Red Handed (10 page)

“Believe it or not, the state has several laws on its books regulating sex. Even sodomy is still illegal in Michigan. About fifteen years ago, there was a crackdown on the local adult entertainment industry, and several of the clubs that catered to alternative lifestyles were closed for legal violations, including the BDSM club I'd belonged to. When my parents moved down to Florida, they deeded this house to me. I'd already been toying with the idea of investing in a new club, but instead, I decided to use my home. It's private property, making it much more difficult for the government to shut it down.”

“Fifteen years ago . . . ” He'd been in his early twenties. “You were already into the lifestyle?”

He nodded, his expression turning solemn. “There was a period right after college when my life spiraled out of control. A friend of mine brought me to a private play party and introduced me to a Domme. I was immediately intrigued by the lifestyle, but she wouldn't play with me until I agreed to stop drinking and submit to her for at least three months. Six months later, I began topping other women, and for the first time, I felt as though I was in the driver's seat of my own life.” A breath shuddered through him. “If my friend hadn't introduced me to BDSM, I honestly believe I would have drank myself to death. Creating Benediction and training slaves is a way for me to pay it forward.”

She bit down on her lower lip, wondering what could have possibly sent him spiraling out of control like that. “Do your parents know you turned the house into a sex club?”

“They know the basics. Understandably, they don't want to know about my sex life. But I didn't want them to come visit and walk into a sex club unaware.”

“And they're cool with it?” If her father had lived, she couldn't imagine he'd accept her living in a sex club or training as a slave.

He chuckled. “They'd prefer I marry and raise a family in the home rather than train people in the art of Domination and submission, but they want me to be happy.”

“What if you decide you want to get married and have kids? Would you move Benediction, or would you live somewhere else?”

He stiffened and a pregnant silence followed. “That's not a consideration. I'm not the family sort of man. It's a commitment I'm not willing to make with someone.”

For some reason, she experienced a pang of disappointment. “ 'Til death do us part too much for you?”

He moved closer. “Tell me, Danielle. You've indicated you're here for your potential fiancé. What role do you see yourself playing? Do you imagine waiting for him on your knees, naked and open, as he walks through the front door every night? Or is it something you wish to remain in the bedroom? A little bondage with some scarves? An occasional slap on your luscious bottom as he takes you from behind?”

She'd never imagined any of those things, but his words created vivid images she knew she'd picture later in her bed. “Isn't that why I'm here? For you to teach me, so I can determine what I want in a power-exchange relationship?”

Suspicion banked in his eyes. “I don't know. Why are you here?”

Rather than wait for her answer, Cole unlocked the door and pushed it open. She stepped inside and gasped at the sight.

The dark hardwood floors, exposed pipes in the ceiling, and track lighting gave the room a warehouse feel, and framed black and white photographs like the ones she'd seen in the dungeon lined the cream-colored walls. Interspersed were paintings of nudes done in oils and drawings in chalk.

In awe of his talent, she turned to him. “Is this your art gallery? Oh my God. You did all this?”

“Self-indulgent, I know, but yes.” His eyes twinkled, and a light blush stained his cheeks. “All the artwork was created by me throughout the years.”

She toured the space, mesmerized by the subtle details he'd captured in each piece of art. His paintings and drawings were every bit as lifelike as his photographs, down to a small mole on the side of a woman's lips and the curve of a hip. While the photos all included some form of kink or sex toy and were often limited to a single body part, his drawings and paintings focused solely on the person as a whole.

One wall contained only mirrors, cut into shapes such as stars and lightning bolts. Had he designed these as well? “I noticed the mirrors throughout the house. You use them here too. I've never considered a mirror as art before.”

He shrugged and strode to her. “I like mirrors.”

“I don't.”

“Why not?

“Mirrors tell the truth. Without them, I can pretend to be someone else. I can forget what I look like.”

Creases in his forehead appeared. “Why the hell would you want to do that?”

