On Location
Sindra van Yssel
Submission Island, Book 2
Kyle likes being alone on Submission Island. The only exceptions are the other three Doms with whom he owns the place and the women who pay to play with them. He certainly doesn’t want a whole movie crew filming on his island home. So when bossy Teresa comes to scout the location, he’s not happy about her presence. Even though she is easy on the eyes.
Teresa doesn’t know what to make of Kyle. He’s blunt. He’s an unabashed sexual sadist. He doesn’t know how to compromise. She’s an independent woman who is used to getting her way with men. But curiosity drives her to see what sex with a Dominant is like. She discovers she has more of a taste for his kinky games than she ever expected, and soon she’s aching for his rope, his whips and his kisses.
A Romantica® BDSM erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave
On Location
Sindra van Yssel
Chapter One
Kyle Stewart stood on the dock, looking over the bright-blue Pacific Ocean, and scowled. The small launch he could see as a dot in the distance was carrying trouble that would disrupt his solitude for weeks, all because Carter and Roger and Tom had thought it was a good idea. None of them were even around. They’d left it to Kyle to play host and he hated playing host.
The boat carried one Terry Barstow, location scout for a movie loosely based on The Odyssey. Why they didn’t shoot the movie in the Mediterranean was beyond him. For some reason, they had picked out Submission Island, owned by the four Doms, as the ideal spot for the shipwrecked Odysseus. It was ludicrous. The plants would be all wrong, for one thing. Mangroves and orchids and whatnot that were native to the Southern Hemisphere. If Carter’s girl Natalie were here, she could tell them all about that. He suspected movie people would think nothing of getting rid of a few trees to shoot a scene, but he personally liked the island as it was. The only time he liked having people other than his four friends on the island was when they were women whose desires mirrored his own, and such women were few and far between. He had learned to tolerate Natalie, but that was as far as it went. This guy from the movie business was going to be a royal pain in the neck.
The boat got closer and Kyle’s scowl deepened. Besides the pilot, there were two other people. The big house they’d built on the island had room for that many and more, but that wasn’t the point. Even the whole island wasn’t big enough to avoid other people unless he shut himself up in his room all day, and he wasn’t going to do that.
Chill, he told himself. You’ve jumped out of airplanes, snuck into armed encampments, faced down armed Taliban with nothing but your bare hands. One or two twits from Hollywood are not going to be a problem. Even for a week. It’s just an annoyance.
One of the two, he noticed, was a woman, with long, braided auburn hair, wearing blue jeans and a plaid shirt with a couple of buttons open. The other was a man, tall and carrying a bit of extra weight, with a white collared shirt, a blond beard and a shaved head. Lovers? Kyle doubted it from the way they were sitting in the launch, their hips a good six inches apart. He wondered if Roger had known that two people were coming and left that information out. He shrugged. The woman looked as if she might be fun. She had curves, and a face that looked innocent and experienced all at the same time. But the odds that she would like what he liked were not at all high. Still, one night of vanilla sex could be entertaining, as long as she didn’t get clingy afterward. She was supposed to be here for a week; he didn’t want to be dodging her for six days. No, that particular pleasure would have to wait.
He walked down the wooden planks to meet the boat as it pulled up, not so much because he wanted to but because he supposed he should.
“Hi. I’m Kyle. Welcome to Submission Island,” he said as the boat pulled in, its motor still whirring but slowing toward a halt. The woman was in the nearest seat, so he stuck out a hand to help her up and out.
The woman frowned but took his hand and managed to get up on the dock with some grace, which was no easy feat. “Thank you,” she said after a moment. “Gallagher, bring the stuff up, will you?”
“Yes ma’am,” said Gallagher.
“Now then. That must be the house.” She nodded toward the wood-and-glass building at the other end of the dock.
