Domination (Surrender Book 2)

by Tina Donahue

  Given the gorgeous day, everyone in Southern California seemed to be out, clogging the Pacific Coast Highway. It took far too long to reach the freeway, Phil not uttering a word, the band’s music filling the silence.

  Jacquie looked for clues as to where Andy lived. He’d never said. “Where are we headed?”

  “Mr. Chance’s estate.”

  She’d predicted a nice house but not grounds too. “Cool. In what city?”

  Phil stared at the car in front, his stiff manner and Old Spice aftershave further reminding Jacquie of her dad. “Beverly Hills.”

  She’d never been to the luxury enclave and couldn’t look enough.

  They passed mansion after mansion, the immense homes gracing plots that looked too small for the buildings.

  At an intersection, a kid lounged in a lawn chair, hawking maps to stars’ homes. He waved one at her.

  She considered buying it as a memento of the day.

  Phil took off before she could lower her window, and entered a more secluded area, the homes spaced farther apart here, vegetation abundant. Up and up they drove into the hills, the Los Angeles basin spread beneath them, the view postcard perfect.

  She couldn’t imagine living here. If she did, she’d never leave.

  Mansions hid behind foliage and bushes. Gated drives abounded.

  She craned her neck to catch as much as she could.

  Phil hung a left, climbing another hill then slowed at a white wrought-iron gate, bougainvillea clinging to the milky walls on either side, those scarlet petals dancing in the breeze. Swishing palm fronds joined them.

  The gate whirred open.

  Her heart beat out of time. Never had she seen so much white. It included the lengthy driveway, walls, and a house hanging over the hill.

  She gripped her seat and leaned toward her window.

  From this angle, she counted four stories, the lowest level containing an Olympic-sized pool, its blue water a stark contrast to the blinding white. Countless windows stretched from floor to ceiling. Here and there, someone had placed potted plants and small trees, both softening the stark contemporary design.

  Even after watching the Kardashians’ many shows, she hadn’t believed people actually lived like this.

  Phil pulled up to the front. On this side, the home appeared to be one-story, tall double doors at the entry, their handles antique silver.

  The one on the right opened. Andy stepped outside.

  Her bones dissolved, leaving her weightless.

  His hair was more gorgeous than she recalled, the deep red shade fiery in the brilliant light. Wind tugged at his locks and the grey tee he wore. Like her, he’d dressed in worn jeans, his feet naked.

  Licking his long toes seemed the sensible thing to do. Cupping the large bulge behind his fly equally wise. Given the outline left by his rigid cock, he was happy to see her and hadn’t worn underwear.

  Her chest heated and her pussy grew wet.

  She opened the door before he could get it, causing him to dance back. “Hey.”

  At the club, his grin hadn’t been this wide or happy, his eyes this sparkly. “Hi.” He offered his hand to help her out then bent at the waist and spoke to Phil. “Thanks, man.”

  “You bet.”

  Phil drove toward the four-car garage without a backward glance, taking away Jacquie’s opportunity to thank him. Behaving as if this was Upstairs Downstairs with its rigid class structure, rather than modern-day Los Angeles where everyone mingled.

  Andy gathered her in his arms.

  She didn’t fight him.

  He touched his lips to hers. “How was the ride here?”

  “Not as good as this.” She claimed his mouth before he could hers, their tongues dueling.

  His deep growl vibrated his chest. He cupped her ass and pulled her into him, his dick pressed against her thigh.

  Yep, no underwear.

  She liked how he’d prepared for her visit and kissed him hard, driving her fingers through his silky hair, then gripped his scalp to keep him close.

  He pumped against her, a dry fuck.

  Her slit got damper, her already heated skin baking in the sun. She pulled free and rested her forehead against his chin. “We should go inside before you burn.”

  He panted as hard as she did. “I’ll risk it.” He covered her mouth with his and pushed his tongue inside.

  They kissed until they were breathless, then hung onto each other for support.

