Excerpt One from: PHOTO PLAY
Copyright © PAM McKENNA, 2009
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Purchase e-book
"Darla. Listen." Kon pressed a palm to his chest. "Do you trust me?"
The look she gave him said, You have got to be kidding.
"I mean as an artist," he said. "You came to me because I'm the best. You've seen my work."
"How refreshing." Her tone was arid. "A man with a healthy ego. The changing room?"
"There is no changing room." Kon spread his arms. "What you see is what you get."
She huffed out a breath. "Turn around, then. I'll change...over there." She nodded toward the far corner of the room where assorted pieces of cloth--drapes, scarves, and the like--spilled from a cut-off refrigerator carton. "Better yet, you can hold up one of those drapes--high--to give me some privacy."
"When I'm going to see you naked anyway? Come on, you can't be that repressed."
"Stop saying that. I am not repressed." Darla's pants slipped from her fingers and puddled at her feet. She struggled to keep her breasts covered as she bent to pull them up.
"If you say so," Kon muttered. Obviously Darla Carmody had no inkling of her physical appeal. She was shy. Self-effacing. Vulnerable. Kon knew the type well. He should. He'd married three of them.
Which was why he had no intention of letting this one get close. It was just as well she was engaged.
"And I'm not going to get totally naked for you," she said.
"It isn't for me," he reminded her. "It's for your fiancé. Are you telling me he hasn't seen you naked?"
"You know what I mean. Will you--will you just--" Darla emitted a growl of frustration as she tried to refasten her pants while holding up her bra. "Will you at least fasten this thing so I can pull myself together here?"
Kon stepped behind her and took hold of the ends of her bra. The instant she released it, he flicked the ugly thing off her and slingshotted it over her head. Darla grabbed her breasts. The pants fell. Kon seized her around the waist and lifted her as he kicked her pants and sandals halfway across the room.
"How dare you!" she howled, fighting like a tigress against his hold, her back pressed to his front. They stumbled around like that, tripping on electrical cords and nearly knocking over Grandma Drummond's Victorian piano bench.
Darla wore only that wispy, nearly invisible thong, and the muscles of her ass pummeled his cock as she squirmed and thrashed. Not too shabby as cheap thrills went. Her skin was hot satin. She smelled of vanilla and lavender and woman.
"We don't have time for garter belts and shit like that." Kon's words came in harsh grunts. Her hair whipped his face and caught in his mouth. "Settle down." If he had an extra few hours to kill, he'd let her do the sexy-lingerie routine, let her gradually get comfortable with the process, and with him, while gently coaxing her toward the full Monty. But time, as they said, was money, and as usual, "they" were right.
"If you've seen my work," he huffed, "then you know I don't do cheesy lingerie shots."
"I'm the goddamn. Paying. Customer." She punctuated her words with blind backward kicks to his shins. "I get to decide."
Kon hauled her off her feet, inadvertently grabbing a breast as he did so. It was a fine, firm breast and made a more-than-decent handle as he wrestled her crosswise onto the bench, pinning her body with his and shackling her wrists behind her back one-handed.
They remained that way for long seconds, panting from their exertions, her butt angled high and still pressed to what was now a blue-ribbon hard-on. Kon felt his heart pounding--felt her heart pounding, too, against his other hand. He eased his grip on her breast, letting it fill his hand like a ripe, heavy fruit. He weighed the silky flesh, gently stroked and molded it. The nipple pulled into a tight bud, teasing his palm.
Kon sucked in a breath. Darla was still breathing hard, but said nothing. Still holding her wrists, he leaned down and kissed her neck. She trembled. He gave in to the impulse to lightly bite the place he'd kissed.
A ragged whimper issued from her throat. "What are you doing?"
"You're delicious." He drew the scent of her deep into his lungs, the perfume of desire she was helpless to suppress. "I can't resist."
And he couldn't. Kon was going to fuck this woman. He was going to take her right there, right then, on Grandma's piano bench under the blazing lights. His cock was practically bursting out of his pants. Darla Carmody was one of the hottest women he'd ever met, a woman of stunning natural sensuality, and the best part was, she had no clue about this part of her nature.
Which, of course, only made her hotter--to him, at least.
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Excerpt Two from: PHOTO PLAYCopyright © PAM McKENNA, 2009All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.Purchase e-book
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.
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