Picture Her Bound-epub
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Authors: Sidney Bristol
Picture Her Bound
Sidney Bristol
Picture Her Bound
Copyright 2013 Sidney Bristol
Content Editor - Devin Govaere
Cover Art by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs
Formatted by
IRONHORSE Formatting
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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.
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Officer Odalia Foucheaux is a desperate woman. Incriminating photographs of her after-hours job as a fetish model have been stolen, and she's willing to break rules to get them back. Standing in her way? The very dominant bounty hunter Jacques Savoy.
Jacques has been watching out for Officer Foucheaux. He wants her safe from harm as much as he desires her body, her soul—and her submission. Odalia’s in trouble and struggling to walk the line of the law. His solution? Work together to find out who stole her pictures, what the thief wants and how to stop him. And if they find a pleasure unlike any other along the way, well,
laissez les bons temps rouler
.
Let the good times roll.
Dedication
To those who believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to the whole team who made this book happen. Lea, Andrea, Jodie, Casey and Dawn, you ladies kept me believing this could be done. Thank you to the other Midnight Ink boxed-set authors for giving me this opportunity. Thank you to officers, Dave and Sila, for your input and taking me so seriously. Lastly, thank you to the officers who put their lives on the line every day. You inspire me.
Table of Contents
Excerpt: Bayou Bound 2 - Duty Bound
Odalia Foucheaux pulled her hair up in a messy knot on top of her head and glared at the man strapped to a metal pole in the men’s restroom. Through the windows behind her victim, the lights of New Orleans glittered as another Christmas drew to a close on the bayou. The drunken carousing was in full swing, but tonight it wasn’t her problem.
Tonight she was just a woman with a gun and a mission she hated more than her worst enemy.
The sounds of the loud bar echoed through the restroom, disguising the snitch’s babbling.
Kenny Douglas was a police informant known for caving under pressure. He’d given a lot of bad information over the years, and at least one officer had taken a bullet for this piece of shit’s bad intel.
“You’re crazy, bitch. Someone, help!” Kenny tried to twist, but the leather belt held him in place. He had a bump on his head, but she hadn’t been able to help that. He was a small man, about five-eight, just her size. Taking him by surprise had been her best option.
The law-abiding cop in her screamed, revolted by how low she’d sunk. But if she didn’t protect herself, no one would. It was a lesson she’d learned early on in life, but never had it brought her to such a dark place.
“I’m off the clock, Kenny. This little chat? It’s just between you and me.” Odalia sauntered toward him, hating herself and Kenny for putting her in this position. If she could put it all to rights, she could pretend like this chapter in her life had never happened at all.
“What do you want?” Sweat poured down Kenny’s brow, and his skin was bright red from the large quantities of alcohol he’d sucked down before going to relieve himself. Idiot hadn’t even realized who’d sent him more drinks through the course of the evening.
Besides, Odalia had needed the time to talk herself into this. There was no turning back once she’d begun. She’d always followed the rules, kept her nose clean and kept her life outside the uniform quiet. Until now.
“I’m going to ask you once, Kenny. Who wanted you to steal the camera?” She pushed her leather jacket back over her hips, letting the petty criminal catch a glimpse of the piece she carried. Not her officer-issued gun, she wasn’t stupid.
“I didn’t steal no camera. You got to believe me,” he wailed.
Odalia glared at the man. After the camera had turned up missing during a break in the photo shoot, she’d found a jacket with Kenny’s name stitched on the breast. It had been tossed over the barbed-wire fence around the studio her blazing-hot photographer friend had rented for the Christmas Eve shoot. She knew Kenny had been there. And she knew someone must have put him up to stealing the camera. Kenny wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box.
Which made her wonder, who put him up to it? Who knew about her off-the-clock gig?
She modeled lingerie, underwear and funky clothing for a couple of small businesses for their websites and advertisements, never showing her face. The work was commercial, but she’d wanted to do something different. Something more artistic, like the
Inked
photo shoot.
A local Dominant had asked her to do an artistic BDSM photo shoot, one that touched on that most private aspect of her lifestyle. For anyone else she’d have said no. But there was something about the chocolate-skinned man that got to her. The shoot had been more intense than many play sessions she’d had, and she’d allowed herself to go further than she would have with a new scene partner.
Her commanding officer wouldn’t understand the kinky nature of the photographs, wouldn’t see them for the beautiful portrayal of bondage and submission that they were.
She pulled the empty gun from her waistband. Her piece normally gave her comfort, but now it was a dead weight, pulling her down to the ground.
“Oh fuck.” Kenny thrashed, twisting around the pole, but the belt held him fast.
“Kenny, I’m not going to ask again.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, crazy bitch!”
I don’t want to do this. I wish there was another way.
Odalia shook her head and sighed. “Kenny—”
Someone pounded on the bathroom door.
“Hey—” Kenny snapped his teeth together so loud they clicked.
