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He’ll unleash her indecent desires…in the most provocative way possible
Working for a celebrated photographer of lush nudes, many with BDSM themes, isn’t easy for Jodi. She’s full-figured, wholesome and longing for Mac, her bad boy boss. His shaggy hair, wicked tat and total hotness make her dream of ditching her work as his assistant to get down on her knees as his eager sub. If he’d only notice her.
Who says he hasn’t? As laid-back as they come, Mac can’t get over how uptight Jodi is around him…like he might bite her. Not what he has in mind. Her guileless nature and voluptuous figure do dangerous things to his self-control.
Lucky for him a client’s request has Jodi finally yielding to her sensual nature, because Mac’s fully prepared to dominate, demanding her submission, delivering punishment. In other words, an erotic takeover.
Rough music thundered through the studio where Mac Callaghan photographed lush nudes. The bass alone conjured images of uncivilized sex, a man’s muscled body glistening with sweat, a woman’s pliant mouth opened on a soft, surrendering moan.
Mac strode across the spacious area, his feet bare, movements fluid, similar to a wild animal on the prowl. In his left hand, he held shackles. In his right, a leather strap, thick and brutal. At thirty-two, he was Hollywood’s premier photographer of women in varying stages of undress—lush, black-and-white portraits, many with BDSM themes of females delighting in being taken, ravished, enjoyed.
Jodi Bishop’s upper lip stuck to her teeth, her mouth was that dry. Tonguing her lip loose, she drank in Mac. At six-three, he was sinewy and solid. So damn male it made a woman forget to breathe. She dragged in some much-needed air but still felt woozy. Mac’s black tee hugged his broad shoulders and pecs just as Jodi would have liked to do. Beneath his left sleeve, a bold tat peeked out, its wide swirls gracing his brawny biceps.
God help her, she ached to lick the design then kiss her way down to his well-worn jeans. The denim hung low on his lean hips, caressing his firm ass, powerful thighs and the amazing bulge between his legs.
Jodi leaned up for a better look. Her chair squeaked. She flinched at the noise, which sounded huge, despite the music, but that didn’t keep her from ogling him.
Mac had an erection, its rigid length unmistakable behind his fly. Jodi’s head swam. She inched her attention to his large hands. His thumb stroked the irons that would soon be around a model’s slender wrists. He tapped the strap against his leg as though to remind himself of its future use. The leather swatting a woman’s plush ass, pinking up those cheeks, delivering punishment before intense warmth and pleasure followed.
Swallowing hard, Jodi warned herself to look away. Right—fat chance of that. For too many nights, she’d imagined herself stripped bare and restrained, her ass, breasts and cunt exposed for Mac’s delight and use. His hot, wet mouth on her nipples, his stubble rasping her softer flesh, his fingers exploring her cleft and needy clit.
She shivered at the thought of him playing lusty adult games with her, taking charge of her body and pleasure as her Dom. Jodi had little doubt he’d be good in the role. For the last several months, she’d been his assistant, seeing him in glorious action here. He might deliver his orders to the models in an even voice, but there was raw power behind his words. His commands were always uncompromising when it came to how he expected them to react for the camera.
“Show me you want this,” he’d ordered more than once as he’d clicked shot after shot of them being paddled, displayed, thoroughly corrupted. “Beg for more,” he’d demanded.
The model’s eyes would glaze over at his compelling baritone before they’d give him the expression he craved as an artist…and possibly as a man. Most of the women clearly wanted Mac, boasting when he wasn’t around about how they’d be the first to get him in the sack. Jodi couldn’t blame them for fantasizing about him.
He was freaking gorgeous, his features sinfully virile. A strong profile, silky black brows, eyes so blue the color didn’t seem real, sooty lashes, bronze complexion and a shadow of a beard that would make a confirmed celibate whimper.
Jodi bit back a moan.
He wore his black hair longish and shaggy, the ends dangling over his forehead and curling around his ears. One lobe sported an earring—a simple black stud that made him more tempting than a pirate—while the thick ridge behind his fly had her trembling with too much desire.
Jodi stopped herself from gaping at what he had below his waistband again. Her gaze crept north once more, past his torso to his chest, neck, bristly jaw, luscious—
The male model—Rocco something—stood at the side of Jodi’s desk, interrupting her indecent journey up Mac.
I’m an award-winning, bestselling novelist in erotic, paranormal, contemporary and historical romance for Kensington, Samhain Publishing, Ellora’s Cave, Siren Publishing, Booktrope, and indie. Yay! Booklist, Publisher’s Weekly, Romantic Times and numerous online sites have praised my work, and trust me, I’m forever grateful for that. I’ve had my books reach finals in the EPIC competition, one title was named Book of the Year at a review site, and others have won awards in RWA-sponsored contests. I’m actually featured in the 2012 Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market. Talk about feeling like a freaking star. Before my writing career, I was the editor of an award–winning Midwestern newspaper and worked in Story Direction for a Hollywood production company. Outside of being an admitted and unrepentant chocoholic, I’ve flown a single-engine plane (scary stuff), rewired an old house using an electricity for dummies book, and have been known to moan like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally whenever I’m eating anything Mexican or Italian. Yeah, I like to eat (burp).
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