Page 27 of Black Light: The Crossover
Ironically, this was the version of Lukus she’d met first, and while it had scared the bejesus out of her then, now this most dominant version of her husband had a strangely calming effect on her.
“Strip.” Lukus demanded.
“What? I’m busy!” she almost shouted, taking a small step backwards.
His glare hardened as he crossed his muscular arms across his chest. Even with his short-trimmed beard, she could see his jaw tighten. The green eyes she loved so much grew darker by the second as he consciously unleashed the part of him he’d learned to tamp down, at least outside of the bedroom.
Tiff glanced down and saw his jeans were still unzipped, but he’d tucked his cock away. She may not be in the mood for sex, but that would at least be better than theactivityshe feared her husband was thinking about instead.
“I gave you an order,” he barked, his voice steady.
“Lukus… please…”
“We are way past ‘Lukus, please’. I expect the next words out of your mouth to be ‘Yes, Sir’ and if you don’t start taking your clothes off immediately, we’ll blow past that and I’ll retrieve a ball-gag instead and take away your ability to sass back at me.”
“But… I’m not in the mood for sex,” she whined.
“Who said anything about sex?” he responded much too calmly.
“If not sex…”
“Are you really going to question your Dom right now? Every second that ticks by is adding to your punishment.”
She flailed her arms in the air, practically shouting, “Oh for Christ’s sake, you can’t possibly punish me for being grouchy about how much work I have to do.”
“Oh baby, you really need to button that lip of yours and get started stripping. I will remind you that you’re talking to the man so committed to delivering well-deserved punishments that I named my club The Punishment Pit.”
Shit, shit, shit. Her day was seriously going from bad to worse. Tiff’s brain wanted to keep arguing, but her ass had also started to tingle, recognizing it was about to the pay the price for her smart mouth.
“Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so sassy,” she offered, taking another small step backwards, as if that would change anything.
“Good to know,” he answered, before adding, “One…”
“Dammit, Lukus, you know I hate when you count.”
“Then I suggest you start following orders.” When she stayed frozen, he added, “Two…”
“Fuck,” she cussed under her breath, while toeing off her sneakers slowly.
“I’ll be adding on for your colorful language choices and continued disrespect.”
“Oh, come on,” Tiff protested, although the look on his face had her lifting her t-shirt over her head, baring her lacy bra to him.
“I’d suggest you move into a higher gear. Personally, I won’t mind at all, but I’m pretty sure that beautiful ass of yours is not going to enjoy what you’re signing up for with your blatant disobedience.”
“All right!” she called out, angry that he was wasting precious time just because the Master’s Master needed to remind her who was in charge. She unzipped her jeans, slowly pushing them down to the floor, careful to leave on her panties and bra.
Lukus grabbed Tiff’s hand, pulling her behind him just a few feet away into the living room space of their open loft with a spectacular view of the Chicago skyline.
Tiffany knew his destination, and she yanked against his hold in a futile attempt at slowing him down. Her pulse spiked higher at the thought of being splayed across the back of his favorite couch. Short of being center stage at The Pit, it was one of her husband’s favorite locations for punishments—both playful and real. She just wished she knew which one of those types he was planning for today.
His hand on her back pushed her into the position she knew was coming—ass up and head down. What she hadn’t expected was her husband to take the time to pull the fur-lined restraints out from under the love seat’s four corners and start securing her into position.
He started with her arms, pulling her hands wide making it impossible for her to support her upper half at all, leaving her head hanging down against the cushion.
He worked in silence, making it easy for her to focus on the increasing tempo of her heartbeat that was the perfect harmony to her fast sips of air as she pushed down her panic.
Things got worse when he pulled her left ankle out toward the corner, forcing her up on her remaining tippy toe. A minute later, she lost even that support as he secured her right ankle. The splayed position forced a heavy pressure on her bladder and Tiff found herself wishing she’d stopped to use the bathroom before finding herself in her current predicament.
