Odalia shivered in his arms and leaned back against his chest. She smelled of something familiar, pears maybe. In the dim light he could make out the line of her jaw as she turned to glance up at him. “Promise?”
Chapter Two
Odalia yelped as Jacques yanked the blankets off the bed. She scrambled to jerk them back over herself, but they were out of reach.
“It’s early,” she whined. Morning was not her ideal time of day.
Jacques tossed the blankets behind him and placed his hands on his hips, his gaze narrowed. “You hit the snooze two times already, bébé. Time to get up.”
“Mmm, don’t wanna.” She curled up on her side, hugging pillows that smelled of sandalwood and musk to her chest. They smelled of him.
She’d spent the night wrapped in his arms. The morning had arrived too soon, stealing away the peace she’d found.
Jacques slapped her ass and she yelped again, gasping at the sudden heat. He leaned over the bed and smacked her again on her upper thighs, below her bottom.
Odalia rolled to the other side of the bed and tumbled to the floor, somehow managing to land on her feet. She crouched, fingers on the cool hardwood, glaring across the mattress at Jacques, who smiled at her.
“Morning, bébé.”
“Fuck you,” she growled and straightened, lifting her arms to stretch. She’d taken the chance and slept in her camisole and panties. He hadn’t even copped a feel, and she didn’t know if she was disappointed or impressed.
His gaze flicked to her breasts. It was like a physical caress to her skin. Her nipples tightened, and a wave of heat washed over her.
Disappointed.
The thought of his hands on her had her skin heating.
“Before or after coffee?” he asked.
Odalia winced and massaged her temples. “After.”
“What’s wrong?” He circled the bed and pushed her hands out of the way.
“Nothing. I get migraines regularly.” She’d been plagued with them for as long as she could remember. Prescription pills and a specialty tea courtesy of a New Age shop around the corner from her condo helped, but they only took the edge off.
He rubbed her temples with his thumbs and peered at her. She clenched her hands and kept them to herself when all she wanted to do was touch him. But he hadn’t given her permission yet. She wanted him to give it to her.
“I have something that might help.” He took her hand and led her to the kitchen.
She wore nothing but her panties and camisole from last night. It was normal to wear as much, or less, at the dungeon, and she’d been naked during their photo shoot, but for some reason, she felt more exposed. Odalia tugged at the camisole, pulling it lower, except then the plunging neckline barely contained her breasts. Neither solution worked.
“Sit.” Jacques pulled out a chair and served her up a cup of coffee.
Odalia curled her hands around the mug and sipped the bitter contents. She sighed as the warm liquid slid down her throat, a contrast to the chilly morning air.
The loft was sectioned off into three rectangles, the imaginary boundaries marked by metal supporting beams. To the right was the kitchen, with the cabinets, stove, sink and fridge against the wall. The bathroom was the only separate room on the other side of the brick wall from the kitchen. The dining table sat near the dividing line while the couch and TV appeared almost orphaned in the middle, with the bed beyond. It was minimal to the extreme, but there were a few personal touches here and there. Photographs she suspected he’d taken.
Would he have framed one of the pictures from their shoot?
She liked the idea of decorating his wall with her body, keeping watch over him. Would he be aroused by some of the more erotic shots they’d taken? Her cheeks heated at the memory of one in particular. She’d been naked, her legs spread slightly so he could photograph the one tattoo on her thigh, but she’d known he’d caught a glimpse of her pussy. His cheeks had sunk in, and his gaze darkened. If the camera hadn’t disappeared, Odalia wondered where the shoot would have taken them. It had felt more intimate than foreplay.
Jacques pulled jars out of a cabinet. It was stocked with a variety of labeled containers. She tilted her head to the side and tried to make out what some of them said, but the script was too small.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“My mamère was a traiteur. She learned it from her father. Passed it down to me.” He left two canisters and a mason jar on the counter and returned the rest.
“A what?” The word sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
He filled a bowl with water and placed it in the microwave for a minute.
“Traiteur, a faith healer.” He continued to make whatever concoction he was creating as he spoke. “Her children, my father and aunt, never had the faith for it. When I was a boy, she taught me before she died. It’s herbal remedies and believing the Almighty don’t want you banged up. A good deal of what I learned is a combination of the traiteur traditions and Native American herb craft. Mamère was the daughter of a black man and an Indian woman. They used to live out in a parish, live off the land and help people. Mamère was just like them. Lived her whole life in the house she was born in.” Jacques placed a mug from the draining board in line with the stuff he’d pulled down. He measured a little powder from each container into the mug as he spoke. The microwave dinged, and he used a potholder to grasp the bowl by the edge and pour the water into the mug with a tea bag from a box on the counter.
Odalia watched, fascinated. There was history and culture in the bayou. It had fascinated her as a child, and though she’d never had the means to go further in school, she’d often thought she could make a life out of digging into the bayou traditions they were losing with more modern culture.
Jacques placed the new mug in front of her. It smelled kind of like tea, but she couldn’t put her finger on what kind.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Traiteur headache remedy. Drink all of it.” He turned back to his cabinet and put away the ingredients.
