Domination (6 page)

But it was Warren. Oh, no. Oh nonononono.

Hey Spanky, nice report from the field. Ever wanted to go
viral? Send me the lyrics for the new album, all notes, etc., in Hunter’s own
writing or you’ll get your wish. And next time include pics. Just kidding.

Claiming cramps and a sudden migraine, Josie fled back to
the hotel. She hated to end the evening with him, especially when she had been
on the verge of admitting her feelings. More than feelings—a complete change of
worldview. Her career, her ambitions, all of it shrank to pinpoint importance
when she was with him. She didn’t want it anymore. She wanted only him.

But would he listen? And would it matter anyway if she
protected herself by betraying him?

Fuck it,
she thought. Fuck this whole shark-tank of a
business. She had a party to get to.

Industry parties were the worst—she wouldn’t know anyone or
be able to get any decent quotes. At least she had brought the right clothes.
Most junkets involved one of these tedious affairs, so her go-to little black
dress got a heavy workout. It was flattering, safe and anonymous everywhere
from L.A. to New York. After a shower and a time-consuming struggle with her
hair she pulled on the dress and regarded herself in the mirror. Her eyes weren’t
getting any bigger but the brown-rose lipstick suited her wide mouth and the
heels looked sexy—not too pinchy as long as she didn’t walk much. That was
hardly an issue. As usual she would haunt the food table, nibbling carrot
sticks and wishing herself elsewhere.

The venue wasn’t too far, so she left early and clicked her
way over by herself, hoping to catch some industry suit before he started
having too much fun to talk to a reporter. She looked up at the squat Creole
cottage and back down at her invitation. This was the right address. What a
weird city.

She crept up the stairs and turned at the landing. It
creaked and a light popped on, illuminating a fat man smiling hideously. Josie
let out a bleat of shock. He wore a black suit and held a tea tray in welcome,
his grin yellow-toothed above folds of jowls. Wax, of course, since she was in
a wax museum, but it was still unsettling. Nothing creeped her out like these places
full of inanimate figures frozen in dramatic postures, their artificial skins
shiny. Except maybe clowns. She edged past the butler and continued to climb,
hoping New Orleans didn’t have any famous clowns in its history.

The upstairs help was mercifully free of wax figurines, not
counting the industry scavengers who had arrived as early as she had to tuck
into the free booze and food. None of them spared her more than a glance. After
taking in her tight dress and high heels they seemed to realize she was nobody
important and turned away. She helped herself to some strawberries and a glass
of wine.

How had Warren gotten hold of
Adventures in Submission
?
It couldn’t have been Melanie. She wasn’t terribly bright but she had a good
heart and would never do anything to compromise her friend. Perhaps Warren had
hacked into her account and dug it up but that made no sense. He wouldn’t
bother taking a shot in the dark in the hopes his star reporter had secrets
chained in the dungeon of cyberspace. After all, he wanted to profit from her
work, particularly since her tour blog was bringing in viewers and revenue.
Destroying her career would only backfire on
Rock Star
and, by
extension, him.

Someone had found it though. Someone with the means of
rummaging around in her room, her laptop and her darkest desires. She had an
inkling of who that might be. And now she was faced with an impossible
choice—firebomb her life or betray Bram to secure it?

Put it out of your mind. It’s a party. Fun, fun, fun.

But it wasn’t much fun, despite the energetic brass-band
music and the fabulous food. A half hour anxiously picking at shrimp and
pretending she felt comfortable seemed more like a year.

More and more suits drifted in. Who knew there were this
many industry people in such a small city? She was scanning the room, searching
for a familiar face when the door crashed open and Kraxis strode in, already
fortified with beer if the bottle in his hand was any indication.

Bucky followed, then Jet, smiling like a pageant queen, and
Varian picking at the chipped black polish on his nails. The energy in the room
shot up, as did the decibel level. The suits relaxed—the stars had arrived,
justifying their presence.

She ate four skewers of lamb with figs before she remembered
to circulate. The boys in Domination were cutting up, chatting with the
publicists and A&R guys, making them laugh. Kraxis reenacted his famous six-minute
drum solo on the backs of some willing partygoers. She made small talk with the
tipsy suits who cornered her but her mind was whirring. Where was Bram?

