Lock & Key Collection Read online

  Lock & Key Collection

  Her Debt • His Deal • Their Destiny

  Rebel Rose

  Scarlet House Novels

  Copyright © 2018 by Rebel Rose

  All rights reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Contents

  Note from Rebel Rose

  Part I

  1. Tristan Broussard

  2. Emma Lia Grant

  3. Tristan Broussard

  4. Emma Lia Grant

  5. Tristan Broussard

  6. Emma Lia Grant

  7. Tristan Broussard

  8. Emma Lia Grant

  9. Tristan Broussard

  10. Emma Lia Grant

  11. Tristan Broussard

  12. Emma Lia Grant

  13. Tristan Broussard

  14. Emma Lia Grant

  15. Tristan Broussard

  Part II

  16. Emma Lia Grant

  17. Tristan Broussard

  18. Emma Lia Grant

  19. Tristan Broussard

  20. Emma Lia Grant

  21. Tristan Broussard

  22. Emma Lia Grant

  23. Tristan Broussard

  24. Emma Lia Grant

  25. Tristan Broussard

  26. Emma Lia Grant

  27. Tristan Broussard

  28. Emma Lia Grant

  29. Tristan Broussard

  30. Emma Lia Grant

  31. Tristan Broussard

  Part III

  32. Emma Lia Grant

  33. Tristan Broussard

  34. Emma Lia Grant

  35. Tristan Broussard

  36. Emma Lia Grant

  37. Tristan Broussard

  38. Emma Lia Grant

  39. Tristan Broussard

  40. Emma Lia Grant

  41. Tristan Broussard

  42. Emma Lia Grant

  43. Tristan Broussard

  44. Emma Lia Grant

  45. Tristan Broussard

  46. Emma Lia Grant

  47. Tristan Broussard

  About the Author

  Note from Rebel Rose

  DISCLAIMER:

  This book contains BDSM situations involving dubious consent and physical restraint. These situations can be triggers for some readers and erotic for others. If you view BDSM as abuse then this book is not for you.

  If you should choose to continue, enjoy.

  Part I

  Her Debt

  1

  Tristan Broussard

  Claudia is lying facedown on the bed, hands bound behind her back with handcuffs. Plump ass in the air. A half dozen red stripes enhancing the beauty of her round alabaster cheeks, each growing redder by the second. Her pink puckered hole stretched wide by a large plug.

  She lunges forward when the leather bites the skin of her left cheek. “Seven, Master.”

  She is the strongest submissive that I’ve ever had. Hell, she’s the strongest submissive that I’ve seen. There’s never too much pain for her to tolerate. Never too much agony. Never too much torment. She endures everything inflicted upon her with grace and poise and finesse.

  And it’s boring as fuck.

  I’ve been Dom to Claudia for more than a year. She had previously been sub to one of the fiercest Doms in New Orleans—my best friend, Easton Lambert. She was trained by him especially for his tastes, but he tired of her when there was no more new kink they could experience together for the first time.

  Easton… he’s always had a case of attention deficit. Nothing holds his interest for long, and a submissive is no exception. He rarely keeps one for more than a few months although Claudia was an exception.

  He offered Claudia to me… per her request. I had long suspected that she had a thing for me. The way her brow would lift when she looked at me said things that her mouth didn’t. Fuck, Easton would have beaten her to within an inch of her life if he’d ever suspected how much she wanted me instead of him.

  I’d always enjoyed fucking her when Easton was in the mood to share her with me or when he just wanted to watch the two of us together. I was in between subs when he approached me about taking her, so I agreed. I haven’t regretted that decision once in the past year, but lately I’ve been craving something more. Something Claudia isn’t capable of giving me.

  Unbrokenness.

  I want a woman who I can break. A woman who has never cried for another Dom. A woman I can train for only my particular tastes. Not a woman who has already experienced every possible form of kink with another man. Especially when that other man is my best friend.

  “Count. Louder.”

  My phone vibrates on the table as I strike Claudia’s ass again.

  “Eight, Master!”

  Fuck, I never get a moment of peace. Sometimes I hate being Tristan Broussard. So much money. So much power. So much responsibility. People can never just leave me the hell alone.

  I pick up my phone, vowing to end the life of whoever is on the other end of the line if this call is of little importance. “Whaaat?”

  “She’s back, sir.”

  There’s no need for Garrett to say her name. I know exactly who the pit boss managing the blackjack tables is talking about. And knowing that the brunette beauty is back under the roof of my casino makes my dick harder than steel.

  “Is she scoring yet?” I’m not sure why I’m asking. She always wins big money.

  “Yes. And already pressing, sir.” Betting large sums of money. She intends on winning big tonight.

  And so do I.

  She is Emma Lia Grant. Daughter of Conrad Grant, once regarded as one of the biggest cheats on the casino scene. His kid has been visiting my casino. A lot. And she’s up to her old man’s tricks: card counting, roulette past posting, dice slides. You name it, and she has done it in my house, right under my nose.