“Thanks. What do I owe you?” She wrapped her hands around the mug and sipped. The taste wasn’t exactly pleasant, but she gulped some down to get it over with.
Jacques chuckled. “Traiteurs don’t accept payment. It’s given freely.”
Odalia upended the mug and drank the last bit, dregs and all. It tasted how it smelled, robust, with a burst of ginger and plenty of earthy elements. She shook her head and pushed the mug across the table. “Thanks.”
She glanced at the clock. There were still several hours before her shift, but she needed to check on her dog, Creature, and see if she couldn’t ferret out a new lead on the camera. Even if Jacques was right, and the thief wasn’t interested in her pictures, she wanted the footage back. She continued to sip her coffee, savoring the flavor. It might be the next best thing to a cup of joe from Café Bwè, one of her favorite places to visit.
Jacques collected both empty mugs from her. She wanted a second cup, but that would make her too jittery, and she didn’t want to crash during her shift. Instead, she watched him rinse out the cups. He must have risen before she did. He was freshly shaven and dressed, except for shoes. It was almost odd to see the bounty hunter in a homey setting.
They’d first met at the club in passing, and again when he’d been turning over a fugitive at the precinct. She’d given herself whiplash that first time, but he’d nodded, drawled, “Mornin’, Officer,” and gone on his way.
Yet every interaction with Jacques had been professional and courteous, unlike many other bounty hunters she’d met who’d sell their own mamma.
“Up.” Jacques patted her back.
“Huh?” She glanced up at him.
“I told you I was going to play that ass of yours today.” He watched her from hooded eyes, his gaze heated.
Now?
In the morning?
It felt taboo. Kink was for the night, to be done in the dark, where the s
hadows concealed their liaisons.
“I will not tell you again, bébé.” The way he stared at her promised punishment if she didn’t obey. He stroked her hair, and she wanted to lean against him, allow him to do whatever it was he had in mind. “You hear me?”
She gripped the table and the back of the chair, hoisting herself onto wobbly legs.
The man had a voice for sin.
Jacques kept his hand at the small of her back, guiding her to stand between two supporting beams that marked the edge of the area designated as the kitchen. The rivets had been removed from a few places, and chains hung from the holes. She’d noticed it in passing the night before, but with everything else going on, it hadn’t seemed important. Now those chains held her complete and utter fascination.
Lust gripped her core, and her already hard nipples went hypersensitive. Even the abrasion of her silky camisole was too much.
Jacques circled around behind her. “Arms up.”
Odalia lifted her arms, stretching for the sky. A tiny flutter of nerves danced in her belly. Playing was the only time she put on makeup or did her hair. Something about the energy made her into a sensual, feminine creature she didn’t get to embody during her shifts. Would he find the disheveled, just-out-of-bed version as appealing?
Jacques placed his hands on the front of her hips, flattening his palms and pulling her flush against his front.
Well, now I know.
She could feel the hard line of his cock against her back.
Jacques slid his hands down her thighs and back up, over her panties. He drew her camisole up as he went, caressing her stomach and ribs, cupping her aching breasts briefly and whisking the fabric up over her head. She curled her hands around his neck, arching her back.
Why had they never acted on this chemistry before?
She let her lids close as he gripped her arms.
“Not yet,” he whispered and kissed her temple.
Jacques took one arm, retrieved a leather cuff hanging from the chains and attached it to her wrist. He did the same with her other arm and adjusted the length of chain with snaps until she had little slack to play with.
She could almost imagine them under the safety of night, where the perceptions faded away and left two beings who merely wanted each other in the most carnal sense. His hands coasted up and down her back, pushing her hair over her shoulders. She hummed and bowed her back, enjoying his caress.
Something about play gave her freedom to be the inner girl she fought every day to protect. For the brief moments she was under someone else’s care, she could be who she was.
Jacques’ touch disappeared, but she could hear the floorboards creak as he shifted to her left. She let her head drop forward and focused on how the cool air kissed her skin. Goose flesh ran up and down her arms and legs. Though he hadn’t asked her to, Odalia spread her legs, and the damp fabric against her pussy caused a shiver to skate up her spine.
The scent of coffee, herbs and leather hung in the air. In fact, the rawhide fragrance was stronger.
He’d bound her like this during their photo shoot, but she’d worn a mask that covered everything, save for her eyes. She’d been a marionette.
And now she’d never see the images.
Odalia pushed the memories from her mind. There was no sense dwelling on anything save this moment. She tilted her head to the side and listened as Jacques crossed the floor again, coming nearer. Something slapped against flesh. A crop? A crop could be both thuddy and stingy. She liked the variety.
Jacques swung something in the air so hard it whistled.
No.
Not a crop.
A flogger.
Odalia smiled and reached above her head for the chains, gripping the cold links.
Bring it on, bayou boy.
The first thwack of the individual leather tails of the flogger hit her across the shoulder blades, knocking her forward onto the balls of her feet. She grunted, but it felt good. Jacques hit her in quick succession, the strikes ranging from her upper back down to her ribs. The thudding sensation was more like a massage than anything else. In fact, she could stand there for an hour or more taking this kind of attention. Each blow licked out soreness, relaxing and easing her muscles into a delicious state of warmth.