“I don't know if you remember, but I used to be a lot heavier than I am now. But even now, I'm not thin.” She scrutinized her reflection in the jagged mirror. “I'm not beautiful.”

He gripped her shoulders and twirled her toward him. “Who says?”

“No one has to say it to my face.” She motioned to the wall of mirrors. “It's very clear every time I'm forced to see my reflection.”

With two of his fingers under her chin, he turned her head away from the mirrors to stare into his warm eyes. “Then you're looking in the wrong ones. You're beautiful. You've always been beautiful.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ears, his tender touch eliciting a shiver. “And I'll prove it to you. Let my photos be your mirror. See yourself as I see you.”

Always been beautiful? Was that a line to make her feel better or did he mean it? And if he did, how would he know?

She didn't doubt his talent, but the models in the photos must have had perfect bodies, something she'd never have even if she lost another forty pounds. Her thighs were too thick and her butt too round. Sure, she had big, firm breasts, but without her bra, gravity kicked in. He'd need to use some photo-editing software to make her appear beautiful.

His eyes narrowed. “I see those negative thoughts floating around in your mind. Trust me to erase them all for you. Can you do that, darling?”

She exhaled loudly, nodding her assent while her inner critic scoffed at his promise. “I'll try.”

“Come with me.” He laced his fingers in hers and directed her toward the back of the room to an adjacent alcove. He'd transformed the small space into a studio with several cameras on tripods, gigantic lights, and a white backdrop that extended onto the floor.

“Take off your clothes and then lay down on the middle of the sheet.” He fiddled with the cameras, aiming them all toward the center, where he expected her to lie. Naked.

While Cole seemed indifferent to her presence, her own heart sprinted a marathon as she began to undress. Her hands shook so much, she had a difficult time unbuttoning her blouse, and it took several tries before she could get the first one through the hole.

She shook her head at herself. Dozens of naked women strut around Benediction every night. Hers was just one more naked body. Cole probably wouldn't bat an eyelash, especially since he'd already seen her without her clothes. He was an artist. She was his model. And his slave. One who he had to train, and part of that training must entail building self-esteem. After all, what kind of slave would she make if she feared getting naked?

She peeled off her blouse and unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor, then she slid down her skirt. Her mouth went as dry as Scottsdale in the summer as she folded her clothes and left them in a neat pile. Blowing out a breath, she settled where he'd directed, lying flat on her back with her arms over her head so her breasts would appear perkier, a trick she'd learned from one of her women's magazines.

She waited for what felt like forever, watching Cole in action as he concentrated on tipping the lights and shifting the cameras while he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. Finally, he finished fiddling with the equipment and turned his attention to her.

He froze.

A muscle jumped in his cheek, and his jaw grew rigid.

Had she done something wrong?

Moments later, he snapped out of his odd stupor and kneeled beside her. His hands seemed to tremble as he set her head on her folded arms. “I'm going to take a few photos of you just like this.” He kept his gaze trained on her face like a total professional.

“Should I smile?”

He stood and stomped to the cameras. “Do whatever feels natural.”

Right. Natural. Because she always posed naked for an owner of a sex club.

One by one, he moved behind each camera, shooting a photo before adjusting the aim. “Have you ever seen the
Mona Lisa
?”

She blinked, thrown by the question. “Yes. I've been to the Louvre a few times. Why?”

“Ever wonder about her expression? Scholars have debated it for years. The Italian title of the painting is
La Gioconda,
which means—”

“Lighthearted.” She'd studied Da Vinci in college in her beginning art history class. His artwork wasn't particularly her favorite, but like millions of other people, she was intrigued by the
Mona Lisa
. She'd even written her final paper on it.

“To many, it's a portrait of a happy woman.” He snatched a camera off its stand and stalked closer to her, his gaze no longer contained to her face. “But is she truly content, or is she simply showing the world what they expect to see?”