Odalia lifted the gun and laid a finger over his lips. “Just a second,” she yelled over her shoulder.
The door burst inward. A man clothed head-to-toe in black barged in and tackled Odalia, wrapping his arms around her from behind.
She went down hard, grunting as she banged her knee, and the gun slid from her grasp. She knocked the side of her head on the floor, jarring her teeth. The scent of urine, grime and sweat filled her nostrils and her skin crawled, disgust churning her stomach. She kicked and thrashed, but the man was bigger and stronger than her.
“Don’t fight me,
bébé
,” a deep, husky voice said.
Odalia gasped. What the fuck was he doing here?
“This ain’t the way.” He hoisted her to her feet and grabbed the gun, shoving it in a deep coat pocket.
“
Fils de putain
,” she spat and twisted in his hold, but his grip on her arm was like iron.
“You.” He pointed at Kenny with his free hand. “Don’t utter a word of this. Do you know who I am?”
Kenny’s complexion resembled a ghost’s on All Hallow’s Eve. He nodded, eyes large. “Bounty hunter. Y-you’re Savoy.”
“You know who I work with?”
“B-Bayou Hunters.”
“A peep outta you and the gators’ll be your best friends,” he drawled, voice low and dangerous. “If I don’t get you, one of my team will.”
“Y-yes.” Kenny nodded hard enough that he cracked the back of his head against the metal pole.
Jacques Savoy turned toward her. His dark complexion communicated tightly wound aggression. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak disrespectfully of my mamma. Now, you’re coming with me,
bébé
.”
“No, I am not.”
Odalia tried to wrench her arm out of his grasp, but the bastard wasn’t letting her go. He dragged her through the drunken crowd of the Bourbon Street bar and out onto the strip, ducking onto a side street at the first opportunity. The entire district around the iconic street was one big party every night of the year, but the side streets were quieter, though no cleaner. She smelled the build-up of refuse over the Christmas holiday, stale beer and other elements she didn’t want to identify.
“Let. Go. Of. Me.” She kicked the back of his leg and twisted, getting free of his grasp and whirling away.
Odalia dashed toward the beckoning light of the street, only to be jerked back by her jacket. She threw an elbow and hit his ribs. Her lower arm went numb, and he didn’t so much as grunt.
“That’s it,” he grumbled and shoved her into the nearest brick wall, pinning her.
“Fuck you,” she growled and tried to throw her weight against him. She might have been obedient and eager during their photo shoot, but this wasn’t the set, and it wasn’t a dungeon.
“Take a deep breath and use your fucking head, officer.” He spat the last word.
Odalia bit her lip. His voice jarred her to clarity. Her body reacted to him despite her resolve not to. He was too potent to resist. She hated whoever had orchestrated the theft. She hated herself for sinking low. And she hated this man for seeing her at her worst.
Hot tears of rage fell on her cheek. She was powerless, completely helpless after she’d vowed to never again allow herself to be a victim. And here she was. A victim once more.
“Shh,
bébé
. Shh. I’m here. We’re going to fix this.” His arms wrapped around her from behind, and his big body cradled her.
For once in her life, she wanted to believe the lies someone spoke.
If only Jacques could fix it.
* * * * *
Jacques Savoy pushed a mug of hot decaf coffee across the worn table that had once graced his
mamère
’s kitchen. “Drink.”
Odalia slumped in her chair. She’d drawn in on herself, shrinking from the dynamic woman who’d captivated him to this sad creature. He’d give his left nut to make it better, a sentiment that disturbed him a little.
Before their photo shoot on Christmas Eve, he hadn’t spent much time around the little cop. Bounty hunters and police might work together, but there were plenty of hard feelings there. He’d given her a wide berth. Until two weeks ago.
He’d opened his mailbox and pulled out the latest issue of
Inked
magazine and recognized the model on the front by her tattoos alone. She’d faced away from the camera, but he’d seen her at the dungeon often enough in panties and little else to be familiar with the unique ink.
Jacques had seen the little cop in a whole new light, and he’d known he had to photograph her. The rest was history. And now not a good one.
He pulled out the chair next to hers and sat down, caging her legs between his knees. The chemistry between them was natural. He wondered how they’d missed it but probably because neither had looked for it. Even when she didn’t want it to, her body yielded to his. Odalia was hardwired to be a sexual submissive. He’d also seen her in uniform enough times to know that it was a side of her few saw.
“
Ça va?
Talk to me,
bébé
. What were you doing with a police informant bound like that?” He knew, but he had to gauge Odalia’s character. He hadn’t anticipated the little cop going rogue, and he wasn’t about to help a dirty cop.
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and massaged her temples. Dark waves flowed over her shoulders, the kind of hair a man wanted to wrap around his fist for better leverage. He’d bound her with ropes in one pose and used her locks to both blindfold and disguise her face. He’d had to get creative to adhere to her rules, but they’d had fun. She’d even appeared to be aroused by some of the scenes they’d shot.