EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ®
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2020 Elyzabeth M. VaLey
ISBN: 978-0-3695-0213-1
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Audrey Bobak
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
To Claudia. Thank you for your friendship (10+ years and counting) and your support. *Gothic-abuelas y Mari-Amphis. Let the weirdness just happen*
KNEEL
Lust, Love, and Darkness, 3
Elyzabeth M. VaLey
Copyright © 2020
Chapter One
It was debauchery.
EBM music blasted through carefully disguised, state of-the-art speakers, drowning out all but the cheers of the crowd gyrating wildly to the DJ’s set. Scantily dressed women danced on pedestals while men swayed from side to side, heads raised and eyes glued to the perfect bodies on display. Green and red lights swept over the guests at Staerling’s mansion, exposing slack jaws and half-lidded eyes. With lust, drugs, or simple exhaustion, Thomas didn’t know. A new beat filled the hot and heavy air. As one the throng cheered, moving like a wave about to crash against the shore, Thomas took a step back and returned to the hallway. He ran his fingers through his hair, his face damp with perspiration just from stepping into the dance room for a few seconds. He pulled out his phone and checked Staerling’s message.
We’re in the Greenhouse.
Thomas took a left through another passage. Quietness settled around him, his footsteps sinking into the plush Persian rug. On the wall, Staerling’s face stared down at him. It was a collection of self-portraits of the middle-aged man in different poses, each of them lighted with a spotlight, forcing the visitor’s gaze to the pieces.
“Finally,” Thomas muttered.
He hurried into the next room and stopped in his tracks. Staerling called it the greenhouse because of its large windows which allowed sunlight to stream inside throughout the day and keep the area warm. Technically, however, it was a luxurious indoor swimming pool area.
Now, it was a tropical paradise. Staerling had filled the place with palm trees, leafy green plants, hammocks, and sun beds. The ceiling had been painted to look like the sky which reflected on the circular pool in which a few people splashed around. Waiters in short-sleeved shirts and tight black shorts went around serving alcohol and canapés. The guests wore everything from flashy Hawaiian shirts to tiny bikinis. At the back of the room, he noticed a stage was set up. Another DJ played chill-out music.
“Champagne?” a server asked.
“Thanks.”
Thomas grabbed the drink and scanned the crowd. Staerling had said they were here. The question was where? Thomas slipped to one side of the room and pulled out his phone.
I’m here. Where are you? he texted.
He sipped at the bubbly concoction, hoping to ease his nerves. He hated these over-the-top parties. Ever since he’d met Staerling, the playboy, aka self-made movie director, aka, owner of Lance magazine, he’d been invited to his summer-in-winter party. Thomas never came. He hated the crowds, the mobs, the dull small talk, and having to deal with men and women who were either drunk or high as kites.
So why was he here? He sighed. Kendra Williams. The lengths he would go through to meet her still astounded him. He’d given up on it several times, but every time a new opportunity arose, he was there. This was no different. Staerling had sworn she’d be here, so Thomas had thrown on his clothes and come down. He’d considered bringing his camera, but then he’d remembered Staerling had a strict policy on photographs during his parties. Staerling hired professional photographers to take care of any lasting digital memories. Everyone else had to sign a waiver upon entering and if caught taking an unauthorized pic, they were kicked out and sued.
His phone chimed.
Go to the stage.
Thomas groaned. He had to cross the room, which meant he’d probably see people he knew and be forced to engage. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Kendra’s fiery red hair and bright green gaze popped behind his lids.
“For her.”
He began to slither his way across the crowded space. Head down, shuffling and whispering his apologies every time he accidentally pushed someone.
Kendra.
She couldn’t say no this time. He had a reputation. He was as much a part of the industry as she was. It wasn’t like the first time he’d tried contacting her. How long ago had it been? Ten? Fifteen years? Back then, her manager, Antonio, had replied with a strict no. He couldn’t believe he still remembered the guy’s name. Then again, it was impossible to forget. Antonio had come up in the news, years later, a prominent drug lord, keeping women as slaves, living off the misery of so many others. Kendra’s name had also briefly appeared, her old relationship with him a selling point for many tabloids.
Thomas reached out to her shortly after. He’d never gotten a reply.
As he thought back to those years, he shouldn’t have been surprised. She was in another league. A woman with an established career in fetish modeling. If he had been her, he would’ve ignored his messages too.
But hope was the fool’s gold, wasn’t it? He’d focused on his career, working hard to become a coveted photographer, one with whom she’d come begging to work. Men and women, magazines and videographers pleaded to work with him, but not a word from Kendra Williams. Several times he wrote to her, only to delete the message before sending it. He wanted her to pursue him, to implore him for his time and talent. She never did.
Another man would’ve dropped the subject and moved on. He could have any model he wanted. He was important enough to be able to call the shots. Unfortunately, he could never let go. He pined over Kendra like a horny teenager, collecting her pictures, watching her videos, admiring her from afar and too fearful of her rejection and what the real woman would be like to go after her.
