Domination

by Lyra Byrnes

She found a grotty bathroom and took some deep breaths. No wonder he hadn’t joined the others backstage—not because he didn’t know she was with them but because he did. Bucky had probably already arranged to have a girl sent to him after every show, one who knew when to kneel and how Bram liked his cock sucked. Josie being around didn’t change a damn thing. She would have to find the strength to get on the bus and act normal when she saw him.

  That proved harder than she had anticipated. Josie burrowed into her seat, hugging her bag to her chest. She knew she was sulking like a teenager but couldn’t stop.

  After what felt like an eternity Bram stepped into the aisle, hanging for a moment with both hands on the bar above his head, his glorious chest wide as an eagle’s wingspan. He threw Josie a wink, which she studiedly ignored, and strode past her.

  “Ye look exhausted, mate,” Kraxis called.

  “No rest for the wicked.” Bram flopped down on his customary long backseat, one arm flung over his eyes.

  Josie couldn’t stand it anymore. All that talk about trust and safewords and what he really wanted—it was just talk. He had probably given the same speech to the brunette in the tiny dress. Given her hope and then ripped it away. Josie strode over to him, her face flushed.

  “I know what you’re up to,” she spat.

  Bram didn’t move. “Good show. Writers are trained to be observant.”

  “I saw that girl.”

  “Oh, that. Yeah, I was in dire need.”

  “I’ll just bet!”

  She did her best to stage whisper but all eyes turned to her.

  Kraxis called out, “Girls, girls! Ye’re both pretty.”

  Bram sat up. “Are we having a row, Josie?” he asked in a low, controlled voice that made her blood run cold. “I don’t argue with females.”

  “Best not if ye want to keep yer balls!” Kraxis let out a booming laugh.

  “Damnedest woman. Listen to me, love. Are you aware that I’m working?”

  “Work!” she snorted.

  “Yes. You think it’s all about the girls and the booze and thrashing about onstage? I work like any other man.”

  She looked at his leather pants and shirtless chest, the beer-can graveyard littering the aisle.

  “Nice cubicle.”

  “So the lighting is a bit better. Touring is boring. It’s bus rides and hotel rooms, radio appearances, answering the same questions infinity times. And while I’m cruising on the success of the last record, my head’s moved on to the next. Your man in the cubicle has one boss to please—I have thousands. I need stimulation to reset the motor.”

  “You needed a visit from the takeout submissive menu.”

  He shook his head. “A notebook. I sent out for a fresh supply before Bucky announced we were loading up.”

  “So that girl wasn’t…”

  “I was writing, love. Sorry to disappoint.”

  He had been writing and run out of materials. That had happened to her. But she wasn’t able to snap her fingers and have fresh supplies hand-delivered and if she could, the store certainly wouldn’t send its hottest employee.

  Scratch that—the hottest employee wouldn’t have checked out who was staying at the hotel first and volunteered to go.

  “I feel stupid.”

  “You should,” he said. “Now shall we get on with the work?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Be professional and not a dreamy little lovesick girl, Josie. You’re on the clock. She grabbed her materials. “We were talking about the new album.”

  So far Bram had answered questions about his influences and the band’s early days playing in garages and beer-sticky clubs but offered no details about the songs on Domination’s next album.

  “You said you expect it to chart well. Don’t you believe that of all your recordings?”

  “Metal doesn’t reach to top of the pops unless there’s some naff compromise like an orchestra or some pop star guesting,” he said.

  “Don’t you want to write hits?” she asked.

  “For what? The dosh? I don’t need a castle in Ireland with fourteen bogs and a drafty throne room. I have one but that’s just part of the show. Nah, it keeps us pure, not worrying about how many spotty youths download our work. Do what you do with enough passion and the punters respond.”

  “So what’s the title of this one?” She preferred to ask direct questions with an assumption she was entitled to an answer. Rock stars could be secretive about releasing such information but they occasionally fell for such a trick.

