First Taste: A Collection of Hot Alpha Doms

by Sidney Bristol

  He stopped and stared at the design. It was one his mamère had first shown him, and it was old. A heart, with almost crude lines and swirling designs, was surrounded by an oval of dots and a fan of more curls rose from the top. It wasn’t a big design, maybe the size of Odalia’s palm. Rosie had added shading to give it texture and life, but he recognized it.

  “Hey,” Odalia said, jarring him to reality.

  Jacques swooped down and kissed her, hard and fast.

  If this wasn’t a sign, he didn’t know what was.

  “I’m almost done, and then she’s all yours.” Rosie shooed him back and bent to her work.

  “You think you should be getting a tattoo after what you been through, bébé?” He pulled a rolling chair out from under an adjacent table and sat opposite Rosie.

  “I got cut up on my other leg. Plus I’m on antibiotics and painkillers.” She flashed him a smile. “Besides, when else do I have time?”

  “True.”

  “You guys going to the dungeon tonight?” Rosie asked, almost innocently if it weren’t for the curl to her lips she hid by ducking her head.

  “I hadn’t made New Year’s plans.” Odalia shrugged and watched the path of the needle.

  Jacques took her hand from the back of the chair and curled his fingers around hers. “We should go,” he said.

  Odalia glanced at him, brows lifted. “Okay.”

  “How’s Creature?”

  “Spoiled rotten. Mathieu and his dog, Gator, are all over him. Creature and Gator are littermates. They helped me get him home today, so he can go in and out the doggie door and not mess with all the stairs at Mathieu’s. But now Mathieu and Gator won’t leave. He’s worse than a mother hen.”

  “And that’s a wrap.” Rosie sat up and wiped the tattoo clean of excess ink and blood.

  “Why that?” Jacques asked, curiosity eating at him.

  “Dad had a tattoo of it. Makes me think of him.”

  Of course.

  Mathieu had told him the darker parts of Odalia’s history. She might have been rescued during the weeks following Katrina by cops, but she’d been through a lot. Taking care of her father, who’d died of infection, and fighting off the looters hadn’t been easy for a slip of a girl not yet a woman. Mathieu hadn’t elaborated on the point because he hadn’t needed to. Jacques could imagine the brutality Odalia had lived through. Which made the tattoo to commemorate her father make sense.

  Rosie took over and had Odalia turn toward her so she could slather the skin with ointment and bandage the tattoo with saran wrap and medical tape.

  All his reservations were gone. He needed Odalia alone.

  ODALIA GLANCED OVER HER SHOULDER to make sure Jacques was still there. He’d been brooding and silent since he showed up at the shop. With each passing moment, her hope for what they could be dwindled.

  The Bastille had just opened, and a few people milled around, not even playing yet. Odalia didn’t know if she could stand waiting around on pins and needles for Jacques to say or do something. What had changed since he’d left her at Mathieu’s?

  “This way.” He took her hand and led her to one of the private rooms, decorated as a Victorian boudoir.

  She stepped through the door and froze.

  “What the…?” Odalia was familiar with the room. Not only had she played in it, but one of the local shops had even used it as a set for a shoot she’d done.

  Standing lights augmented the halogens above to the point that the brightness hurt her eyes. A large white backdrop was attached to the ceiling and went all the way to the ground. The room was set up as if for a photo shoot. There was already a camera sitting on a tripod.

  She glanced at Jacques, wanting an explanation.

  He didn’t speak. Didn’t tell her what this was. He took her hand and led her to stand against the white backdrop.

  Did he have some sort of shoot tonight? Was this a ploy to recreate the images they’d done before Christmas?

  Jacques grasped the lapels of her leather jacket and pulled her closer. She was aware of the camera snapping, but that didn’t matter.

  He kissed her brow, and maybe the camera flashed. Her attention narrowed to this man and the way he made her heart vibrate.

  Jacques pushed her jacket off her shoulders, and it fell with a thud.

