by Tara Rose
Portraits of Submission 4
Dakota’s Discipline
Artist Dakota Larson is given an ancient portrait, and when she gets it home she realizes the canvas depicts an erotic scene that sends her hormones into overdrive. The painting draws her into a mysterious alternate universe where kingdoms are at war, and two charismatic princes choose her as a sex slave.
Kelton and Bramwell are two princes of an elite ruling class descended from one of Ashdown’s true kings. They use the magick of the erotic paintings discovered centuries ago to lure women into their world for their unique sexual perversions. But as they take what is their birthright from Dakota, the men lose their hearts to her in the process.
When a sorcerer is able to help Ashdown defeat their enemies, and discovers that Dakota may be able to return home, Dakota is faced with a difficult decision. Go back to her own world, or stay with the two men who have come to love her?
Genre: BDSM, Fantasy, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length: 40,230 words
DAKOTA'S DISCIPLINE
Portraits of Submission 4
Tara Rose
SIREN SENSATIONS
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Siren Sensations
DAKOTA'S DISCIPLINE
Copyright © 2015 by Tara Rose
E-book ISBN: 978-1-63259-581-2
First E-book Publication: July 2015
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2015 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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DEDICATION
Thank you, readers and fellow authors, for everything. It’s been a lot of fun, and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the support and guidance. Take good care of yourselves.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
About the Author
DAKOTA'S DISCIPLINE
Portraits of Submission 4
TARA ROSE
Copyright © 2015
Chapter One
Dakota Larson had fallen asleep in front of her computer again. She woke up and refreshed it, then saved the image she’d been working on, grateful that it hadn’t disappeared into cyberspace like the last time she’d done this.
It wasn’t that she kept late hours doing anything fun like having sex or partying. No. Her life wasn’t that exciting. She kept falling asleep while working for a living because she’d been trying to catch up on old episodes of UFO Hunters and Ancient Aliens for a new pet project she had in mind. Her real work—the image she’d been tweaking when she’d dozed off—paid the bills, but her passion lay in the canvasses scattered throughout her condo.
Dakota rose and stretched. It was already eight in the morning. She had errands to run today, so she made a pot of coffee and showered quickly. Getting ready to brave the outdoors in November was no easy feat, especially since the ground was covered in a blanket of fresh snow. While beautiful beyond reason, Dakota wished the majesty of a winter landscape didn’t render drivers incapable of keeping their vehicles moving forward in a straight line.
By the time she reached the grocery store, she felt like curling up and going back to sleep. She had to park at the opposite end of the lot, but that was all right, because walking would clear her head and diffuse the tension she’d experienced driving here. As she passed the shop where she normally bought all her painting supplies, she stopped to stare at the latest display in the window.
Where had Jared found that frame, and why hadn’t he called or texted to tell her about it?
The store wasn’t open yet, but Jared, the owner, spotted Dakota peering in the window and came over to unlock the door. “I knew this would catch your eye.”
She stepped across the threshold and Jared locked the door behind her. “Is that ash wood?”
“Sure is.” He beamed as if he were displaying the Mona Lisa in his shop window. “Do you like it? I picked it up at an auction last week.”
Dakota touched the frame and pulled her hand back as the sensation that the damn thing had just moved swept over her. “Are you sure it’s real?”
“Oh, yeah. Definitely.” He picked up the frame without the slightest hesitation. She must be colder than she thought, because obviously it hadn’t moved under his hands. Jared turned it around so she could get a good look at the frame construction. “Oh my goodness.” She wanted to touch it again, but refrained this time. “Where they did they get it?”
“No clue. No one seemed to know anything about it. It was odd. They seemed happy to be rid of i
t.”
A shiver ran down her spine. “That is odd.” He placed it back on the easel and Dakota took a step back, mesmerized as an image began to appear. It was the outline of a woman, on her knees, her back barely visible. “Who painted it?”
Jared gave her an odd look. “Painted what? It’s a blank canvas.”