  Bram answered without hesitation. “Enslaved,” he said with a wolfish grin. “That should get the spotty youth in line.”

  Enslaved. Just hearing the word made her tingle. “What’s it about? Is there a theme? What’s the first single?”

  “Still working on it,” he said. “Such an eager little beaver. Don’t you understand I am an artiste?”

  “Excuse me, Mozart.”

  “Naughty girl. I’ll give you a retort to that little jibe that will sting for a day.”

  Oh yes, please.

  He favored her with a wicked smile. “Better get your rest tonight, love. We have work to do tomorrow.”

  Chapter Ten

  Josie hesitated over what to wear. The luxurious robe over nothing seemed like the sexiest bet but the swampy New Orleans air argued against it. The guesthouse was lush, semitropical and lavishly, if quirkily, decorated. But even the few steps from the bus to the entrance felt like wading through a damp, hellishly hot cave, like an alligator’s stomach. And anyway, what if Bram just wanted to talk to her again, explain more rules about being submissive? His submissive. Her nipples hardened just thinking of it.

  Better be safe. She put on a shapeless skirt and brushed out her hair. The “Copy Editors’ Conference, Atlantic City” T-shirt was lame but it was the tightest one she had.

  She was just shutting her door when her room phone rang.

  “The courtyard,” Bram said. “Show the guard your ID.”

  Guard? She raced down the stairs, flashed her license to the man at the gate and heard it clang behind her.

  Bram was inthe pool, stark naked.

  Well, that’s something, she thought, watching his lean form fold in two and cut through the water. He shot up again, shaking out his hair.

  “I’m overdressed.”

  “Not for long.”

  “Someone will see…”

  “No. You put enough money in the right hands and no one sees a thing. The pool is closed for the night. No rooms look out over it. See?”

  It was true. They were alone amid the chaises longues and lush tropical plants.

  “You had homework, Josie. Did you do your homework?”

  “I don’t…”

  “A safeword.”

  “Right.” Her mind had gone blank. All she could think was, Those cheekbones should be illegal.

  “Um, Transylvania.” It was the password she’d set up for her private blog, taken from Transylvania High, one of the cartoons they’d watched together on his bed in San Antonio.

  “Transylvania? Righto. You’re not likely to use it in casual conversation.”

  She felt exposed. “This setting is more romantic than I had in mind.”

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so? What did you have in mind?”

  Bram looked so dangerous she lost the power of speech. He climbed out of the pool, dripping with water, and took her by the arm. He was already hard. “Does it involve being called a little slut? Only in this context, mind. All part of the game. Yes or no.”

  “Yes.”

  “Suck my cock.”

  She almost dropped to her knees before remembering. “No.”

  He smiled, that little half-smirk that made her panties wet. If she had been wearing any, which she wasn’t. So much for her worry he’d just want to talk.

  “Now you’re learning. Suck my cock.”

  She shook him off. “Fuck you!”

  “Oh, that is fine.” He stroked himself. �
��You’ll do as I say or you’ll pay, slut.”

  It took all her will to turn away from him, the sight of that enormous cock between his slender hips. He grabbed her from behind, kneading her breasts roughly. “You like that, don’t you?”

  “Mmm.” He took a nipple between two fingers and pressed. It felt amazing. “Oh god.”

  “Still want to say no to me?” His voice was a rumble like distant thunder.

  “Bastard!” she spat.

  “That’s fucking hot.” He fisted up her skirt. “No panties, naughty slut.”

  “I’m not your slut.”

  “You’re juicy as hell,” he murmured, slipping a finger inside her. It felt so good she held still, letting him ram his finger up into her again and again. “Ready for a trip to Romania?”

  A trip to…? Oh, the safeword. Hell, no. A million times no.

  “I’m good. Don’t stop.”

  “Then let’s get this off.” He tore the shirt over her head. Josie looked around frantically. No windows overlooked the courtyard. A door had been closed behind the gate. No one could see. She relaxed.

  And bit his arm.

  “Ow! That’s it. You’re in for it,” he growled.