  Two could play that game. She slid her hands against his pectorals and up over his shoulders, removing his jacket in turn. He moved with her, allowing her this. The lights flashed, but she ignored them at the flicker of a smile on his lips.

  For that smile, she’d stay.

  He grasped the straps of her tank top with one hand and pulled his knife from his pocket. Knife play was an out-of-bounds sport for many people, but not Odalia.

  He wouldn’t dare…

  Jacques set the blade against the fabric and pulled. It slid through her bra strap and the ribbed shirt as if they were butter. She gaped at the man, too shocked to be irritated. His grin widened, and he grasped the neck of her now-ruined shirt. The blade followed, and he split the material straight down the middle.

  Had he just—?

  He had.

  Odalia laughed. Perhaps it was the potent danger of this man and the flash of his teeth, the ease with which he took control without a word. He grasped the hanging shreds of her shirt and pulled her forward with his free hand. She splayed her palms against his chest, loving the hardness of his body, and lifted up, meeting him with a kiss.

  The sensual dance continued as their lips touched, suckling, nipping, licking.

  Somehow she got his shirt and bunched it under his armpits.

  Jacques raised an eyebrow, but their unspoken agreement to keep silent kept him from chastising her. Instead, he pursed his lips and drew the shirt up over his head, discarding it like he had his jacket, along with the knife.

  He grasped one side of her tank top and spun her in place so that her back was to his front. His hands coasted down her shoulders, over her breasts, and parted the ruined shirt. She let him slide it off and glanced over her shoulder.

  What game is he playing?

  Jacques ignored her silent questions and splayed his hands against her stomach. He pressed his palms against her abdominals, and she reached behind her, looping her arms around his neck, reveling in the skin-to-skin contact.

  He fumbled with the tab on her shorts but managed to get it and the zipper open. Instead of shoving the denim off, he slowed the garment’s fall, going to a knee and caressing her outer leg all the way down. He did take care to avoid both the new tattoo and her ricochet wounds. He helped her toe out of her shoes until all she wore were a pair of cheeky cherry-print boy shorts and a now-ruined black bra.

  Jacques turned her in place, his expression sober. Serious.

  Facing her, he toed out of his boots and unfastened his jeans.

  What is he doing?

  He shed both jeans and underwear until he was nude. A dark-skinned god. Perfectly formed.

  Odalia could feel them standing on the precipice of something, a foreboding she couldn’t get a read on. If she fell off this ledge, would he catch her? Or would she tumble to her death?

  Jacques closed the distance and encircled her chest, unfastening the catch of her bra. She let it fall to the floor and kicked it to the side, out of the way. Her panties went next, and then she was as naked as he was, save for the bandages on her new ink and the wound.

  He took her arm and pulled her in front of him again. Back to front, she let her eyes drift closed, swaying with him to a rhythm only they heard.

  Oh bayou, my baby on the bayou tonight. I’ll fly o’er that bayou to you.

  Jacques fiddled with something on his wrist. She peeked at it out of one eye then gasped.

  He held a narrow band of leather, maybe three inches wide, stained a dark chocolate. The outer surface of it was stamped with a design every few inches.

  A design she knew.

  The same design freshly inked on her thigh.

  �
��I made this a few weeks ago. Guess I’ve been wanting someone to give it to.” His voice rumbled over her. “My mamère had it stitched on her kitchen towels, said it put love into everything she cooked.”

  “My dad had it tattooed over his heart,” she said, hating the watery quality of her voice.

  “We’re two lost souls, bébé, you and I. I failed you once. I’d like to prove to you that it’ll never happen again.”

  She twisted in his arms. “You never failed me.”

  The muscle in his jaw jumped. “I did. I knew not to photograph your face, and I couldn’t help myself.”

  “The pictures were beautiful.” There were some of those shots they’d never recreate, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t try.

  For a moment they stared at each other. The hardness in his gaze said that he’d bear the weight no matter what. As frustrating as it was, she knew how seriously he took his role and how much he respected her.