She blinked a few times, then cut her gaze back toward the painting. How could he not see what she did? She must be more stressed and tired than she realized. “I mean, whose canvas is it? Any idea?
He didn’t look convinced by her question. “I have no idea. I bought it because the frame is so unusual. You never see them made out of ash wood anymore. I was going to call you when I opened. I thought perhaps you could use it in your fun work.”
She nodded. “Um, yeah. Sure. I would love it.”
Her friend frowned. “You all right? The cold getting to you?”
She shook her head. “A bit. And I didn’t sleep well last night. Listen, I have to buy groceries or I’ll have nothing in my place to eat or drink by tomorrow morning. Can I stop by later and pick this up?”
Dakota watched again as Jared reached over to pluck the frame off the easel, seemingly oblivious to the image on the canvas. It was clearer now. Dakota could make out the woman’s hair, braided in a plait down her back, and she could clearly see the outline of her naked ass cheeks. Why was he unable to view the same thing? Was she losing her damn mind?
“I’ll put it in the back. Come by for it whenever you want.”
She swallowed hard. “How much?”
“For you, nothing.”
“No. Jared, you can’t earn a living by giving things away.”
He leaned closer and lowered his voice, although they were the only two in the shop. “Just between you and me, the thing kind of gives me the creeps. Mark asked me to toss it into the dumpster as soon as he saw it. It made him uncomfortable.”
Mark was Jared’s long-time lover and they owned this shop together. Had Mark seen the image in the painting? “Why did it make him feel that way?”
“He said the damn thing felt alive.” Jared snorted. “You know how he is. The two of you love all that paranormal and conspiracy theory stuff.”
Her head wasn’t in the right place to debate the existence of ghosts or wormholes to other worlds with Jared right now. She couldn’t stop staring at the painting. Maybe she should tell him to save it for a paying customer? The compulsion to take his generous offer was strong, but equally urgent was the desire to walk away and never look at the thing again. She’d never had such visceral reaction to an inanimate object, and it unnerved her.
Shaking her head slightly to clear her thoughts, she forced a smile to her face. “I’ll be back in less than an hour.”
“I’ll be here, and then I want you to go home and get some rest. You look exhausted.” A knowing grin split Jared’s face. “Or, were you up late for a different reason?”
Dakota’s laugh wasn’t forced, and she didn’t need to ask Jared to clarify his meaning. “Yeah. Right. The only sex I’ve had lately is the kind you watch on the Internet, and that doesn’t count.”
He winked. “Sure it does. Hang in there, sweetie. The right man is out there for you.”
Her gaze cut to the painting once more, where she was alarmed to see the woman now had a definite form as well as skin and hair color. “I’ll take your word for it. Later.”
Once she was out on the pavement, Dakota stopped walking far enough away from the shop that Jared wouldn’t be able to see her unless he stepped outside, and leaned against the bricks to breathe. What the hell was wrong with her? Paintings did not come to life and they did not move.
Did they?
Hell if she knew. She believed in just about everything out there, from ancient aliens building the pyramids to an entire universe existing in one atom of a person’s thumbnail. She’d been a geek from a young age and she still was. The reason she painted with old-fashioned materials and techniques, and was in love with the possibility of using an ash wood frame to begin with, was due to her all-encompassing belief system.
The world was too limited not to at least entertain a single theory, and she worked out her fascination with worlds beyond her own senses by painting the images that haunted her dreams. It was her passion, that thing she’d do every day, even if she never made any money from it.
Dakota pushed away from the wall and made her way to the grocery store, laughing mentally. She didn’t make any money from it, at least not enough to live on. She earned her living making digital images for books covers for a variety of publishers, but the competition was fierce and authors could be major divas when it came to what was on the front of their books, even if it was an e-book. She understood that. Readers were drawn to interesting and sensual covers, but she was only a human being, and was locked into publisher preferences and time constraints.
