you. Take your time. Or come as you are. Your tits are bigger than I thought they’d be. You shouldn’t hide them.”

  “Shit,” I whispered, grabbing the sheet I had dropped. The closing door muffled his wicked laugh, leaving me naked in a room while I wondered if it had been him last night.

  I’d had sex last night and I had no idea who it was with.

  Bracing my elbows on my knees, I dropped my head into my hands. “Fuck.” Reality caught up with me thanks to Lash’s voyeuristic moment. After a few minutes of self-flagellation, I climbed out of the borrowed bed and walked into the guest bathroom to wash away the night.

  After drying off, I stared at my reflection. Just looking at me I could tell I got laid and laid well last night. I watched the twenty-three year old female draw her fingers over her throat while the memory of Number Four holding me flashed through me. Damned if her nipples didn’t tighten in the mirror too.

  My eyes still had a sheen to them that revealed how hard he had made me come. “Holy shit,” I whispered, leaning close to see the dazed gleam in the hazel shade. My gaze dropped down to my breasts. The very boobs Lash had called succulent. They hadn’t seen a B-cup since my early teens. Normally my breasts were just there. A body part that I never really considered beyond the pain of finding a good bra. But what he had done to two innocuous nipples...

  I shivered.

  I needed to stop. Returning to the bedroom, I dragged on last night’s clothes. Skinny jeans, a black cowl tank and one of my favourite cardigans. I bypassed my panties, shoving them into my purse then I grabbed the letter that had started this all and left the room.

  Lash’s house was a brick and stone chateau-style mansion he had inherited from his deceased mother. The first time I saw the house, I had been tagging along with my stepbrother. The house was a beautiful monstrosity that had fulfilled every daydream about what a dream house was. Then I met Lash.

  Beautiful, rich, selfish and an utter asshole, he had crushed those dreams about the family that lived beyond the arched double doors. What I had found on the other side of the door was pure deviant decadence.

  Which summed up Jack’s group of friends to a T.

  I took my walk of shame down the hall of the first floor guest room, wincing as each step echoed back at me from the harsh marble floors. Deep laughter from the kitchen had my foot freezing above the floor. Because waking up naked with Lash watching me wasn’t mortifying enough, I was about to come face to face with his older brother.

  Fuck.

  I couldn’t even sneak out because the kitchen was between me and the front entrance. Had I been in one of the upstairs rooms, I could’ve slipped out without anyone other than Lash being the wiser. Exhaling slowly, I searched for a plan.

  In the end there was only one.

  I pulled up my figurative big girl panties and walked down the hallway. It was that or remain hiding in Lash’s home for God knows how long. How stupid would I feel if someone spotted me hiding?

  One more deep breath of fortification and I stepped into the kitchen. Out of everyone in the group, I knew Jeremiah Lashva the best since he had been best friends with Jack. Watching Jere’s face go still and his bottle of beer pausing halfway to his mouth was a bit entertaining. His eyebrows rose before lowering into a deep glower that he aimed at
his brother.

  Lash snorted. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t do that to her.”

  My cheeks felt hot and I wished I had found a hiding place after all, especially when the stare shifted to me. The brothers were gorgeous beings, sexy and bad. There was an air of entitlement to them, a power that clung to their skin like intoxicating cologne. They both had dark hair, their face the same hard lines at the nose, cheek and jaw. Their mouths shared the same sensual cruel sneer even when they weren’t sneering. Lash’s eyes were a pale, crystal blue: water reflected on icebergs. Cold, impenetrable, unique. Jere’s eyes were granite rocks, just as hard and cold as his younger brother’s.

  I didn’t want to know what one had to experience to get eyes like that.

  I fidgeted as Jere looked at me. The man had a disconcerting gaze, like he could see where all my secrets writhed around like poisonous snakes. He finally sipped his beer and it was hard to break eye contact.

  Jere had this intensity that surrounded him and I wished I could describe it. For however long the moment required, you were the centre of his undivided attention. His eyes never shifted. It wasn’t a leer or a stare, it was something else altogether. I was pretty sure Jere saw the soul and I really wished he’d stop looking.