  “What I’m trying to ask is,” he licked his lips, “bébé, would you consider wearing my collar?”

  Invisible fingers ran down her body, and she sucked in a breath. “Yes.”

  Odalia gathered her hair and lifted it off her neck while Jacques buckled the leather into place. She smiled as the weight of the collar settled around her.

  It felt right.

  What were the odds that the same symbol would be important to both of them?

  One in a million.

  The camera flash burst again, capturing the moment for all time. Two people, stripped bare, made new.

  Jacques cupped her face and kissed her, and for the first time, she could truly savor this kiss from her man. She rose up, winding her arms around his neck to get closer, and deepened the kiss, opening her mouth for him and sucking on his tongue.

  He swept her up in his arms, and she laughed, free to enjoy this new relationship, this commitment binding them together. His gaze was open to her now, nothing hidden. She’d expected the lust that they’d shared, but there was more behind it. Odalia wanted to laugh with this man, she wanted to cook dinner and watch horrible cop shows and talk about the future. She wanted it all, and gazing into his eyes, she knew he wanted it too. In time.

  Jacques set her on an old, claw-foot couch covered in burgundy velvet.

  “You never let me down, you know that?” she said again.

  “Nothing like that will ever happen again.” He spoke with the certainty of a man who knew facts, and yet, wasn’t there a camera set up a few feet away?

  Jacques turned as if reading her mind and retrieved the camera, flipping a switch. He brought it to her and knelt next to the couch, turning the screen so she could see the images.

  Set against the white background, her skin complemented his darker tones. The top of the frame cut off at her shoulders, and in a few of the images, her chin dipped into view. But never her face. They weren’t perfectly in focus, and not all of them were on center, but they captured a moment when nothing more powerful than the love of a man bound her in pictures.

  “How? When did you set this up?” she asked, taking the camera and flipping through the shots herself.

  “Earlier today.” He kissed her shoulder and traced circles on her thigh.

  She handed the camera back to him and shook her head. There were no words.

  “I missed you,” Odalia said after a moment.

  “Mouton was very specific about giving you space.”

  “And when did you start listening to cops?” She chuckled. Of course he was. Mathieu was the only thing close to family she had.

  “Never. I just took some time to consider his suggestions.” He sat on the couch next to her.

  It was a pity she had both an injury and a new tattoo, but those were only on her legs.

  Odalia twisted, throwing one leg over his to straddle Jacques’ lap. The sound of the dungeon music rose, signaling the evening was in full swing and their time in the private boudoir was ticking down. All the private rooms had limits on how long they could be reserved for.

  “We should commemorate this, don’t you think?” She slid her palms up and down his chest.

  “My collar isn’t good enough for you?” He slipped his fingers under the leather and gave it a tug.

  “It’s plenty good, Sir, but it’s you I want.”

  Jacques regarded her for a moment, gaze heavy lidded. “Move.”

  She shifted so he could stand.

  “On your knees. Hands on the back of the couch.”

  Odalia obeyed but couldn’t resist a glance over her shoulder. Jacques pulled his play bag out from under a table and removed not one but two floggers. She grinned, liking where this was going.

  Play connected them, but it also released endorphins into her system that were natural painkillers and muscle relaxers, and even relieved migraines.

  He swung the two leather floggers, following a figure-eight pattern.

  She was going to like this.

  Odalia pulled her hair over her shoulder and braced herself on the back of the couch. She heard the leather whistle through the air, the pitch rising as he increased the speed. Her breath stuttered in her chest, and she dug her nails in, ready for the first lick.

  The sound stopped suddenly.

  Leather fell down her back, and she jumped, startled. She chuckled and let her head drop forward, surrendering herself to his ministrations. He was her Dominant now. Hers. And no one else’s.

  The leather gently slapped her bottom, and another swing went between her legs. She gasped and squirmed, clenching her muscles. Whistling again and smack! She grunted at the first true blow across her shoulders, followed in quick succession by more. The flogging was by no means as hard as the first he’d given her, but the idea of submitting to him, being under his control, gave tonight a sense of completion. This was right.