  She stroked his back. “What say we go inside before I burn?” Her pale complexion couldn’t take much exposure.

  “Right. I wasn’t thinking.” He tapped her nose. “Around you I have trouble getting my brain to work.”

  Much more of this and she’d be a drooling fool, totally in love and so soon.

  Admittedly, her feelings were outrageous, but he kept burrowing into her heart, leaving her no defense against his sweet personality and utter hotness. “Same here.”

  “Looks like we’ll have to help each other then.”

  A perfect arrangement.

  Playing with her hair at the nape, he guided her toward the entrance.

  “Wait.” She held back. “My bag.”

  During their kiss, she’d dropped it.

  Andy grabbed her purse before she could and held it under one arm, his other around her shoulders. “Ready for the tour?”

  “Do I get sunglasses first?” She pressed against him, their hips kissing. “Honestly, I’ve never seen so much white in my life. How do you keep it clean?”

  “I don’t. My housekeeping staff does.”

  “You have a full staff for just you?”

  An emotion she couldn’t read touched his eyes. “Before you judge—”

  “Hey, I wasn’t.” She rested her hand on his chest. His heart beat as fast as hers. “I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be.” He inclined his head to the house. “This is nothing more than an investment my financial advisor insisted upon. If it were up to me, I’d be happy in a studio apartment where a golf cart isn’t necessary to get from one room to another.”

  “There’s a golf cart inside for you to get around?”

  He chuckled. “No, but there should be. Whatever you think or might have read about me, I’m not the typical rocker.”

  She already knew that and liked him for it. “Down to earth, huh?” She stroked his tee and fly.

  He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “As down as I can get. Before the band took off, I waited tables at an LA pizzeria and snatched what I could for food.”

  She’d had her bad times too before she came on at Surrender, subsisting on temp gigs, her bosses treating her like a slave and paying as little as they could. Too many nights she’d gone hungry. She relaxed further, Andy’s experiences proving they were more alike than different despite his current wealth. “If I promise to act like your place is no big deal, will you give me the tour?”

  He shook her gently. “You’re getting it anyway. How else can I impress you?”

  Being himself did so effortlessly.

  Arm in arm, they strolled inside.

  She stopped first, the foyer glistening white marble, the crystal chandelier larger than the clunker she drove. White rooms on either side showed glass tables, fragrant flowers, and snowy leather furniture. The view couldn’t have been better: LA displayed clear to the horizon, the Pacific in the distance. “If Bree fires me, can I work here?”

  His laughter boomed through the space, the ceilings twenty or thirty feet high. “I doubt you have anything to worry about with her. She should give you a stake in the club for your gazebo idea alone.”

  “Thanks. But I had fun coming up with it. Whoa.” She pointed at the sweeping stairway descending to the next level. “What’s down there?”

  “My studio. The place I most want you to see.”

  “You cut your albums here?”

  “At Max’s or Devlin’s. This is a different kind of studio.” He led her to the stairway
and stopped. “I should have asked but wasn’t thinking. See what you do to me?” He bumped her arm. “Would you like something to drink and eat first?”

  “Is it going to take us long to get there? Should I put 911 on speed dial in case we get too exhausted to crawl?”

  Andy hugged her, laughter trembling his shoulders. “God, you’re something.” He swatted her ass playfully. “To answer your questions, no and no. I thought you might be hungry.”

  She cupped his bulge. “I could eat. If things go right, we both could.”

  His face grew red, his breathing strained. “I like how you think, but there’s something important I want to show you first.” He grew serious. “And talk about.”

  His cryptic comment wasn’t as nice as his easy-going manner, but she nodded, ready to listen, no matter how his words might affect her. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

  “Let’s get to the studio first.”

  Holding her hand, he raced down the staircase, her sandals slapping the marble steps, Breathe Me In playing in the distance.

  He directed her toward the song into a room similar in size to a football field, the wall in front pure glass. Sun spilled inside and glanced off numerous sculptures, some metal, others made from a white substance, either marble or plaster.

