by Shelly Bell
In awe of his talent, she turned to him. “Is this your art gallery? Oh my God. You did all this?”
“Self-indulgent, I know, but yes.” His eyes twinkled, and a light blush stained his cheeks. “All the artwork was created by me throughout the years.”
She toured the space, mesmerized by the subtle details he’d captured in each piece of art. His paintings and drawings were every bit as lifelike as his photographs, down to a small mole on the side of a woman’s lips and the curve of a hip. While the photos all included some form of kink or sex toy and were often limited to a single body part, his drawings and paintings focused solely on the person as a whole.
One wall contained only mirrors, cut into shapes such as stars and lightning bolts.Had he designed these as well? “I noticed the mirrors throughout the house. You use them here too. I’ve never considered a mirror as art before.”
He shrugged and strode to her. “I like mirrors.”
“I don’t.”
“Why not?
“Mirrors tell the truth. Without them, I can pretend to be someone else. I can forget what I look like.”
Creases in his forehead appeared. “Why the hell would you want to do that?”
“I don’t know if you remember, but I used to be a lot heavier than I am now. But even now, I’m not thin.” She scrutinized her reflection in the jagged mirror. “I’m not beautiful.”
He gripped her shoulders and twirled her toward him. “Who says?”
“No one has to say it to my face.” She motioned to the wall of mirrors. “It’s very clear every time I’m forced to see my reflection.”
With two of his fingers under her chin, he turned her head away from the mirrors to stare into his warm eyes. “Then you’re looking in the wrong ones. You’re beautiful. You’ve always been beautiful.” He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ears, his tender touch eliciting a shiver. “And I’ll prove it to you. Let my photos be your mirror. See yourself as I see you.”
Always been beautiful? Was that a line to make her feel better or did he mean it? And if he did, how would he know?
She didn’t doubt his talent, but the models in the photos must have had perfect bodies, something she’d never have even if she lost another forty pounds. Her thighs were too thick and her butt too round. Sure, she had big, firm breasts, but without her bra, gravity kicked in. He’d need to use some photo-editing software to make her appear beautiful.
His eyes narrowed. “I see those negative thoughts floating around in your mind. Trust me to erase them all for you. Can you do that, darling?”
She exhaled loudly, nodding her assent while her inner critic scoffed at his promise. “I’ll try.”
“Come with me.” He laced his fingers in hers and directed her toward the back of the room to an adjacent alcove. He’d transformed the small space into a studio with several cameras on tripods, gigantic lights, and a white backdrop that extended onto the floor.
“Take off your clothes and then lay down on the middle of the sheet.” He fiddled with the cameras, aiming them all toward the center, where he expected her to lie. Naked.
While Cole seemed indifferent to her presence, her own heart sprinted a marathon as she began to undress. Her hands shook so much, she had a difficult time unbuttoning her blouse, and it took several tries before she could get the first one through the hole.
She shook her head at herself. Dozens of naked women strut around Benediction every night. Hers was just one more naked body. Cole probably wouldn’t bat an eyelash, especially since he’d already seen her without her clothes. He was an artist. She was his model. And his slave. One who he had to train, and part of that training must entail building self-esteem. After all, what kind of slave would she make if she feared getting naked?
She peeled off her blouse and unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor, then she slid down her skirt. Her mouth went as dry as Scottsdale in the summer as she folded her clothes and left them in a neat pile. Blowing out a breath, she settled where he’d directed, lying flat on her back with her arms over her head so her breasts would appear perkier, a trick she’d learned from one of her women’s magazines.
She waited for what felt like forever, watching Cole in action as he concentrated on tipping the lights and shifting the cameras while he sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. Finally, he finished fiddling with the equipment and turned his attention to her.
He froze.
A muscle jumped in his cheek, and his jaw grew rigid.
Had she done something wrong?
Moments later, he snapped out of his odd stupor and kneeled beside her. His hands seemed to tremble as he set her head on her folded arms. “I’m going to take a few photos of you just like this.” He kept his gaze trained on her face like a total professional.
“Should I smile?”
He stood and stomped to the cameras. “Do whatever feels natural.”
Right. Natural. Because she always posed naked for an owner of a sex club.
One by one, he moved behind each camera, shooting a photo before adjusting the aim. “Have you ever seen the Mona Lisa?”
She blinked, thrown by the question. “Yes. I’ve been to the Louvre a few times. Why?”
“Ever wonder about her expression? Scholars have debated it for years. The Italian title of the painting is La Gioconda, which means—”
“Lighthearted.” She’d studied Da Vinci in college in her beginning art history class. His artwork wasn’t particularly her favorite, but like millions of other people, she was intrigued by the Mona Lisa. She’d even written her final paper on it.
“To many, it’s a portrait of a happy woman.” He snatched a camera off its stand and stalked closer to her, his gaze no longer contained to her face. “But is she truly content, or is she simply showing the world what they expect to see?”
Heat rushed through her body, hardening her nipples and moistening her pussy. “Perhaps the smile has nothing to do with the subject and everything to do with the artist.”
Only inches away from her now, he dropped to his knees and snapped a photo. “What do you mean?”