After she bought her groceries, she returned to Jared’s and Mark’s shop. Both men were inside now, getting ready to open up. Jared went to the back to retrieve the painting for Dakota while Mark gave her a frown.
“That thing seriously gives me the creeps. Be careful with it. There is dark magick in that frame.”
“Of course there is. It’s ash wood.” Had he seen the image? “Did you notice anything unusual about it?”
He cut his gaze toward the drape that marked the entrance to their storage room. “There was a faint image on the canvas that Jared can’t see.”
“I saw it, too,” she whispered.
Mark’s eyes widened and another shiver ran down her spine at the look of worry in his eyes, but she wasn’t afraid of ash wood or of canvas. A compulsion she didn’t understand had brought her back here. She had to have the portrait. It was the same sense of adventure that had pushed her to enter dark, scary basements or attics ahead of her friends when she was younger, or led her to be the first one to touch the planchette on a Ouija board.
Dakota wasn’t afraid of anything supernatural or unusual. She was drawn to both.
Jared carried the painting out to her SUV for her and laid it face-down in the back. She gave him a tight hug, and he made her promise to call him later. “I’m worried about you.”
“Why?”
“You look more tired than usual.”
“Guess I need to start keeping more regular hours. You know…now that I’m thirty.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. You’re so old. Wait until you hit the big four-O like Mark and I have each done and then you can start looking for gray hair and wrinkles. Until then, I don’t want to hear about it.”
“You two are gorgeous and will be even when you’re ninety. It’s a damn shame you both aren’t straight, because I’d be all over you.”
He laughed and hugged her again. It was an old joke between them. He and Mark were good friends, and she knew if she were ever in real trouble, they wouldn’t hesitate to help her, or vice versa.
She had three more places to stop before finally heading home, where she removed the frame from her SUV last. But she didn’t turn it over. Instead, she propped it up against the wall in her great room while she put away groceries and then made herself something to eat. She had a lot of work to do, but sat on the sofa, staring at the back of the painting while she ate.
Finally, she couldn’t take the suspense any longer. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t alive. It was only wood and canvas. Whatever she and Mark had seen on the other side had to be a trick of the light.
She put her dishes in the sink and then stood in front of the frame, counting. When she reached “ten,” she turned it around, and then nearly fell over her coffee table backing up.
“Holy fuck!”
The woman was now clearly visible, as were two men, one on either side of her. They were dressed in clothing from the seventeenth or eighteenth century, and each man held something in his hand. The one on the left held a thick flogger and the one on the right held what Dakota swore was an ice cube. She could see it dripping
.
She shivered, but this time it wasn’t from the weather or trepidation. Every kinky fantasy she’d ever had came rushing at her, as if they were all trying to fill her brain at once. It was overwhelming, and made her pussy contract in tiny spasms. What the hell?
Dakota took a seat on the table and watched in disbelief as the men approached the woman. This isn’t happening. But it was happening. The men were moving.
The flogger struck the woman on the upper back and Dakota moaned softly. She swore she could feel the leather falls graze her own skin, and the sensation was erotic and uplifting, as if the very act of being struck with that thing produced its own endorphin rush. She had zero real-life experience with kinky sex, but that didn’t stop her from reading or daydreaming about it.
The man who held the ice ran it over the woman’s front, which Dakota couldn’t see, but again she felt it. A delicious cold sensation spread over her nipples and Dakota moaned. She touched herself over her sweater and bra, and swore she could feel the coolness through the fabric. How was this possible? She’d never read about anything like this, and the History Channel sure didn’t have a series on it.
Ash wood had magical properties. That much she knew, but this was something new. She’d never run across it before and she couldn’t look away from the painting. Dakota rose from the table, slowly. She wanted to touch it. She needed to see if she could feel the people in it as well as see them.
But when she took a couple of steps toward it, she glanced at the floor, confused. It was see-through, but below her bare feet wasn’t the condo below hers. There was…nothing. She was falling. Falling into a dark hole.
