Photo Play (3 page)

“No whoa!” He wagged his free hand side to side. “No whoa! This’ll be good, Darla. It’ll be fun. You’ll see.”

“Kon, I’m a—” She hugged her knees to her chest, effectively covering herself. “I’m an engaged woman. Practically married.”

Kon followed her gaze to his engorged dick, still twitching to get inside her. He muttered a string of the most blistering cuss words he could think of, then started over at the beginning of the list as he stuffed himself back into his pants.

Dominance play could be a kick, but it required a minimum of two willing partners. That “willing” thing was a crucial part of the equation.

Kon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. And another. He heard Darla scramble to her feet, imagined her squinting past the pool of light, searching for her far-flung clothing. If he were a gentleman, he’d let her throw on her clothes and slink on out of there.

He opened his eyes. “We’re not finished, Darla.”

“Oh, we’re finished, all right.”

“Maybe
that’s
finished.” He caught her arm as she tried to scoot past him. “But I still owe you a photo session.”

“Yeah, right.” She tugged. “Let me go.”

“I took your money, you’ll get your pictures.”

Darla gave an impatient sigh. To her credit, she made no attempt to cover herself. Well, what would be the point now?

“Here’s what I’m going to do for you.” Kon got in her face, made her look at him. “You’ll get the whole package, just like we discussed on the phone. The studio session, the prints, all of it, and you’re not out another penny.”

Now he had her attention. Everyone loved a bargain. “You mean... but I only paid you, what, about a tenth of the total cost,” she said.

Kon opened his palms. “I’m going to accept your deposit as payment in full. An unprecedented offer.” He forced sincerity into his voice. “Call it an apology.”

He hoped she’d buy it—the rapacious scoundrel suffering pangs of remorse over his assault on the modest lady’s virtue. Forget that this particular modest lady had responded like a sex-starved concubine. The aroma of her need still teased his nostrils. If he even hinted at that, she’d be out the door in a blur of motion.

Kon wasn’t about to admit defeat. When Darla Carmody walked out of there later—if she could still walk—she’d have been fucked more ways than she probably knew existed. He didn’t owe a thing to Mr. Right, and neither did she if the clueless clod left her this frustrated and insecure.

He saw the war being waged behind those glittering dark brown eyes. His tone oozed contrition. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance, but I also know I can do some amazing work with you in front of the lens.” He tilted his head, offering his best puppy-dog smile. “Let me make it up to you, Darla.”

Darla had yet to decide whether she’d lost her mind.
Click.
She tilted her head.
Click.
She shifted to the side, leaning on one arm.
Click. Click. Click.
With every snap of the shutter she changed her position slightly, as Kon had instructed. She’d slipped off the ruined thong and now sat mother-naked on the piano bench, her back to the camera, while a stranger photographed her.

For Brian. She mustn’t forget. This was all for Brian. Or rather, for their relationship.

Oh, who was she kidding? It was for sex. A shot in the arm for a love life that had always been, well, limp at best, starting with those first awkward gropings on her living-room sofa. But it
was
for their relationship, really. Wasn’t sex an important part of any marriage? Brian was going to be her husband. She had an obligation to improve their sex life. She had a duty to make herself as alluring a bed partner as possible.

Obligation. Duty. Where were those high-minded ideals a little while ago when she’d responded to Konrad Drummond like a two-bit whore? Just thinking about those few superheated minutes made Darla’s pulse skitter.

Don’t think about it
, she commanded herself. Don’t think about the feel of his hand on her breast, of his fingers driving between her legs. Don’t think about that gorgeous, enormous cock that came this close to filling her deeper and wider than she’d ever been filled. It had been a mistake, on both their parts. Kon had apologized, and there was no reason for either of them to mention it again. So she wouldn’t think about it.

Except maybe on those nights after Brian had performed his almost-husbandly chore and scurried back to his own apartment by 8:45 so he’d be rested for the morning commute. On those nights when she burned for release, maybe she’d allow herself to think about the dangerously sexy photographer with the long, rough fingers and the long, hard cock and the ice-blue eyes that seemed to penetrate to her very core.

Click.
“What are you thinking about?” Kon raised his head from the camera. “You look... distracted.”

How Darla hated that knowing smile of his. “I’m just wondering how long you’re going to keep me sitting here.”

“No problem. I’m ready for a change.” He crossed to the carton labeled “Assorted Props” and returned holding lengths of wide pink satin ribbon.

She stiffened. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Make you irresistible to Mr. Right. Lie back.” Kon pushed on her shoulders, positioning her head near one end of the bench. She raised a knee and angled it inward. He smiled at the overdue display of modesty but blessedly made no comment. He drew her right arm over her head and began tying it to one leg of the bench.

“Wait a minute.” Darla tried to sit up. He pushed her back down. “Kon, wait.”

“I can’t have you questioning every pose,” he said, “every artistic decision.”

She tugged against the knot. It held fast. “This is artistic?”

“I require silence while I work. And complete compliance with my directions.” Kon captured her left arm and secured it in the same way, finishing the knots with big, floppy bows. “I can’t concentrate with a model who keeps jabbering. Questioning. Whining.”

“I’m not whining, I just don’t see why you have to tie my—”

“A gag can add quite the artistic touch, as well.”

Darla’s jaw snapped shut. She watched him move away, listened to his retreating footfalls as he headed into an unseen corner of the studio. She could see little past the circle of lights trained on her. It was as if she were onstage, under a spotlight.

Her wrists jerked against their bonds, an unconscious reflex. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to calm herself with an assertive little pep talk.
You’re the boss
, she told herself.
You hired this man to do a job for you. You are in control here.