Yet, here he was. Fumbling with his phone and approaching the stage at a turtle’s pace, all for the chance to see and speak to Kendra for an instant. A Russian model he’d worked with a few times greeted him. He waved back but didn’t stop. His phone chimed. He glanced at the text.
I hope you’re ready.
Chapter Two
The lights dimmed and dramatic music started to play, filling the space and hushing everyone. A flurry of white flakes began to fall.
“It’s snowing!” someone yelled.
People cheered.
“Oh my God, up there,” a woman nearby said with a gasp. Thomas followed her line of vision.
“Holy shit,” he whispered.
Kendra Williams stood on stage, strapped to a Saint Andrew’s cross, back to the audience, dressed in white lingerie with killer boots and enormous wings. Ricardo “Dirk” Gonzalez climbed on stage. Shirtless, with tight leather pants which left little to the imagination, and wielding a nasty-looking whip, he approached Kendra. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the long rope snapping, making everyone present draw in their breaths. Kendra shrieked. Dirk ripped the wings from her body and raised them victoriously. Thomas kept his gaze on Kendra. Crew members had spun the Saint Andrew’s cross, so she was no longer visible. The music changed, becoming a deep, haunting melody. Kendra reappeared, wearing a bold red lingerie set with matching boots and a set of horns. Dirk faced her again and froze. The music began to pick up i
ts tempo. Kendra took a step in her partner’s direction. He dropped the whip. Kendra picked it up and snapped it, making everyone in the room cringe. Dirk dropped to his knees. She approached him and carefully placed a booted foot on his back. The lights lowered and a voice, which Thomas recognized as Staerling’s, rang throughout.
“No one can beat the wrath of the winter angel. Or is it the winter devil?”
Darkness and silence enveloped them before the lights returned and the music took on an epic turn. The guests burst into applause. Kendra grasped Dirk’s hand and helped him up. They both bowed while the voice on the speakers broadcasted their names.
Thomas’s phone vibrated.
Stage right.
He made a beeline for it. A guy the size of a wardrobe for giants stopped him.
“Name?” he asked gruffly.
“Thomas Helton.”
The bouncer nodded. “They’re expecting you. Go on.”
The beefy man waved him past a screen and into a flurry of activity. Behind the stage, Staerling had set up a dressing room and makeup and prop station. Thomas stared as Dirk chatted with a model, a woman with rainbow hair stowed away makeup, and someone else hung clothes.
“Incredible, isn’t it?”
Thomas spun around. Staerling stood next to him, grinning from ear to ear, stretching the wrinkles Botox couldn’t hide.
“It is. I had no idea this was what your parties were like.”
“You would’ve known if you’d come before.”
“Yeah, but—”
“I know. I know.” Staerling slapped him on the back, making Thomas wince. “You don’t like crowds and you’re here for her.” He nodded in the direction of another screen where a woman’s silhouette was visible.
“Is she there?” Thomas whispered, blood rushing from his brain to his cock as his mind filled in the blanks of what he couldn’t see.
“Yep. Give her a minute.” Staerling chuckled. “Do you need some liquid courage? I feel like you might faint when you see her.”
Thomas took in a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m okay,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
“All right, but if you need a change of boxers, let me know.”
“Haha.”
“Kendra,” Staerling called.
Thomas squared his shoulders. This was it. The moment he’d been fantasizing about for years.
Kendra appeared from behind the screen, dressed in a flattering flower-printed summer dress that flared from her waist. Thomas swallowed. She walked toward them, hips swaying and a friendly smile curling her lips. His heart skipped a beat. She was everything he’d ever envisioned and more. Kendra was beauty personified. Seductive. Ethereal.
“Kendra, this is my friend, Thomas Helton. I don’t know if you’ve heard of him. He’s—”
“Thomas Helton, photographer-slash-reporter.”
“And your number-one fan,” Staerling added.
Thomas gaped. “You know who I am,” he managed to say after a moment. “I didn’t think you would.”
Kendra’s smile grew and her green eyes took on a playful light. She touched her hair coquettishly. Thomas’s heartbeat kicked up a notch.
“Of course. You emailed me, gosh, years ago, about doing a shoot. Unfortunately, our schedules never worked out.”
Thomas frowned. A scheduling problem? No, he’d remember if that had been the case.
“I never heard from you.”
“Oh.” Her lips formed a perfect O, and she laughed, the sound practiced and forced. Thomas sucked in his cheeks. He’d expected many things from Kendra, but he’d never contemplated her being a liar or a phony.
“You didn’t? I could have sworn I replied. If I didn’t, I apologize. In any case, I don’t think your style matches mine.” She lowered her lashes and averted her gaze.
Thomas cocked his head. There was something off about the redhead, a degree of uncertainty that permeated her gestures even if her words were spoken with feigned confidence. It called to him to dig deeper and find out more. Why did Kendra Williams put on a façade? This wasn’t a shoot. It was a conversation with a fellow human being.
“How come?” Thomas asked.