  And I’ve let her.

  My first interaction with Miss Grant happened by coincidence. One of my pit bosses suspected that a new dealer was false shuffling but couldn’t catch him in the act. No one could. Not even my best trained eyes.

  I was called down to the floor to see for myself, but my eyes weren’t on the dealer or his shuffling. They were on the brunette beauty at his table who happened to be winning huge sums of money.

  A fucking knockout. Long chestnut locks with caramel highlights, the ends kissed with loose curls. Forget-me-not blue eyes surrounded by lush dark lashes. A full rack with cleavage on display and an ass with plenty of meat. The kind of ass that I could dig my fingers into and use as a grip to push and pull her off and onto my cock when I fuck her from behind.

  That image has played out in my head more than one time, and it always ends the same: her collapsing onto the bed with my cum dripping out of her pussy.

  The second that I laid eyes on her, my entire world changed. I became restless, desiring something not in my possession, and I had to have her. Make her mine.

  That’s when I knew that my relationship with Claudia was ov
er. My mind and cock became obsessed with Emma Lia Grant. From that night on, she’s been the only one whom I’ve thought about. Fantasized about. Dreamed about.

  Miss Grant’s winnings, or debts as I prefer to call them, are close to hitting the magic number. Only sixteen thousand dollars prevents me from carrying out my plan. Tonight’s the night. And that has my dick twitching.

  I’ve been camping out in the private penthouse in my hotel for a week waiting for this moment. On call for the moment Emma Lia’s debt hits the hundred-thousand-dollar mark.

  Ching… ching… ching. It’s like my own personal sexual jackpot clinking in my ears.

  I release Claudia’s hands and pull the plug out of her ass. “Something has come up. I have business to tend.”

  She looks over her shoulder and swishes her ass back and forth. “I’m sure that we have time to fuck before you go. I know that you want to.”

  Claudia doesn’t understand yet, but she and I are done. A new submissive just walked into my life. Her replacement.

  “No.” My voice is stern; I’m not in the mood for games. I need to get downstairs before Emma Lia leaves. If that happens, my plan goes to shit. And I’ve already held out for almost six months. I’ve waited long enough to have her.

  “Master, you’re the boss. You tell your employees what to do. Not the other way around.”

  I never have to be reminded of the power I hold over the people working the floor below us right now. It’s in the forefront of my mind every moment as well as the fucking pains that go along with it.

  I flip her over and grasp her face, my fingers digging into her cheeks. “I’m your Dom, and you need to hear what I’m saying to you. I have business to tend. We’re done here.”

  She doesn’t understand exactly how done we actually are.

  Her face and eyes lower. “I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t mean to overstep my boundaries.”

  Of course she didn’t mean to overstep. She never does, and it’s one of the reasons that I’m so fucking bored with her.

  “I want you to return to the house tonight. Ray will drive you.”

  She sits on her haunches, hands on top of her thighs with her head bowed.

  “Yes, Master.” Her voice is flat—her way of pouting, which pisses me off even more.

  “I’m going to remain in the suite to finish what I’m working on. I’m not sure when I’ll come home.”

  I have a new submissive to fetch and begin training.

  “Yes, Master.” There’s a hitch in her breath as though she might say something. Maybe argue. In a way I almost wish she would, but instead she holds steady in the submissive position.

  I leave Claudia in the bedroom that she’s been staying in during our time at the hotel and return to mine down the hall to shower. I forgo my usual routine of wrapping my hand around my cock and jerking off to fantasies of Emma Lia Grant. No need; I’ll soon have her pussy wrapped around my cock instead.

  I dress in one of my power suits. Jet-black vest, jacket, and pants. White shirt, crisply starched. Turquoise print tie to accent my aquamarine eyes. My tailored suit fits like a glove, stretching across my broad shoulders and narrow waist. I work hard for this build, and I want my new submissive to notice the care and discipline I take with my body.

  I’m ready to go downstairs to fetch the woman whom I plan to shatter into a million pieces. And then rebuild into exactly what I want and need and desire.

  2

  Emma Lia Grant

  I rummage through my clutch while the blackjack dealer, my twin brother, Adam, false shuffles the decks. He’s so damn good at what he does. But he should be: he was taught by the best. We both were.

  The pit boss comes to the table and stands behind Adam, his arms crossed and watching his every move. Makes me so fucking nervous when they do that, but I keep my cool. It’s what I’ve been trained to do.

  The pit boss is looking at my chips instead of my cleavage. Dammit. I should have worn the red dress with the plunging neckline. “Lucky night for you, huh?”

  I give him my most seductive smile and innocently shrug. “Lady luck, I guess.”

  He smirks. “Right. You have lady luck on your side every time you walk through our doors.”

  Shit… damn… fuckity fuck. He recognizes me?

  He seems confident in his memory of seeing me prior to tonight. To deny being here would be to overplay my hand. It would definitely raise a red flag.

  “Not my first time here. Or my first time to win.”