  I wasn’t entirely sure there was anything left inside me.

  The thick brown bottle made a gentle tap on the table when Jere set it down. From the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of Lash looking from me to his older brother. Jere rested his elbow on the table and flicked his finger. Nothing about the way he was staring said I should do anything but follow the direction. My heart pounding, I walked through the immaculate kitchen with its shiny stainless steel appliances. The closer I moved the harder my pulse thundered in my ear while my palms grew damp. Not once in all the years of knowing Jere had I reacted to him like this.

  Weird. So weird.

  Like everything else, I shoved those reactions to the back burner. I walked around the glass-topped table, the tile floor cool on my bare feet. Jere shifted his body so he faced me, that unbreakable gaze watching and seeing. He braced his feet shoulder width apart, the black of his biker boots scuffed from wear. I stopped between those large boots and spread knees.

  Without breaking eye contact, he caught my left hand. His thumbs slid over my wrist where my pulse pounded uncontrollably. “Does this hurt?”

  “What?”

  A tap against my wrist had me looking down. There was a faint bruise that I hadn’t noticed. My lips parted. A choked cough came from Lash and my attention flicked to him pounding his fist on his chest, his eyes watery while beer dotted on his chin and lips.

  “Amy.”

  It was only my name and my focus returned to those mesmerizing mountain grey eyes. What was the question? The slow, almost gentle touch over the mark was distracting. Against my bra, my nipples began to tingle and against the seam of my jeans was a familiar ache. Jesus. Oh Jesus. That look, the touch, the combination. Jeremiah Lashva was making me wet.

  “Play,” he said in his slow, deep voice, “has one requirement: trust. Trust that you won’t get hurt. Trust that you’ll say when you get hurt. Without trust, it’s simply dangerous fucking.”

  Okay. I was more than wet. A hot pulse of cream flooded the coarse fabric of my jeans.

  “Other hand.”

  It shook as I gave it to him. He finally looked away but I didn’t feel freed from his gaze. Not at all. He turned my hand over and I knew he was inspecting me for any further damage.

  “Do you hear me, Amy?”

  I nodded, my mouth too dry to form words. His attention returned to me and I felt my stomach wobble. My clit throbbed, an ache spreading in my pussy like when Number Four’s cock slid into me, fucking me into another orgasm that had been as intense as the first. More so because there had been no one in my head. Just him in the darkness.

  “Any marks on your body,” Jere’s steady, commanding voice continued, “are because they are meant to be on your body. There is no stoic bravery in a scene. There is only honesty. Do you hear me, Amy? This time you will use your words.”

  I was going to come. Right there in the middle of Lash’s unwelcoming kitchen, I was going to climax because Jere was talking and staring at me like he fully expected me to obey.

  I licked my lips, swallowed. “Yes,” I said and unable to stop the words, I continued: “I hear you, Jeremiah.”

  He squeezed my wrists gently and lowered my hands. “Good girl.” He released me. My eyes, my hands, my everything and turned his attention to his lunch.

  “Shit. I think I just came,” Lash said.

  I had. I felt the slow, quiet orgasm sliding down my thighs and soaking into the jeans as it continued to vibrate in my pussy.

  “Sit,” Jere ordered.

  I sat and he left the table, grabbed a bottled water from the fridge. After twisting off the cap, he put it between my hands before he sat down again. I stared at the plastic treads circling the mouth.

  Fuck. My hand was shaking as I lifted the bottle up.

  What the fuck was that?

  Was it you?

  “I know what you need.”

  The combination of my phone pinging and my dream orgasm yanked me from sleep. There was a wet ache in my pussy, my panties drenched. Okay. My real orgasm. Panting, I rolled over and reached for my cell.

  I hadn’t come so frequently in so little time in my life. After returning from Lash’s, I had taken a shower and if I had masturbated to the letter now in Jere’s voice that was nobody’s business but my own.