  Each lick of the leather on her skin brought the blood closer to the surface, heating her skin and releasing endorphins into her body. She yelped when he wrapped the tails around her side, tickling her breasts.

  “Don’t move.” He laughed and wrapped on the other side.

  Odalia squirmed in place.

  Jacques cracked his hand across her ass.

  “I said don’t move,” he taunted, amusement lacing his voice.

  He rubbed her bottom and up her back. She arched like a cat, luxuriating in his touch. He kissed a line down her spine. She heard the rustling of plastic and the unmistakable sound of latex on skin.

  Odalia bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder. Jacques knelt behind her on the ground, his hands on her hips, and brushed a kiss over an angry red mark. Her heart fluttered. His gaze locked with hers, and no words needed to be spoken.

  They’d reached a level Odalia had never attained before. With anyone. Their souls felt laced together on an elemental level. When his heart beat, so did hers.

  Jacques stood and leaned over her, planting one hand on the couch while the other grasped her hair. She had a sneaking suspicion the man harbored a hair fetish, but she wouldn’t hold it against him. Unless he asked her to.

  She smiled and bent at his urging, offering her mouth for a kiss that was sweet.

  The feel of his cock against her quickened her pulse. She dug her fingers into the cushions and sighed as he thrust. Almost two days was too long to wait.

  She lowered to her elbows, resting her face against the cushions, and pushed her hips back to meet him. They groaned as one.

  “Better every fucking time,” he rumbled.

  “Mmm hmm.” Words were beyond her. The world was sounds, smells, colors and emotions.

  Jacques thrust hard, rocking her forward into the couch. His hand on her hair remained firm without jerking. Each slide of his flesh against hers sent shudders of pleasure coursing through her body. She moaned, working with him, setting up a steady, driving rhythm.

  He gripped her hip tight enough that she might even be left with bruises, but she loved every second of it, especially how this thing between them dro
ve him as crazy as it did her.

  “Oh, God,” she muttered and squeezed her eyes shut.

  Odalia’s body rushed toward the edge, and there was no holding her back. Jacques thrust harder, and she shot over the edge, the euphoria coiling and coalescing around her, as if she were in a free fall. Jacques went still behind her, groaning as he joined her in bliss.

  She sucked in deep lungfuls of air and slumped against the couch, completely spent and boneless.

  Jacques eased out of her and helped her to lie down while he cleaned them both up. She smiled as he discarded wet wipes in the garbage across the room. He could make tea, beat her ass and deliver orgasms that curled her toes.

  “What’s that smile for?” He grabbed a blanket from his bag and wrapped them up in it, her head cradled on his chest.

  “I’m happy,” she said.

  “I’m glad.” He kissed her forehead. “Happy New Year.”

  “Laissez les bons,” she kissed his cheek, “temps rouler.”

  “Why don’t we go to your place and watch the countdown with Creature?” Jacques suggested.

  Her heart swelled twice as big. She added liking her dog to the list and grinned.

  Yes, it was going to be a very good beginning to a new year.

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  Duty Bound, Bayou Bound 2

  Some loves deserve a second chance–with handcuffs and rope.

  Lisette wouldn’t be back in New Orleans if she didn’t need protection—and who better to turn to than her ex-boyfriend turned Detective? She’s got a closet full of secrets that include a stalker ex and a kinky past. She vows to not fantasize about Mathieu…much. If only he were a Dominant, one who would not just flog her into bliss, but love her as well.

  Mathieu wants nothing to do with another damsel in distress, but he can’t say no when the little blonde woman walks back into his life with proof her ex is big trouble. He’ll give her a place to sleep, but nothing more. His heart is locked up tight. Except, Lisette uncovers his past in the BDSM world and she’s never backed down from a challenge.

  When the bodies align, the hearts entwine. Except their rekindled flame is in danger. Lisette’s ex has found his prey, and he’s not afraid of taking a life.