“A man like that was too incredibly talented to simply paint what everyone else would paint if they held the brush. True artists see differently. They use all their senses in their creation.” She squeezed her thighs together, his nearness sending her heart into overdrive, a quickening beat she felt not only in her chest but between her legs. “Maybe Da Vinci saw beneath the surface and painted what lay inside Mona Lisa,” she said.
“You may be right. Did you know Da Vinci was obsessed with mirrors? He believed if you stood in front of a six-way mirror, you could see all the different facets of a person.” He inched forward and planted his hands on her thighs, then spread her wide open. “I think it’s possible to achieve the same with a camera. Let’s find out all of yours.”
A small gasp popped out of her as he bent her knees and crawled between them, wearing a grin rivaling the Mona Lisa.
“All we’ll need is some hot wax.”
Chapter Eleven
DANIELLE TRIED TO keep calm despite having Cole between her naked thighs. “Hot wax? Does it hurt?”
He absentmindedly caressed her kneecaps. “I promise it’s not my intention to inflict any pain. They’re special candles specifically designed and marketed for wax play. As you’ve seen, my photographs are in black and white with a hint of color. To keep my hands free, I’ve set the cameras on timers. I’m going to drip different colors of hot wax on your body as the cameras shoot. If the wax hurts, tell me and I’ll stop.”
He left her spread open as he collected a few colored candles from a table in the corner of the alcove. All the reservations she’d carried about baring her body had disappeared. Although she was the one exposed and on display, a sense of strength and power filled her. She wasn’t embarrassed.
But she was embarrassingly wet.
She loved being on this side of the camera. Loved the way Cole’s eyes had darken
ed and his gaze locked on her damp pussy. And as he turned from the table and sauntered toward her, his arms loaded up with candles, her own gaze flew to the outline of his erection through his jeans.
She’d caused it.
He kneeled beside her and set the candles on the floor, eying her hungrily. “I had no intention of touching you today, other than what was necessary for the photographs. But the way you’re laid out for me with that glistening pussy and those pebbled nipples . . . I’m not that strong. Say yes, Danielle. Tell me I can touch you and taste you.”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation, not wanting him to change his mind.
Then his hands were on her, one caressing the curve of her collarbone while the other swept from her neck to her breastbone. “Softest skin.” He bent to her breast, taking his time to lick around the areola before pulling the tip into his mouth and sucking on it. Nibbling on it. Setting her body on fire. She couldn’t imagine the wax making her skin any hotter.
She watched his eyes close as he seemed to concentrate on her breast, his facial hair abrading her skin.
Her hands clenched with a need to spear her fingers into his hair and hold him to her chest. This felt like lovemaking. Not art. For a moment, she permitted herself the fantasy that Cole wanted her as more than his slave. That his mouth was on her breasts not because of the photographs or because he was her Master, but because he was falling in love with her.
Her imagination ran wild with the fantasy of him sliding his cock between her breasts and climaxing on her skin. She wanted him to brand her with his teeth. Claim her with his cock.
He growled against her chest. “You taste so fucking good.” He moved to her other breast and dragged his teeth from the lower swell of her breast over her nipple.
Since she first saw him when she was a seventeen-year-old virgin, she’d felt a connection to him. An invisible tether drawing her to him. When they shared the same air, her other senses were enhanced. Everything became clearer when she was with him, almost as though she’d been living her life looking through distorted glass.
But right now, she didn’t care. Nothing else mattered but the feel of him playfully tugging on her nipple.
With a muttered curse, he released her nipple and picked up a candle.
Her heart drummed a staccato beat, and her hips arched as her arousal built. She felt feverish, her skin tight. Her breasts ached, and her juices dripped down her thighs.
On display, she was naked, completely bared to him with her knees spread wide enough for him to witness her extreme arousal.
It was wanton and dirty. And she loved it.
With a match in hand, Cole lit a green candle and held it over her.
She held her breath, afraid to move.
The first drop of hot wax hit her stomach, right above her belly button. Her body bowed, the shock of it drawing a soft cry from her lips. The wax’s heat quickly dissipated but left her aware of her sensitive skin.
“Too hot, darlin’?” he asked. “If it is, say the word, and I’ll stop.”
She shook her head. “No. Don’t stop.”
He licked his lips as he tipped the candle over her breastbone, dripping the wax between her breasts and lower, down her belly. Her legs. Her arms. He blew out the candle and lifted another one over her, trailing the wax in what seemed like circular patterns.
The heat in his eyes created a hunger in her she’d never known. For his lips. His touch. His cock. His heart.
Every. Single. Piece.
She knew she was playing with fire in more ways than one. Cole DeMarco was a dangerous man. Her enemy. A man who had sentenced her father to death and left her alone in this world. No matter what he did to her body, no matter how much she wanted to surrender, she couldn’t forget what she was here to do. She had to get the bank account information and save Tasha. And maybe, just maybe, she’d find the evidence to prove her father had been innocent.
This was role play. A consensual game between two adults. He didn’t truly want her. She was simply a canvas for his art, no more than a prop for him to use in his photographs. For all she knew, he photographed all his trainees. Made them feel special. Made them feel beautiful. Made them want to submit to his commands.