Heat rushed through her body, hardening her nipples and moistening her pussy. “Perhaps the smile has nothing to do with the subject and everything to do with the artist.”

Only inches away from her now, he dropped to his knees and snapped a photo. “What do you mean?”

“A man like that was too incredibly talented to simply paint what everyone else would paint if they held the brush. True artists see differently. They use all their senses in their creation.” She squeezed her thighs together, his nearness sending her heart into overdrive, a quickening beat she felt not only in her chest but between her legs. “Maybe Da Vinci saw beneath the surface and painted what lay inside Mona Lisa,” she said.

“You may be right. Did you know Da Vinci was obsessed with mirrors? He believed if you stood in front of a six-way mirror, you could see all the different facets of a person.” He inched forward and planted his hands on her thighs, then spread her wide open. “I think it's possible to achieve the same with a camera. Let's find out all of yours.”

A small gasp popped out of her as he bent her knees and crawled between them, wearing a grin rivaling the
Mona Lisa
.

“All we'll need is some hot wax.”

Chapter Eleven

D
ANIELLE TRIED TO
keep calm despite having Cole between her naked thighs. “Hot wax? Does it hurt?”

He absentmindedly caressed her kneecaps. “I promise it's not my intention to inflict any pain. They're special candles specifically designed and marketed for wax play. As you've seen, my photographs are in black and white with a hint of color. To keep my hands free, I've set the cameras on timers. I'm going to drip different colors of hot wax on your body as the cameras shoot. If the wax hurts, tell me and I'll stop.”

He left her spread open as he collected a few colored candles from a table in the corner of the alcove. All the reservations she'd carried about baring her body had disappeared. Although she was the one exposed and on display, a sense of strength and power filled her. She wasn't embarrassed.

But she was embarrassingly wet.

She loved being on this side of the camera. Loved the way Cole's eyes had darkened and his gaze locked on her damp pussy. And as he turned from the table and sauntered toward her, his arms loaded up with candles, her own gaze flew to the outline of his erection through his jeans.

She'd caused it.

He kneeled beside her and set the candles on the floor, eying her hungrily. “I had no intention of touching you today, other than what was necessary for the photographs. But the way you're laid out for me with that glistening pussy and those pebbled nipples . . . I'm not that strong. Say yes, Danielle. Tell me I can touch you and taste you.”

“Yes,” she said without hesitation, not wanting him to change his mind.

Then his hands were on her, one caressing the curve of her collarbone while the other swept from her neck to her breastbone. “Softest skin.” He bent to her breast, taking his time to lick around the areola before pulling the tip into his mouth and sucking on it. Nibbling on it. Setting her body on fire. She couldn't imagine the wax making her skin any hotter.

She watched his eyes close as he seemed to concentrate on her breast, his facial hair abrading her skin.

Her hands clenched with a need to spear her fingers into his hair and hold him to her chest. This felt like lovemaking. Not art. For a moment, she permitted herself the fantasy that Cole wanted her as more than his slave. That his mouth was on her breasts not because of the photographs or because he was her Master, but because he was falling in love with her.

Her imagination ran wild with the fantasy of him sliding his cock between her breasts and climaxing on her skin. She wanted him to brand her with his teeth. Claim her with his cock.

He growled against her chest. “You taste so fucking good.” He moved to her other breast and dragged his teeth from the lower swell of her breast over her nipple.

Since she first saw him when she was a seventeen-year-old virgin, she'd felt a connection to him. An invisible tether drawing her to him. When they shared the same air, her other senses were enhanced. Everything became clearer when she was with him, almost as though she'd been living her life looking through distorted glass.

But right now, she didn't care. Nothing else mattered but the feel of him playfully tugging on her nipple.

With a muttered curse, he released her nipple and picked up a candle.

Her heart drummed a staccato beat, and her hips arched as her arousal built. She felt feverish, her skin tight. Her breasts ached, and her juices dripped down her thighs.