A bossy woman. The type that so wasn’t his. “Yes, it’s the only building on the island,” Kyle said, since she sounded as though she wanted to impress him with her deduction. He looked at Gallagher and said, “Hand me the things, mate, and I’ll give you a hand.” If the man was Gallagher, the woman must be Barstow. He hadn’t considered that Terry might be a woman, and he suspect that was because of the way Roger had talked about her. Normally a pronoun would slip in somewhere in the conversation, and with Roger, one normally expected some additional information if that pronoun was female, all of which meant Roger was purposely toying with his mind. Being a shrink didn’t give him any right to pull this kind of crap.
Gallagher and Kyle worked together to get the three bags up and out of the boat and Terry Barstow simply watched. To be fair, the bags were probably all too heavy for her, and one in particular weighed a ton. Fortunately Kyle hadn’t stopped working out when he left the Australian SAS. He’d just stopped being shot at.
If only he could stop thinking about being shot at in the middle of the night, he’d be right as rain. He picked up two of the bags and lugged them toward the house.
Terry Barstow carried a small suitcase with her as she followed the two men. She hadn’t asked for Gallagher to come along, but John Stegner, director of over forty feature films and four recent flops, had insisted on it. With Gallagher came his equipment. Personally, she liked to travel light, and she wasn’t going to strain herself carrying the other man’s excess. Most of what was there was camera equipment. The SLR in her suitcase was more than enough to catalog the various places on the island that might be good for scenes in the movie. Hell, her cell phone was probably enough. She didn’t get it.
The feeling had only intensified the night before in Cairns, although she hadn’t known about all the equipment then. That had already been on the boat, apparently. Gallagher had made a rather clumsy offer to share her bed with her, on the idea that when two people were lonely they might as well fuck like rabbits. Perhaps, but being alone didn’t mean she was lonely, and there was something about Gallagher that struck her as not quite right. Not that her taste in men had been anything to brag about. She had a tendency to end up with bad boys who lived life too close to the edge, usually people connected with the movies. Someday she’d find a nice wholesome man and settle down. She hoped that wouldn’t happen anytime soon, because as much as she felt she ought to want that, that type of man bored her to tears. Which is probably why I keep finding lovers who get arrested or cheat on me.
She’d known there was something dark about Kyle the moment she’d gotten out of the boat. She had developed a knack for spotting that in men. Maybe her heart sped up once she figured it out, or maybe the way her body reacted clued her in. From what she already knew about him, it fit. Apparently the men who owned Fleury Island ran some kind of BDSM resort on it some of the time. Submission Island, they called it. She hadn’t expected Kyle to use the name when he greeted her.
What they used the island for wasn’t any of her concern, although it intrigued her. A few boyfriends had tried to tie her up or spank her, but she never got the impression they knew what they were doing, and it had been more awkward than sexy. Possibly Kyle was trying to see what effect calling the place Submission Island would have on her. Or maybe that was how he thought of the island. Either way, curious. She wondered if maybe she’d been too cold in response, if she’d overdone it and revealed rather than concealed her interest.
As they got closer, she realized the house was larger than she thought. It was a mansion. The windows were big and the “front door” was a big sliding panel of glass. Both those things had made the building look smaller from a distance, as if the whole thing were out of scale. The living room had space for a couple of couches facing a wide-screen TV, a card table with chairs that managed to seem out of the way, and still space for people to mingle. She could imagine a party in here comfortably hosting thirty or forty people, more if they wandered into the dining room and the kitchen she could see beyond. That was good, because they’d have a lot of people for the movies, although very few of them would be staying on the island.
She wondered how many people they had when they ran the BDSM resort here. Did they all mingle, pairing up here? Did they wear scanty outfits, or any clothes at all? Maybe just a collar, for some of the women. Or men, although she skipped over that thought quickly because that kind of man didn’t interest her. She wanted a man who would take charge, although she often found that the baddest boys ended up needing to be mothered like baby chicks. Maybe a woman would be bent over the couch, and taken while everyone watched—unless they were so jaded they didn’t even care to look.