Cole’s expression turned feral, his eyes darkening, narrowing, and his lips flattening into a straight line. “Let’s turn those red nipples a deeper shade, shall we?” Wax dripped on the sensitive skin, lighting up the nerves and sending shockwaves deep within her pussy.
She threw her head back and moaned, the fine line between role play and reality blurring.
He dropped to his knees, his face hovering only inches over hers. His thumb swiped across her bottom lip and plunged past, brushing her tongue before sliding back out again. “Your lips . . . I wonder what they’d look like after sucking on my cock. They’re already so plump. So fuckable. I can’t resist them anymore.”
And then his mouth was on hers in a bruising crash of passion and aggression that made her heart sing and her body soar. He tasted sweet, like red licorice and cola. His tongue teased hers, touching and retreating, teasing and promising.
All too soon, he pulled away. She breathed heavy, her mind and body at war with one another, and her body winning. Why did he kiss her?
He picked up the candle again and held it directly over her pussy, so close she could feel the heat of the flame. He stared at her between her legs and licked his lips.
The hot wax hit her labia. Her pulse raced. Then those lips that had been on hers curled into a feral smile.
Heat enveloped her clit as the wax made contact. She shuddered. A throbbing began in her clit, and the muscles in her abdomen tightened, her arousal spiking to an all-time high. She needed more. Needed him.
“Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want,” he said, his voice raspy.
She gazed into his eyes. “Please make me come, Master Cole.”
His nostrils flared, and his pupils dilated, making his rich cocoa eyes turn ever darker. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and his lips pressed into a straight line.
He scooted down her body and settled himself between her legs, but he didn’t undress. Using his thumbs, he spread the lips of her pussy apart and examined her as if it held the key to ending world hunger. The cameras continued to flash and snap, recording every moment. It was dirty. Wanton. Sinful.
He blew a stream of air over her clitoris, and the small breeze caused her pussy to throb. His thumb brushed over the bundle of nerves as lightly as the previous air. Apparently, he wasn’t done torturing her.
Torture had never felt so good.
He dipped his fingers lower, gathering her wetness, and slid those fingers back up to her clitoris, squeezing it between his forefinger and thumb. A throaty moan passed through her lips.
She wanted to grind herself against his fingers, but even without him stating it, she instinctively knew he wouldn’t allow it. She’d begged him to make her come, and unless he requested her to do something, she was to lie here and permit him complete access to her body. He’d take care of her on his own time table, and there was nothing she could do to change his mind.
Her firsthand knowledge of sex was limited to experimentation with one man, Davis, her TA in art history 101. Lost after her father’s arrest, she was desperate for companionship. And Davis had been desperate to pretend he wasn’t gay. The sex had been painful and awkward. Their brief affair ended when he’d entered into a committed relationship with his male roommate.
He sunk a finger inside of her. “You’re drenched. Is this all for me, Danielle?” He added another, stretching her.
“Yes,” she admitted honestly. “I’ve been wet since the moment I stepped into your office yesterday.”
“I promise I’m going to take care of you, baby, and as I told you, I never break a promise. But right now, I want to play with you a little bit more. See how hard I can make you come. You’ve got to hold back until I say you can let go, yeah? Because I don’t want you simply to come. I want
to watch you shatter.”
Hold back? Was he kidding? How the hell could she stop herself from coming? It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him it was impossible, but instead, she answered, “Yes, Master.”
A growl erupted from his throat, and then he was on her. He peeled some wax from her clitoris before sucking it between his lips. His fingers slid high inside of her and rubbed. It was as if someone had plugged her into an electrical outlet. Her thighs shook, and her heart hammered so loudly and so quickly, she felt as though she’d pass out. Heat built in her pussy. Growing hotter and hotter until it boiled. Every muscle in her body clenched with the need for release.
His tongue worked its magic on her clit. Flicking it over and over in time with his fingers, which continued to massage the sensitive spot inside of her. With soft reverence like a prayer, his name spilled from her lips, her subtle way of begging him to push her over the edge.
He buried his face into her pussy, groaning as he ate at her.
She couldn’t hold on much longer. The dual sensations caused by his fingers and tongue, not to mention the sounds of his licks and his moans, were pushing her closer and closer to climax. It didn’t seem possible she’d held out this long. That she hadn’t already come and come hard. She should’ve known he’d get his way. He wouldn’t be satisfied until she shattered.
He hooked his pinky around the bottom of her pussy and dipped it between her bottom cheeks, exploring the sensitive skin. She jerked, the touch short-circuiting her brain and making her crazed for more. Even though she didn’t use the words, he answered her anyway. It penetrated her, creating a slight burning and awakening a whole lot of nerves she’d never known existed.
It was too much. She couldn’t take anymore.
He lifted his face. “Come, Danielle.” When he licked her clit hard with the flat of his tongue, she had no choice but to comply. She felt the orgasm from the tip of her toes to the top of her head and everywhere in between. Her entire body pulsed and quaked. Her toes curled, her hands clenched, and her eyes rolled in the back of her head. It was that good.
