Page 25 of Black Light: The Crossover
Reunited
A KINKY CROSSOVER
THE PUNISHMENT PIT SERIES
By Livia Grant
CHAPTER1
TIFFANY
Monday, December 27th
Loft Above The Punishment Pit,Chicago, IL
“Dammit! You stupid oven!”Tiffany shouted loud enough that she wouldn’t be surprised if Lukus heard her three stories below. She was so angry, she didn’t even care.
Pulling the cookie sheet from the oven, she waved her hand above the cookies to help the smoke dissipate. She hadn’t just over baked the holiday treats. She’d burned them to a crisp.
“Do I need to get a fire extinguisher?” her husband teased as he got off the elevator to their loft.
“Very funny,” she groused, in no mood for his festive spirit. The pan’s heat was burning through the too-thin pot-holder as she glanced around for a safe place to set it down. Every surface was full of crap that needed her attention, which only upset her more.
Giving up, Tiff threw the pan, scorched treats and all, into the already full sink with a loud clatter. The sound of glass breaking was the icing on an already shitty day. Looking down, she found the remnants of one of her favorite wine glasses now in a million pieces.
Tears made the shards swim before her as she placed her hands along the edge of the counter, leaning over the sink in defeat.
My mother always makes this look so easy. How the hell did she do Christmas with eight kids?
She felt like a complete failure.
Lukus’s hands on her shoulders normally would comfort her.
“Take a deep breath, baby,” he ordered in that bossy tone of voice that usually settled her. Today it made her want to punch him in the face.
“A breath isn’t going to help. I’m behind on everything. I’ll be up all night tonight getting everything done before we have to leave for Michigan in the morning.”
She tried to shake off his touch, but he leaned into her instead, trapping her between his body and the messy kitchen counter. Every muscle in her body was tense. Even his brief massage of her shoulders didn’t alleviate her agitation.
In a flash, her husband’s left arm circled her waist, yanking her back against his muscular chest while his right hand landed on her bare throat, squeezing just hard enough to make sure she got his message loud and clear.
He was now in full Dom mode. A tiny warning bell sounded in her head, but she was too stressed to pay attention, and she was certainly in no mood for the sexy times that normally accompanied his Master Lukus appearances.
“I’m not in the mood, Lukus,” she spat, wiggling in his arms, trying to escape to get back to work.
His grasp on her tightened as he calmly replied against her ear. “I can see that. You seem to only be in the mood to bite my head off.”
It was a bit harder to reply with the continued pressure on her throat. “I’m just tired. I had to work all day today at the Beauty Box and then came home to the loft still trashed from all of the holiday crap left from last week’s Christmas with your side of the family.”
“I told you to just let it go. No one will see the mess and we can clean it all up when we get back from Christmas with your side of the family,” he tried to placate her.
Flailing against his hold, she ground out, “I’m serious. I need to finish baking the Christmas cookies we need to take. I don’t have all of the gifts wrapped yet, and I’m still doing laundry so we can repack. I also need to…”
Tiffany didn’t get the next words out before her husband spun her around so fast that she almost toppled over. It didn’t help when she felt his hands on her shoulders again, this time pressing her lower until she fell unceremoniously to her knees. She was grateful for the padded kitchen mat that cushioned her fall.
She wasn’t even remotely in the mood to be manhandled by her Dom. Dominance and submission may play a large role in their marriage, but today wasn’t the day. Not only did they not have time, but she knew the only way she would get everything done was to capitalize on her panicked stress that somehow always pushed her to get shit done.
“I don’t have time for this, dammit,” she spat, angry that he was only delaying her instead of actually helping.