  Josie tried to keep the smile off her face as he turned her by the shoulders. “Move and I’ll whip you ’til you cry.”

  “Try it.”

  He stalked to the table and swiped something from it then tore at it with his teeth. He rolled the condom on, locking her eyes helplessly on to his.

  She gulped. “The extra-large kind?”

  “I like a tight fit.” He smiled. “Where were we?”

  “I’m your slut.”

  “Not yet but you’re going to be. Lie down.”

  Do it? Refuse? She was new at this game. All she knew was she wanted that cock inside her. The night air tickled her nipples and a breeze wafted up her skirt, chilling her wet thighs. How long could she hold out before he’d take her? Or she’d jump his bones herself.

  She made a decision.

  “Fuck. You.”

  He moved toward her slowly, stalking her like prey. “Wrong answer, sunshine. Now I won’t even let you suck me.”

  Bram had barely begun to reach for her when Josie orchestrated what she thought was a pretty convincing fake fall back onto the concrete. She lifted her fists to his chest and began to pummel.

  “Fucking bastard!” she cried, ready to explode just from the weight of him on top of her.

  “Squirm if you like. It only makes me want you more. You want my cock inside you, slut.”

  “Yes,” she breathed. “I want it.”

  He fitted himself deeply with one move, spearing her to the hilt. He began to pound into her hard and fast, his hips pumping like a piston. “Say it.” His breath was leather and tobacco and mint, ragged in her ear.

  “Fuck me, Bram. Fuck me hard.”

  His cock was untiring, a sledgehammer thundering away at her pussy. The concrete was rough beneath her back, cooler even than the night air, smelling of chlorine and wet stone. She felt her pulse racing and the slow building roll begin inside her. Unable to stop herself, she let out a moan.

  It was almost too late before she remembered. “Can I… Can I come?” she panted.

  “Yes. Oh god. Come, baby.” He reared up and their hips smashed together. His cock pulsed, drew back and shot, letting free a rolling vibration that hit her so deep she burst into a million pieces, shouting his name.

  She lay there for a long while trying to slow her breathing, half-naked, her juices drying on her thighs, her hair a mess. When she opened her eyes Bram was pouring champagne into a glass. She hadn’t even noticed the bottle, so fixated had she been on the condom swallowing his cock.

  “I should shower,” she ventured.

  “Join me first.”

  Josie giggled. “A toast?”

  “Come here.”

  She rose and moved toward the table as if hypnotized. Bram held out a glass. When had he put his leather pants back on?

  “Are you all right with this? It’s not for everybody.”

  She sipped gratefully. “I liked it.” More than liked. She loved every sinful second of it.

  “A couple things to remember. You can stop at any time.”

  “I know.”

  “And you can’t be jealous.”

  She put her glass down. “What?”

  “You just can’t. That rot with the notebook bird today. It’s not my reputation I’m protecting. It’s yours. Mine is beyond redemption.”

  “You’re right. I don’t want my name sullied, whether it’s the rest of the band that knows about us or the public. I’ll be careful. And how many?”

  He lit a cigarette. “How many what?”

  “How many girls are we talking? That I shouldn’t be jealous of.”

  Bram shook his head. “It’s not the number that matters. It’s…”

  Ice water filled her belly. Bram was never at a loss for words. It’s what? she thought desperately. It’s who?

  “Just keep your head down and don’t be a fool girl,” he finished.

  “I will. I mean, I won’t.” She gulped the champagne. “What did you mean about your reputation? Because I saw some things about you, on the Web mostly.”

  “Nasty stuff. Most of it tripe.”

  “But some of it true?”

  “If there’s something you want to know about me, Josie, just ask.” His blue eyes were steady.

  “I saw a whip in your suitcase in one picture.”

  “That was from another time.”

  “A good time?”

  “Love—” He took her chin in one hand. “They’re all good times.”

  “But I mean, do you still want to? You know, with that?” She heard herself babbling nonsense but could not stop.

  Bram kissed her gently.