Really, I think too much. Kyle was saying something and she ought to listen.
“You can leave your junk here, or take it upstairs, whatever you like. I’ll let you manage it from here, but if you’re taking pictures of the island, it’d be easier to leave your equipment here by the door. There’s food in the kitchen; help yourself, but don’t break anything, and don’t expect me to cook for you. I won’t pretend I’m happy to see you, so the more we stay out of each other’s way, the better.”
“Is the island safe?” asked Gallagher.
“The water isn’t,” Kyle said. “Jellyfish. The occasional shark, but the jellyfish are deadly, and the sharks will usually leave you alone. Stay onshore and the worst you’ll get is a very painful spider bite.”
She wondered what they’d done to piss the man off. Presumably if they weren’t welcome, they wouldn’t have been allowed to come, and yet he was clearly being honest. He didn’t want them there. Probably he wasn’t happy about seeing two people when he’d expected one, and on that, at least, she agreed with him.
“I’ve heard about Australian spiders. Funnel webs. Nasty things.”
“There aren’t any funnel-web spiders here, and the most dangerous spiders are on the mainland. The ones here are more sensible, and only have enough poison to kill things small enough to eat.” Kyle looked her over as if deciding whether she was small enough for a spider to eat. She shivered. She was, to be sure, dwarfed by the two men. Kyle was about six feet tall, and built. His white T-shirt hugged taut muscles. Gallagher was taller by two inches and might have been handsome if it weren’t for the way his eyes perpetually seemed unfocused. Still, compared to most men he was a good-looking, decently built man. Next to Kyle he looked as though he’d had too many beers and french fries. Either way, she was several inches shorter than either.
“I think I’m too big for a spider.”
“Yes.” Kyle looked thoughtful but then he shrugged. She decided that if he could look her over, she’d look him over right back, so she did.
“Sleeping,” he continued. “I was only expecting one person, so I only got one room ready. Do you two share a room?”
She’d gotten to his belt when he said it and was looking forward to taking in his legs. It was the only reason she was too distracted to respond immediately. Gallagher looked at her rather than answering, and she caught his gaze when she looked up. She felt her face get hot. The pause only made it worse. Kyle was smirking. He’d caught her looking. She’d expected that and had decided she didn’t care—she was doing to him what he’d done to her—but now that it was happening she felt decidedly like prey again. Small enough to eat, indeed.
She realized she still hadn’t answered. “No. We absolutely do not.”
“Then you’ll get the room I’ve prepared. Although…”
“Hmm?”
“We don’t usually have male guests.”
“Oh.” Well, that cooled the temperature. Not. What exactly happened to their female guests, anyway?
“But no one bothered to tell me that you weren’t a bloke. In any case, we do have some rooms that are set up for the women who come to Submission Island. If you don’t think you’d be too offended, I’ll let Gallagher have the room I readied and I’ll put you in the other.”
“Why would I be offended?”
Kyle shrugged. “My sisters would be. I have no idea. Anyway, that’s what we’re doing and if you don’t like it, you two can work it out. There’s a couch.” He gestured over at the one that didn’t quite face the TV.
Terry didn’t get it, but maybe it would make sense to her later. It wasn’t close to bedtime yet, but she’d rather put her suitcase in the room where she would be staying.
“Fine,” she said. She wasn’t sleeping on the couch, regardless. She’d kick Gallagher out of his room first. She may not have been able to resist having Gallagher put on her “team”, but she’d been quite clear that she would have to be in charge if he was along, and Stegner had agreed. If he hadn’t, he’d be out a location scout.