The rhythm broke, and for a beat, everything was still.
Odalia sucked in a breath, her stomach dropping, and braced herself a moment too late.
The flogger whistled through the air and snapped her across the shoulder blades, stinging her flesh.
“Ouch,” she yelped, dancing in place.
Jacques chuckled and let the tails rain down on her back in gentle, light caresses.
“Not funny,” she groused.
Okay, it was, but she wasn’t about to give the man an excuse to laugh at her.
“Keep your feet spread.” He swung the flogger and the leather strips curled around her outer thigh on the right, then the left.
She complied with his wish, feeling a little more alert.
“Good girl.”
The flogger swung up between her legs, and she yelped, jumping in place. Not from pain, but surprise.
“Keep those legs spread.” Jacques’ tone was more amused than upset, a contradiction to the quick, stinging slaps of the flogger he delivered to either thigh.
“Okay, okay.” Again she widened her stance.
The next kiss of leather smacked her upper back, fire erupting in its wake as he unleashed the not-so-nice side of the toy. She danced in place, hissing, but kept her feet spread. Up and down her body he went, varying the strength with which he laid into her until she was flinching at the gentle licks and giggling when he popped her ass hard enough to leave a mark.
Endorphins flooded her system, creating a heady rush of adrenaline, lust and oxytocin.
Jacques circled around to her front, his gaze flicking over her body, lingering on her breasts. He swung a brown leather flogger in a swift figure eight. Odalia sucked in a breath and gripped the chains harder. Her shoulders were beginning to ache, but she didn’t want it to end. Not yet. She wanted more.
He flicked the flogger and the leather tails snaked out toward her, gently impacting her chest before sliding down her breasts and stomach. He caught the end of the strips in his hand and again, allowed them to fall softly on her chest, not even hard enough to thud. More like tease.
She arched her back, wanting more on her breasts. Her hypersensitive flesh yearned for more.
Jacques let the flogger dangle from his wrist and closed in on her, cupping her face. She lifted up on tiptoes, still not tall enough to reach him, but begging just the same. He pushed her back down and bent his head, meeting her lips with his.
Odalia gasped as an electric sizzle shot through her veins, more potent than lust or arousal, something different, something new. She leaned forward on the balls of her feet, seeking a deeper connection. He nipped her lower lip and smoothed over the hurt with his tongue, suckling her lip. Warmth pooled in her abdomen.
He shook the flogger off his wrist and stepped in closer. One hand dug into her hair, tilting her head back, while the other delved into her panties, cupping her mound. A thick finger slid between her folds, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves. She gasped, rocking her hips back and forth. Her body shuddered, tiny electric volts jumping from cell to cell, the synapses vibrating to her skin. She tore her mouth from his, gasping as colors clashed over her vision.
“Amazing,” he muttered. “You came, didn’t you?”
“Uh, yeah. A little,” she gasped, sagging against the restraints.
“I’ll have to remember you come easily.” He removed his hand from her panties.
Odalia peeked at him through her lashes. She did not like the sound of that.
Jacques unclipped the restraints from the chains but kept his thumb through the D-rings. He brought her arms down in front of her, massaging her back and shoulders with his other arm. She leaned forward, placing her cheek against his
chest and allowing him to hold her, care for her.
Arousal still sang through her body. She shifted in place, rubbing her thighs together.
It had been a long time since she’d had sex with a play partner, for a variety of reasons. Too many people wanted open relationships, which didn’t jibe with Odalia’s thought process. She was the jealous sort. Those she clicked with wanted a polyamorous relationship, which she wasn’t hardwired to function in, or they had no interest in kink. Not all that long ago, she’d tried to have a normal, D/s, free relationship, and it had ended almost as soon as it had begun.
Odalia almost didn’t even know how to go about the business of asking for sex. Sure, she and Jacques had negotiated to a point, but sex had never been mentioned. Until last night. Did that count as negotiations? God, she hoped it did because she wanted him to fuck her with that big cock.
“I can hear you thinking,” he said, voice low, as if they had to be quiet.
“Yeah? What’s going through my mind?” She tilted her head to the side and peeked up at him.
“Hmm.” He reached between them, cupping her mound again.
Odalia gasped and her eyes rolled back in her head.
“You’re still horny, aren’t you?”
“Yup,” she said, popping the p.
“Good.” Jacques stepped back, leading her toward the bed. “Because I’m going to fuck you until you come three ways from Sunday.”
Odalia shivered and her pussy clenched.
Yes, please.
Jacques guided her to kneel on the mattress, facing the headboard. He produced a chain attached to something below the bed and clipped her cuffs to the end of it. She almost mourned the loss of her hands. Being able to touch him, rake her nails over his shoulders, all of it, would be amazing, but even better was submitting to his command.
She knelt on the mattress and watched Jacques pull his T-shirt off, light pouring through the windows lining his loft. The idea someone could see in hadn’t occurred to her until she glanced over his shoulder into an empty room across the street.
First Taste: A Collection of Hot Alpha Doms Page 14