She headed back down the stairs, uncertain in her heels, and
almost ran headlong into him rounding the landing.

He gave her an appreciative appraisal. “Mm, girl. My very
own party favor,” he said. “I can’t wait to tear into it.”

“I hate these things.”

“So do I. Come on, I’ll give you a tour of the place.”

“Everyone’s waiting for you. You’re the main attraction.”

“Then they’ll wait.” He pulled her along a black-walled
corridor, eerie dioramas lighting up as they passed. Josie could feel the glass
eyes of the mannequins on her. “You going to go emo on me again?”

“Just hit a snag at work. No big deal,” she mumbled.

“Got something to show you.”

They padded down a hallway lined with faded framed
documents, turned and turned again. Josie could hear the brass band above them
but was hopelessly turned around. The dioramas lit up as they passed but she
tried not to look. They just got weirder. The military scenes seemed
self-explanatory but then came a tableau of men who seem to have been rounded
up and shot on the street, a terrifying depiction of a voodoo ceremony
featuring an awfully lifelike serpent, and…

She had to stop in front of the scene of two women clawing
at each other. “What the hell is that?”

“Couple’a bints having a row. New Orleans has a rich history
of hookers pulling each others’ hair out.”

“This place gives me the wiggins.”

“Shh.” Bram gave a shove to the handle on an unobtrusive
door and shouldered it open.

She followed him inside. The lights were off but a glow from
the other tableaux softly illuminated the small space. Silk dresses and
uniforms hung from racks against the walls, a lidless hatbox overflowed with
feathers, the floor was treacherous with muskets and broken chairs. They seemed
to be in a storage room of some kind. But it wasn’t all costumes and props.
Heavy iron chains were attached to the walls with manacles dangling from them.
The maw of an enormous upright casket, also iron and vaguely human-shaped,
loomed open to reveal a set of deadly looking spikes inside. Piled like a nest
of vipers on the dusty floor, a discarded stash of whips.

“I didn’t think this place could be any creepier
without
the mannequins.”

“Serves our purpose well.”

“And that is?” She cast an uneasy glance at the iron maiden
and its far-too-real-looking spikes.

Bram pulled her close, forcing her eyes from the backstage
detritus to his face, half demonic, all delicious in the low light. “You were
intrigued by the idea of a dungeon, Josie, but afraid too. Is that right?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Mostly afraid. But there was something
exciting about the sight of the cuffs chained to the wall. Were those for her?

He pulled the pins from her careful coif and tilted up her
chin for a kiss. “The other day I got a taste of what you’re capable of. I’m
going to show you what I’m capable of. Do you want that?”

The heat radiating from his body, his dark scent and his
black-honey voice turned her brain to mush. “I… Maybe. I do want something.
More, I guess. But it’s all so—”

“Yes or no.” His tone would brook no more babbling.

“Yes.”

“Good girl. Consider this a starter kit, our little play
dungeon. You lost your mojo so suddenly last night I’ve had blue balls ever since.”

“Are you going to punish me for that?”

His hands slid over her curves, across the globes of her
ass, up her bare thighs. “No need. Do you
want
me to punish you?”

“Y-yes. I want to—” She glanced at the manacles before she
could help herself.

“Ah, the student outpaces the master. Remember, Josie, you
can always book a flight to Romania.” His thin smile gleamed in the low light.

Transylvania.
A stupid safeword but she hoped she’d
have no need of it. She trusted Bram even as he trusted her. Or used to.

How long she could retain his trust remained to be seen.

She put the thought out of her head and concentrated on his
large, warm hands as they caressed her body, brushing across her breasts until
her nipples began to tingle.

“I know.”

“Take this off. Eyes on me.”

Undoing the tight dress was awkward. She longed to look down
but focused on his bright, strange blue eyes, filled with desire.

Desire for her. Yes, she could do this.

She stepped out of the dress and shivered in her black
panties and heels. She reached toward her face but Bram stopped her.

“Leave the specs on. I always wanted to fuck Velma until she
screamed.”