“I saw your portfolio.” Kendra shook her head, a cascade of red hair hiding her eyes from him. “Women kneeling, begging, looking up adoringly at their Dom.”
“And that’s not you? You’re a fetish model.”
Her head snapped up, steel resolve in her emerald depths and the thin line of her lips. “I don’t kneel. I don’t look adoringly at men. I tease. I flirt. I am unattainable. I’m the woman they all want to see on her knees but never will.”
She tilted her chin in defiance. Her words were full of determination and strength, but for some reason, they sounded rehearsed, as if they were part of a script she’d acted out hundreds of times. Gone was the natural flow he’d seen in her Instagram stories or her YouTube videos in which she spoke about makeup and safe sex. Thomas held her gaze. There was something there, a sensation which made the back of his neck prickle with the kind of awareness he only experienced when he was near a submissive. The redhead blinked, her gaze dropping for a fraction of a second before making its way back up. Thomas’s breath caught. It’d been barely a glimpse, but enough for him to see the vulnerability. His mind reeled.
“Kendra doesn’t kneel to any man,” Staerling piped in, reminding him of his presence and breaking the tension.
Kendra veered to the tycoon. “That’s right. I don’t kneel to anyone.”
“Perhaps you haven’t found the right person to kneel to,” Thomas blurted.
Kendra’s nervous titter made the hairs on his arms stand. It was the kind of laughter he’d only heard in women with secrets. Questions crowded his mind. On the outside, Kendra had everything. Beauty, fame, a successful career. On the inside, she was a creature in hiding, putting on a show to keep everyone away. Thomas’s hands itched. He had to find out more. To peel back the layers of protection this woman he’d idolized for years had built around her persona and discover what lay beneath. Who was Kendra Williams and what was she hiding?
“Are you suggesting you could make me kneel?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips.
Thomas grinned.
“I’m not suggesting anything. I’m certain I could.”
Chapter Three
Kendra stared at Thomas.
Thomas Helton. She was perfectly aware of who he was and what he did. She admired him and his work. Every photograph he took managed to capture not only the eroticism of BDSM but also the connection, the emotional depth. It was something she knew she’d never have, and she’d never be able to be a part of, which was why she hadn’t responded to his message. She would have loved to work with him, to be one of those models with their Doms, but she couldn’t be.
What she’d never imagined was how much the man behind the lens would captivate her. She’d seen a few pictures of Thomas before, but they didn’t do him justice. He was handsome, with striking blue eyes and dirty blond hair he wore on the longish side. He wasn’t buff, but he was fit, and he was a good two inches taller, which was nice, since at her five-foot-eight, it was a rare treat. However, none of it was what had goosebumps sprouting on her arms. It was, instead, an aura of quiet command which seemed to permeate him. It intrigued her, and the truth was she hadn’t been intrigued by a man in a very long time.
Not since Antonio.
Kendra swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.
“You’re cocky,” she said.
“I’m confident,” he countered. “Are you afraid?”
An inkling of irritation mingled with desire. Fear. It was an old friend, one which she’d overcome battle after battle to get where she wanted to be. Thomas wasn’t the first man she’d met who asserted he could make her kneel. Her heart kicked up a notch. The thing was she could envision him doing it, too.
“Afraid of kneeling? Not at all.”
“No. Afraid of delving deeper
, of peeling back the layers of the shield which covers your body and exposing yourself like a flower in the desert to the scorching sun.”
“A reporter and a poet.”
“When it’s required of me.” Thomas shrugged. His blue eyes darkened. “You haven’t answered my question.” His tone deepened, silently demanding she reply.
Kendra sucked in her bottom lip. She could walk away from this conversation, join the party, and forget Thomas Helton forever.
“I’m not a submissive,” she said.
Thomas’s lips quirked.
Shit. She’d just given herself away, hadn’t she? She scrambled to explain herself, to return to her role as an unattainable model. She wasn’t a dominant either and he knew. She simply was, as one photographer had put it, a goddess no one could touch or reach. She commanded, intrigued, and made desire run high with one look. It was her role in life, had been for years. Anything other than that put her at risk of losing herself.
“You knew exactly what I meant. I take it you’ve tried it before,” Thomas said.
“I have,” she admitted. “But as I said, adoring a man above all else isn’t really my thing.”
“Being submissive isn’t about adoring a man. It’s about trust, about giving yourself to someone completely, showing your vulnerabilities without fear, aware your partner is going to be there for you, looking after you,” Thomas said.
“So they can control you,” she pointed out.
“So they can bring out the best in you just as you bring it out in them. It’s a power exchange.”
Antonio would have said the same. Except, things with him had never been what they were supposed to be. Kendra crossed her arms across her chest, hoping the maneuver would distract Thomas into giving her cleavage an eyeful. It didn’t work. He kept his gaze on her face as if he were trying to read into her. Nerves skittered down her esophagus and into her stomach, sending a swarm of butterflies flying. She blinked.
Kneel Page 1