  “It certainly isn’t,” he says, one brow lifted.

  “Not really sure why I’m back tonight. I lost enough the last time I was here that I should have learned my lesson.” Maybe that’ll throw him off of my scent.

  “How much did you lose?”

  I roll my eyes upward and shake my head. “So much that I can’t bear to repeat it.”

  “Um-hum.”

  Adam slightly narrows his eyes. Not enough that many people would even notice. But I notice. And I know what it means: he’s silently telling me to shut my mouth.

  And he’s right. Saying too much is how one fucks himself.

  I bring my wine glass to my lips and go still when I see a suited man approaching the pit. The guy is easily one of the sexiest men that I’ve ever seen in my life.

  He’s every bit of ten years older than me, maybe fifteen, but that doesn’t make him one bit less attractive. Hell, I think that the scattered gray hairs at his temples and in his facial scruff makes him sexy as hell.

  I’ve always had a thing for older men.

  I straighten my spine and squeeze my arms in, pushing my boobs upward so they’ll spill a little more over the sweetheart neckline of my black dress. I definitely should have worn the red fuck-me dress tonight.

  The pit boss leaves his place behind Adam and goes to the man, leaning close to say something into his ear. The two exchange words for a moment and then as quickly as he appeared, Mr. Sexy is gone.

  Where the hell did he go?

  The pit boss returns to my table and looks at my brother. “Time to rotate.”

  Dammit. I wasn’t finished.

  My brother places his hands together and then turns them upward, the customary gesture for a departing dealer.

  The new dealer takes my brother’s spot, but the pit boss doesn’t take his eyes off me. And that makes me super nervous.

  “Mr. Broussard, the owner of the casino, would like to see you.”

  He nods, and I turn to find two security guards standing behind me… blocking my escape route from the table. “The owner of the casino? Why in the world would he want to see me?”

  “I think you know why he wants to see you.” He passes a towel to the new dealer who takes it and covers my chips. “We’ll keep these safe for you while you’re gone.”

  What do I do? I can’t run. Hell, I can’t even look at my brother for a cue.

  I’m so fucked.

  I stand, and my knees nearly buckle beneath me. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”

  “You can use the restroom in Mr. Broussard’s suite.”

  Mr. Broussard’s suite?

  What. The. Actual. Fuck?

  I walk with security to the elevator, but inside all I want to do is cut my losses and make a break for the exit. I’m wearing thousand-dollar Jimmy Choos, but I’m willing to ditch them if it means getting a clean getaway.

  What would Dad do?

  Dad wouldn’t do anything because Dad wouldn’t get caught.

  We rise in the elevator to the top floor and security leads me down a long hallway—a very long hallway in which we don’t meet a soul. No witnesses.

  The guard rings a bell and Mr. Sexy from downstairs opens the door.

  “Miss Grant. Please… come in.”

  Holy shit. Mr. Sexy is the Tristan Broussard, the owner of the casino, and he knows my name? This can’t be good. No way, no how.

  I pass through the doorway of his suite and an internal distress signal is alarmin
g. It’s telling me to run because nothing good can come from being alone with this man behind a closed door where no one can hear me scream.

  “That’ll be all, gentlemen. Thank you.”

  I look at Tristan Broussard’s hand on the door handle. He’s about to close the door, and there’s this moment where I consider shoving him aside and fleeing. Except I know that it would be useless; the two goons who just delivered me to him won’t let me go without a chase.

  The door closes, and so does my opportunity to run.

  Tristan Broussard and I are alone. He probably believes that I’m frightened and nervous about being behind a closed door with him. He isn’t wrong.

  I stand in front of him speechless. I tell myself that it’s so I don’t incriminate myself, but the truth is that I’m scared shitless.

  “I believe I’ll have a whiskey. Would you care for one?”

  “I’m good, thanks.”

  He gestures toward the sofa. “Have a seat. We have a lot to discuss.”

  Oh shit.

  I sit on the edge of the sofa with my legs turned and pressed together so that he can’t see up my dress. Now I’m actually thankful to not be wearing the short, tight red fuck-me dress.

  “I can’t for the life of me imagine why the owner of a casino would have a lot to discuss with me.”

  He chuckles. “Really, Miss Grant? You’re going to pretend like you don’t know why I had you brought to me?”

  Deny. Deny. Deny. “I have no idea, but I’m dying to find out why.”

  A lopsided grin spreads. “You have an exceptional poker face. You don’t exhibit a single physical sign of nervousness or deception. How long did it take you to master that?”

  I may not appear nervous, but I’m dying inside.

  I giggle to make myself seem younger. More innocent. More believable. “I’m just a girl who came in to play a little bit of blackjack.”

  Tristan Broussard turns up his glass and drinks half of the whiskey in it before locking his eyes on mine. Making me super uncomfortable, which I’m certain is part of his plan. “Do you really think that I don’t know a card counter when I see one? A dice slider? A past poster? A dealer who false shuffles every time that a certain blackjack player is at his table?”