Yeah, right. Only one person was in control here. She didn’t see him, but she heard him in the far corner of the room, heard something heavy scrape against the plank flooring.

Darla’s heartbeat faltered. Her bare breasts rose and fell faster as Kon’s footfalls approached. She opened her mouth to ask about his plans—and closed it again. No speaking. He’d made that clear. All she could do was lie there and wait for... whatever he decided to do to her.

That thought buzzed between her legs, and she pressed her thighs more tightly together, the raised knee tilting even farther inward.

“Why are you squirming?” Kon asked. “Uncomfortable?”

“And if I said yes?” she said. “Would you let me up?”

His smile was a feral flash of teeth. She had her answer. At least her curiosity was assuaged—a tall wooden stepladder. That was what he’d gone after. He set it up a short distance away and climbed it with camera in hand.

Darla had thought she’d felt vulnerable before, but that was nothing compared to now, with Kon staring down from his lofty perch. He clicked off a few shots, then held the camera aside to study her. He took his time, his cool gaze traveling from her hair, fanned out on the bench, to the tips of her toes and back again. Something about what he saw bothered him. He descended the ladder and stood over her, scowling.

“Am I—” The words caught in her throat. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“Shh...” Kon’s fingers touched her mouth. They trailed down her throat to her right nipple, which he caught between thumb and forefinger.

Darla gasped. If she weren’t tied down, she’d have leapt off the bench.

“The point of all this is to get Mr. Right worked up.” He tugged on the sensitive nub, rolled it, pulled it and let it snap free of his grasp. The breast settled with a jiggle and he moved on to the other side. Her face and chest burned with the telltale flush of desire. “You want him hard for you?” Kon said. “Let him see how hard
you
get for
him
.”

Patiently he pinched and caressed her nipples until they stood in tight peaks. Then he stroked a hand down her torso, dangerously close to her weeping pussy. Darla twisted her hips, nearly tipping the piano bench. With the speed of a striking cobra, he swung his leg over the bench and sat facing her, holding her wide-spread thighs atop his.

“What—what are you doing?” The harder she wriggled, the harder he gripped her, those long fingers pressing into her soft flesh, his thumbs a scant inch from her smooth mons. His thighs felt hard as stone under hers.

With every tug of her wrists against the satin bonds, Darla’s panic spiked. It was panic based not on fear—Kon had already demonstrated he was no rapist—but on her own spiraling arousal. He’d rendered her immobile, helpless. He could do anything he wanted to her, and she already knew what that was.

Tell me you want it
, he’d said.
Tell me to fuck you.

She had wanted it then, God help her, and somehow, she wanted it even more now that she was bound naked and spread open, a spectacle of sexual need under the unforgiving lights. She was wetter than she’d ever been down there, and he saw it, he saw everything. She could control none of it, not the trickle of moisture, not the shameful pumping of her hips, certainly not the hungry clenching of her pussy lips, a reflexive grasping at nothing.

Darla looked down at herself, past the tight buds of her nipples to her belly and legs, so pale against his suntanned hands. She dropped her head back, squeezing her eyes shut.
Do it
, she thought.
Just do it.
Never in her life had she felt this yawning, thumping emptiness. If he didn’t fuck her right here, right now, she thought she might go mad.

“Does Mr. Right ever tie you up?” Kon’s hands slid around her hips, slowly made their way over her waist.

Darla blinked. She could barely make her mind function. Kon’s hands were warm and a little rough, like a cat’s tongue. “I...what...?” Why would Brian tie her up?

But she knew what Kon meant. She knew about bondage play—in theory, at least. She’d never understood the appeal, never thought that kinky stuff had anything to do with her.

“No surprise there,” he remarked dryly, as his hands stroked up her rib cage. “Does the guy exercise any imagination or is it all slam-bam?”

“Kon, I...”
I want you to untie me.
The words perched on the tip of her tongue, just waiting for her to set them free. She knew he’d respect her wishes, would release her and end this torment. Just as she knew he’d drop his pants and drive that big cock into her in the next instant if she asked him to. The choice was hers.

She’d tell him to untie her. In a minute. Just one more mind-blowing, pussy-tingling minute of this delicious sexual captivity. She’d had no idea relinquishing control could be so intoxicating.

Darla groaned as Kon’s fingers found her breasts. He ignored the sensitized tips, caressing her with the lightest of touches until she was a mass of squirming, panting need. Her eyes drifted shut again, so she wasn’t prepared for the feel of his tongue on her nipple. Little cries of pleasure escaped her as he sucked the bud into his hot mouth and nipped it with his teeth. His bent position allowed her to grind against him, and she did so automatically, without forethought.

A low growl of appreciation bubbled up Kon’s throat as he turned his attention to the other nipple, suckling greedily while his fingers teased its damp twin.

Darla’s head moved restlessly. She was breathless with desire, desperate for release. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to say the words.
Fuck me, Kon. Fuck me now, I need you.

He seemed to know, though. He raised his head, and her breath caught at the intensity of his crystal-blue gaze. She saw something there, a dare or a challenge, as he slid off the end of the bench, tugging her hips toward him and lowering his face.

His grip on her ass was like iron, but his lips were impossibly soft as he kissed her right there, on her burning clitoris. The strangled cry she heard couldn’t have come from her—could it? She’d never made a sound like that in her life. She panted his name over and over as he rained kisses between her legs, little sucking pecks that had her jerking her hips to meet them.

Darla fought it. She fisted her hands and tried to make her brain work. There was something she was supposed to do—she was supposed to tell him to stop. Right about now. Then his tongue glided up her slit and it was all she could do to hold on to the top of her head. He traced a path around the stiff bud, holding her still as she struggled for more direct contact. She needed to come. She’d never needed to come this badly, as if her very life depended on it.