  She left him to explore, stunned at the artwork, each piece more beautiful than the last. In one, a bronze dragon reared back, the creature twice her height, its wings spread, teeth bared. Another, in white, depicted two lovers caressing on a chaise lounge, their forms true to life. She circled several pieces in dark gold, the male and female figures leaping or somersaulting through air. They had no faces. However, muscles and veins detailed their bodies.

  Hands pressed to her chest, she faced him. “This stuff is amazing. Where did you get it?”

  “I created it here.” He put her purse on a long table and wiggled his fingers. “With these.”

  “Get out.” She swung her arm to the statues. “You’re an artist too?”

  “Sculptor. My first love before writing lyrics.”

  She stroked the dragon’s tail then used her tee to wipe away the smudges she’d left.

  Andy joined her. “Don’t worry, you can’t hurt it.”

  “I’d die first. How many have you sold?”

  “None.” He lifted his shoulders. “I made these for the band’s videos, to create atmosphere for our songs.” He lifted his face to the ceiling and sighed. “Devlin and Max voted me down each time.”

  “They didn’t. Why? This stuff is great.”

  “I’d like to think so.” He looked at her. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  She could guess where this was going. “You liked my ideas for the club so much, you want me to pick something out here and convince Max and Devlin to put it in your next video?”

  “Not even close.” Male hunger flashed in his eyes. “I want you to pose nude for me.”

  Jacquie blinked, her complexion paling then flushing.

  The rosy color looked good on her. As far as Andy was concerned, everything did. He even liked her shoes despite them not being high heels. “Are you all right?”

  She cleared her throat and approached a statue, the nude lovers embracing, the woman caressing the guy’s cock. “Yeah, I’m good.” She rubbed her forehead, mussing her bangs. “Can I ask why you’d want me to pose? I’m no model.”

  She was better than any he’d seen. Their huge boobs, small waists, and sculpted faces didn’t look real. Jacquie did. “I want to use the statue for the new album cover with something similar to the gazebo in the background to set the mood.” He lifted his hands. “Nothing to compete with Surrender, I swear. Bree won’t recognize what gets finalized.”

  Jacquie nodded quickly, her aquamarine nose stud winking in the light, its color matching her tee. “That’s good. But still, why me?”

  He cupped her face, thumbs stroking her satiny cheeks. “Your sultry innocence is fucking unique.” He eased her closer, their thighs touching. “Not too brazen, nor too modest. The ideal look I’ve been searching for.”

  Her lips parted and her eyes closed.

  He kissed her deeply, as he’d wanted to during every hour they’ve been apart, enjoying her fragrance, different from what she’d worn at the club, but more her: young, joyful, carefree.

  She wrapped her arms around him, her palms pressed against his ass.

  She was playful too, and he hoped, adventurous.

  After easing his mouth from hers, he lifted her face so she’d meet his eyes. “Do you mind posing for me? No way will anyone know it’s you. I’ll alter your features slightly and will definitely lose the bangs.”

  Her gaze cleared. She gave him a sharp look. “You don’t like my bangs?”

  He loved them. “I didn’t say that, but they do define you. The same as your nose stud. I’ll keep it out too. Unless you’d like me to keep—”

  “Uh-uh. On the outside chance my parents or their friends see the cover, I don’t want them having a stroke.”

  Her answer rushed away his hesitation. “Then you will do it?”

  She regarded the other pieces. “What if Max and Devlin say no to mine too?”

  “They won’t.” Andy wouldn’t let them.

  Pleasure twinkled in her eyes. “What do I do, besides ditch my duds?”

  He led her to a scaffold then pulled shackles from a cabinet, the chains clanking lightly. “Wear these.”

  Her cheeks reddened. “Will this be your first BDSM statue?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So we’re both virgins at this.” She touched the irons. “I think I like that.”

  He did too. “We’ll show each other the ropes.”