  Aluminum at 10, bitch. See you then. X

  The last thing I wanted to do was go clubbing. With a groan, I dropped my head down into the pillow, paper crinkling beneath me. Stupid, seductive words. Flipping back over, I set the words of intent on my stomach then lifted my hand to study the small bruise. When had it happened? When my wrists were clipped my thighs? Or had it been when he had moved me up, cuffed me to the headboard while a pillow had been tucked under my hips and my ankle cuffs attached to the ones on my thighs?

  He had fucked me hard. I had felt every push of his cock through my entire body. His hand fisted in my hair, arching my neck so my cries and grunts released into the room and not the bed. The blindfold had ceased to matter. Not knowing who he was had been irrelevant as all that erotic energy had been on me, hogtied and begging for him to let me come.

  He hadn’t told me to. It had just tumbled out. Please. Please. Let me...

  He said nothing but just by the pull on my hair I had known I wasn’t permitted to come. Not yet. Not then.

  Fuck, it had been intoxicating. Not until a groan had rumbled from him and his cock had jerked and pulsed, emptying his cum. Jesus but I had orgasmed then. My body had found the ultimate satisfaction in his release. Joy in the fact that he had come because he had liked fucking me. Controlling me.

  But the cuffs, the control, the power.

  It had been a really, really long time.

  “Domination,” I whispered. The word flowed through me like tiny champagne bubbles, golden sunshine popping everywhere.

  Everything about last night had been about control. Nothing had existed beyond that bed. An entire night of him taking me over, taking me under.

  Submission, I mouthed as my fingers wrapped around my wrist as snug as the cuff. Before my vagina spontaneously combusted...again, I climbed out of bed and took my second shower of the day.

  Dressed in my favourite comfort wear, an old t-shirt of Jack’s and sweats so old the elastic was pretty much gone and only stayed up by sheer willpower, I wandered into the kitchen for some fortification.

  I loved my kitchen.

  After buying the house, I had renovated the kitchen from top to bottom. It was the kitchen I had dreamt about as a kid. Everything was new, the renos having been completed a couple of months ago.

  For the first time, I truly saw the space.

  I finally saw the pretty white cabinets with their glass doors, the new appliances, t
he smoky grey counter tops, the warm golden tones in the new floor.

  Seeing the space, actually seeing the space, had my knees buckling. I sank to the floor, my hand pressed over my chest. Pain compressed on my heart and I fought it. I fought so hard to not let it consume me.

  I had this house because of Jack.

  No one had prepared me for the sudden appearance of Jack Tremaine in my life. It had been my dad and I struggling for a long time. Mom died when I was little and it seemed as if since that moment Dad and I were slowly unraveling. The car factory plant where he had been pretty high up the food chain had gone bankrupt and his cushy job had disappeared. He spent hours and hours working in garages, fixing cars only to lose the job because of various reasons. Usually me. When I was sick, there was no one to stay home and look after me. Sometimes he missed work for days and then they’d fire him. It became harder and harder for him to find a job while juggling a daughter. The roughest time had been when we were living out of the car. The very same car he had helped build had protected us from the elements.

  That was how we met Jack Tremaine.

  Seventeen. Drunk. And driving. He hadn’t seen our car on the side of the road. Or me until he had almost laid me out on the ground. He jerked the wheel and put his shiny car into the cement pilings of a bridge while I pissed my pants. Dad had been furious. While sirens filled the air because that kind of crash did not go unnoticed, he had yelled at the terrified Jack who cried into his hands, throwing up and sweating at almost running over a ten-year old girl. I thought Dad was going to kill him. He spent a good five minutes shaking the teenager while cops tried to pull Dad off.

  Both were arrested.

  That had been terrifying. Watching them shove my big, angry, still scared, dad into a car while he yelled and fought the cops to get to me; standing there under a bridge, my pants smelling of urine and so scared of what was going to happen to me. I’d gone to the police station in a separate car once paramedics assured everyone that I was injury free to wait for social services. And Henrietta Tremaine came into my world. Just like her son. Only with exploding doors and not an imploding car. When she learned my dad had been arrested, she had snorted and said she was surprised Dad hadn’t killed him and to let Dad go, no charges were going to be laid against him. She had been fierce, like some warrior queen of long ago, thundering down hell on anyone. Dad came out, rubbing his wrists and I sobbed at seeing him.