“Daphne was the hot one.”

He grinned evilly. “I’m not like the other boys.”

That was true. Never mind his bulging shoulders, flat belly
and lickable ivory skin. Never mind the way his black hair hung across his
cheekbones. Never mind that his rough, low voice was the very sound of
seduction. All that was window dressing—steamy, hot window dressing but not the
source of his magic. It was just…Bram. The man she saw when they were alone. No
other man could inflame her body the way he did.

He lifted her arm and clamped a cuff around her wrist. The
clank of the iron made her suck in her breath with pleasure and anticipation.
Good god, she was already wet and ready and he had only touched her through a
carapace of cloth.

He affixed the other manacle and stood back to regard his
work, his eyes devouring her.

“So beautiful. You are the sexiest woman I have ever seen. I’m
going to rip those panties off your sweet body with my teeth.”

She longed to touch him, to taste his body with her fingers
as he had done to her. Cuffed and helpless, she writhed in her chains.
Do
it. Rip them off or they’ll fucking melt off,
she thought.

He leaned over and chose a lash from the pile.

“Transylvania!”

“I just want to hold it, Josie. I like the feel of the
leather in my hand. You won’t get whipped until you beg for it. Do you trust
me?”

She eyed the whip dubiously. “I do.”

“That’s my girl.”

It was medium length and not too thick, with a pommel on the
handle like a sword hilt. Bram weighed it in his hands.

“You can’t use your arms but you’re welcome to kick. I want
you to move, Josie. Writhe, twist. I like to watch your body in motion.”

He took her thighs in his hands and bit down on the black
lace, tearing the fabric into pieces like a ravenous wolf. The cool air hit her
pussy and she gasped.

“Like that, yeah. Eyes on me.”

That was a lesson she had a hard time learning. She lifted
her head and watched him spit out the shreds of her expensive panties. She
wondered what would come next. The whip twitched in his hand and looked so
avid, so hungry. He moved forward and pressed his body against her helpless
one.

To her surprise he kissed her, long and deep, probing with
his tongue, running it across her teeth, sucking her lush top lip. He tasted
like mint and meat, musk, danger and desire. The laces of his leather trousers
scraped her belly. It felt unbelievably naughty to be restrained, naked but for
heels with a fully clothed sex god pressed against her.
You’re welcome to
kick,
he had told her but she felt no urge to drive him away even in
pretense.

His thighs nudged hers apart, his hard cock grinding into
the buzzing place at her center.

He clawed at her back, blunt nails scraping the skin. “I
want to fuck you so hard, Josie. Just like this—you helpless and chained,
writhing like a wildcat.”

Before she could blink his pants were down, cock rearing
toward its target. She wanted it in her hands, her mouth, her pussy, but could
only thrash against the chains.

“Fuck yeah, keep moving,” he panted. He stroked himself with
one hand, the other twitching the lash.

Touch me,
her mind screamed. His lips, hands, cock
were so close but she was helpless.

“Do it. Fuck me.”

“You’re not ready.”

“Oh god.” She watched the long fingers swallow and embrace
his cock, growing the beast until it glowed an angry red, a delicious drop of
pearl at the tip. She licked her lips.

“Do it!”

“I told you, girl…”

“Whip me! Please, please, I want it.”

His eyes widened. A light sting cracked across her thighs.
It burned but not unpleasantly.

“You can stop anytime.”

“Again!”

Another stinging blow a little higher up ignited new nerve
endings, sent her into spasms. Her body was no longer hers, all sound faded to
silence. He struck her again, a lash across the breasts, and she felt as if her
head had floated to the ceiling and hovered there, watching the writhing,
panting slut in the iron cuffs.

“That’s enough, Josie.”

“More,” she managed to choke out.

“Fucking hell…” He threw down the whip. “That’s the last
time you give me orders, slut.”

He pulled a condom packet from his pocket and rolled it on.
Like the spanking, the sting of the lashing had melted to a warmth that spread
to her fingertips. She tried to concentrate on how cold the cuffs felt against
her wrists but Bram strode toward her, took her hips in his hands and thrust
deep inside her pleading pussy. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her
head back hard.