  “Or manacles.” Smiling, she glanced around. “Where’s the clay or marble? If you’re using stone, you won’t be able to haul a boulder in by yourself.”

  “You’d be surprised how strong I am.” He pulled her in to him and held tight, giving her a mild taste of what he could do.

  Admiration glimmered in her gaze. “I stand corrected. Still… How’s your creative process work? What’s involved in making a statue?”

  “I take pictures first.”

  She bit her lip. “Not on your smartphone, I hope.”

  “Digital camera. The only place your likeness will ever be is on my computer. I hope you believe me.”

  “I do.” She touched his mouth. “You’re a good guy. You’d never hurt anyone deliberately.”

  He wouldn’t without meaning to either, if he could help it. “Ready to begin?”

  “You said my pictures come first. What’s after them?”

  Briefly, he explained the work involved: creating a wire armature for the subject, adding water-based clay to the frame, working in details, sculpting and refining them, then casting the piece in metal.

  She fingered her gold-hoop earring. “Guess I won’t see the finished product today, huh?”

  “I’ll show you the picture I decide on for the piece.”

  “Ah, no.” She stepped back. “I’m good taking quick glances of myself in the mirror. The faster the better.”

  He couldn’t see why she’d have any problems with her looks. To him, she couldn’t be more beautiful. Of course, he hated his coloring, while she liked it. They were quite the pair. “Ready to start? Want to pray first? Call a BFF for courage? Toss back a few drinks?”

  Snickering, she slapped his arm. “I’m good.” She toed off her sandals, grabbed the hem on her tee, but didn’t lift it. “Are you going to stay dressed?”

  “Yep.”

  “No fair. You strip too or the deal’s off.”

  She drove a hard bargain. “Race you.”

  Clothes flew, her shoes clunking against the hardwood floor. Since neither had worn underwear, they were nude in record time, her nipples tight, his cock rigid.

  Arousal dampened her bush.

  Mounting her on a workbench would be easy, but not as satisfying as forcing them to wait and h
unger for the inevitable. Breathing erratically, he manacled her wrists and secured her to the scaffold. “Face me, not the metal.”

  She chewed her lip but did as he’d ordered.

  He smoothed her hair, but ruffled her bangs.

  Her gaze jumped to them. “I thought you weren’t going to put those in the statue.”

  “I’m not. I just wanted to do it.”

  She gave him a knowing look and ran her toes up his hairy calf.

  Her touch warmed him from stem to stern, his excitement building. He repositioned her bound wrists on the frame, obligating Jacquie to arch her back, further displaying her breasts. He latched his mouth onto her left nipple and suckled hard, bringing it to a peak.

  Her moans proved her pleasure. She rubbed her slit against his arm, her moisture dampening him.

  His breath streamed out. He needed a miracle to calm himself and start their photo session. Before he did though, he had to tend her other boob.

  Once he’d drawn her nipple inside his mouth, he swirled his tongue around it, coaxing the tip until it couldn’t get harder.

  Catching air, he backed away and viewed her as an artist would.

  Her tits proved as rosy as her face and upper chest, her remaining skin pearly, no visible pores. Rarely had he seen a complexion as perfect. Her gray eyes appeared translucent next to her black hair, her more natural makeup matching her personality better than what she wore at the club.

  She shifted her weight.

  “Hold on.” He positioned one leg against the other, her thighs together, the pose demur yet sensuous. “There’s the look I need.” Hurrying to the cabinet, he spoke over his shoulder. “Don’t move.”

  “Can I breathe?”

  He threw her a look then pulled out his digital camera and clicked off countless shots from various angles, halting periodically to view them on the LCD panel.

  Her delicate beauty brought a lump to his throat, her smoky gaze ready for any-fucking-thing.

  Her essence drew him closer. Raw will forced him to stop. Screwing was nice, but he needed to make this statue and do her justice. If he messed up… If he was unable to capture her spirit…