  “Go to bed, Josie.”

  *

  Back in her room Josie tried to organize her concert notes but her head was a jumble. All she could think about was Bram pounding into her, her back roughened by the concrete, his moans in her ear.

  She had reached some sort of threshold tonight and crossed over without looking back. Fighting back, smarting off to a man who could have any woman he wanted, being so desired by him—she hardly recognized the old Josie in there. But she was the one he wanted. No reason to be jealous of anyone, especially the little groupies who yearned for him. Nice girls, maybe, simple, pretty girls like Melanie, but not his.

  Shit, Melanie. She had meant to check that email.

  She clicked open the laptop.

  Are you writing porn now lol? Did this really happen or is it your fantasy? Because if it’s your fantasy, OMG, it’s mine too!! Send more. It gets lonely in L.A. Love you, Josie. Call me!

  What the hell? Attached to the mail was a link to Adventures in Submission, the secret blog she was keeping about her sexual journey.

  Hastily she checked the privacy settings on the blog. Sure enough she’d accidentally cut and pasted Mel’s address into Recipients.

  Well, in for a penny, she thought, beginning a new post. Mel would bust a gasket when she heard about tonight.

  Chapter Eleven

  She had an hour before going out to do research, something she had woefully neglected until now. Domination planned to dominate the French Quarter on their free night and Josie shuddered to think what sort of debauchery the four of them would get into. With a reporter along for the ride, no less. Debauchery wasn’t her strong suit.

  But Bram seemed to disagree. “Leave the notebook, purse too,” he’d told her. “And wear a dress.”

  “Why?”

  “I like dresses.”

  “Yes, your highness. Anything else?”

  “Riot helmet, maybe.”

  After a shower and a time-consuming struggle to get soft tendrils of hair to fall from her chignon just right, she put on makeup and opened her laptop.

  Domination’s lyrics weren’t hard to find or to figure out—most
were about darkness, nightmares, power, death and other cheery subjects. Jet had been right. There weren’t a lot of rhymes for “blood”.

  The later songs became more complex and obscure. A quick search of key words revealed that the album Ni Sanger detailed the nine worlds of Norse mythology. There was the unreleased Violation, of course, Bram’s road-weary joke, which fans had tried to translate with inaccurate results.

  And then there was Goddess of the Nightworld.

  She’ll worship you to hell and back/she’ll beat your body blue and black/No comfort in this promised land/The ocean pulls you from the sand/The soulless tart, she eats your heart/And spits the bones out in her hand.

  Yikes. Interesting rhyme scheme, though, and even if the idea of a heart with bones was inaccurate, the image gave Josie the shivers.

  Sounded like quite a girl. Could this be the one who hurt Bram, the girl he couldn’t forget? No wonder he was still bitter. He made her sound like an all-powerful being—vicious, gorgeous, irresistibly alluring but marked with doom. Not someone the likes of whom petite, boring Josie Arrington could possibly compete with. Not that she would ever have to. That girl was long gone and Bram didn’t sound too eager to get in touch.

  Anyway, Josie was not planning on breaking his heart. If he’d give it to her, that is. Surely tonight in so public a venue he would hardly acknowledge her.

  She checked the album credits. It had been recorded two years earlier, very sparely, from the looks of it. Bram produced it himself, no outside musicians, no orchestra or fancy effects were credited. Just the studio.

  Earwig Recording, New Orleans.

  *

  Emerging into the humid night felt like being slapped with a wet towel. No sooner had Josie joined the band on the sidewalk, beckoned by the sounds of laughter and music, than dampness crept between her breasts.

  It wasn’t much of a dress but it would have to do. She’d thrown the pale-gray sleeveless thing in her bag as an afterthought. It had a short, swingy skirt and the fabric clung to her chest. Even the color was flattering, bringing out her gray eyes, which needed all the help they could get. She poked in her contacts and found an orange scarf forgotten in her sack. It looked forlorn, crumpled amid an optimistic nest of condom packages, also forgotten.