Kyle had turned and headed up the stairs already. She followed and Gallagher brought up the rear, bringing along two of the three heavy cases despite Kyle’s suggestion. There were nearly a dozen doors off the hallway that ran the length of the second floor. Clearly they had enough rooms. Kyle showed Gallagher his room first, which was at the far end of the hall. It was sizeable but plain—a queen-sized bed with olive-drab sheets and a dresser. Nothing fancy about it; in fact, it was spartan. Kyle’s dislike of their presence, she suspected, predated finding out there were two of them, although maybe this was the way he liked to live. Still, an ordinary guest room, she thought, would have more of a sense of identity.
Once Kyle had closed the door on Gallagher, he took her case and walked her back toward the stairs. He got out a key ring and opened one of the doors; Gallagher’s door had been unlocked already and Kyle hadn’t offered him a key.
The room was gorgeous. The walls were a soft pink. Satin sheets the color of rich red wine covered a queen-sized four-poster bed. There were twin maple dressers, a dressing table with a mirror, plush gray carpet and an adjoining bathroom. She didn’t understand his reluctance. She stepped in. “It’s lovely.”
“Good. Make yourself at home. There’s towels in the cabinet in the bathroom.”
“Why did you—” But he was already gone, and the door closed behind him. She put her case on the bed and opened it up. Even when she was only on location for a few days, she preferred having her stuff put away to living out of her suitcase. Drawers would do fine as she didn’t have anything that needed hanging. She put the camera on top of the dresser, opened a drawer and put her underwear away. Then she pulled open the next drawer to stash her other clothes.
It wasn’t empty. She recognized some of what was there. Two dildos, one smooth and glass, the other purple and plastic and bumpy. A vibrating massager, the kind that plugged in. Rope. Chains. A blindfold. Candles. Some multi-tailed whips that were as lovely as the ones in Exit to Eden. She ran her hands over the leather. It was soft.
Other things she wasn’t sure about; some straps of thick fabric that had big metal rings on them might be for bondage, she supposed. An implement that ended in a wheel with spiky points that she didn’t even want to think about.
Submission Island. This drawer was the easiest one to reach from the bed. She glanced around and noticed that the posts on the bed had metal rings screwed into them, and she took a closer look. The bed hadn’t been modified, she realized. It had been ma
de this way when it was built. She understood Kyle’s comment about his sisters, although she wondered if they might be more open-minded than he thought. Big brothers—she assumed the sisters were younger, although she realized she had no reason to think that—had a tendency to think of their sisters as less worldly than they actually were. Hell, her brother Frank probably still thought she was a virgin. Where men got those silly ideas was beyond her.
She certainly wasn’t going to let a little bondage gear goad her into exchanging this nice room for the plain, emotionless one that Gallagher was in. It did make her more curious about the resort. This was clearly a woman’s room, and yet not any particular woman’s room. She supposed it was all part of the “Submission Island” thing. Women came to be treated—how, exactly? Well, as long as Kyle didn’t get any ideas about her.
She found an empty drawer and put the rest of her clothes away. On second thought, maybe Kyle having ideas wouldn’t be all bad.
No. She knew what attracted her, and it wasn’t anything good. The sense of danger, represented by the whips and the chains. Kyle’s distance. She may not have done BDSM before, but she’d been with enough men with an attitude that she knew where it got her. She’d be well advised to keep her mind on business. And her business was scouting locations on the island. Maybe it wouldn’t be suitable at all, although Stegner seemed pretty set on it.
She kicked off her tennis shoes and pulled on boots. Even in Australia, the spiders couldn’t bite through leather, she was sure. She walked out of her room, downstairs and outside. Whatever she found, she could send Gallagher out on his own to take pictures of tomorrow. And film. What the hell they needed professional-quality video of at this stage, she didn’t know, but she’d had that argument and she’d lost. She didn’t need to brood about it now. Fresh air would help, and the air here was close to perfect—not too hot, not so cold she needed a jacket. It had gotten misty but that didn’t bother her. Hopefully she could find some places on the island that would be suitable for Stegner’s movie, because he was not going to be happy if she didn’t. The schedule didn’t allow for her to come back with a negative on the whole place, so she’d have to do the best she could.
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