EroticTakeover

Tina
Donahue

He’ll unleash her indecent desires…in the most provocative
way possible.

Working for a celebrated photographer of lush nude portraits,
many with BDSM themes, isn’t easy for Jodi. She’s full-figured, wholesome and
longing for Mac, her bad boy boss. His shaggy hair, wicked tat and total
hotness make her dream of ditching her work as his assistant to get down on her
knees as his eager sub. If he’d only notice her.

Who says he hasn’t? As laid-back as they come, Mac can’t get
over how uptight Jodi is around him…as if he might bite her. Not what he has in
mind. Her guileless nature and voluptuous figure do dangerous things to his
self-control.

Luckily for Mac, a client’s request has Jodi finally
yielding to her sensual nature, and Mac’s fully prepared to dominate her,
demand her submission and deliver punishment. In other words, he’s planning an
erotic takeover.

Reader Advisory: This story has graphic sexual language and
scenes—no closed bedroom doors (or other rooms) here!

A
Romantica®
BDSM erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave

Dedication

To Denyse Bridger, a great writing friend. And to Roxie—you
make my Facebook parties so much fun.

Author Note

We’ve all heard the old saying ‘Beauty is in the eye of the
beholder’. When I decided to write
Erotic Takeover,
I knew I wanted it
to take place in looks-obsessed Hollywood. In the story, Mac tells Jodi that
image is everything even if reality is far better. So true. We often miss the
best part of a person because we’re so focused on looks. Jodi feels she’s too
wholesome and full-figured to snag a bad boy like Mac. What she doesn’t
recognize is the sensuous woman buried deep within her. With a little help from
Mac’s Alpha ways, she soon learns just how sexy and wild she can be.

Rough music thundered through the studio where Mac Callaghan
photographed lush nudes. The bass alone conjured images of uncivilized sex, a
man’s muscled body glistening with sweat, a woman’s pliant mouth opened on a
soft, surrendering moan.

Mac strode across the spacious area, his feet bare,
movements fluid, similar to a wild animal on the prowl. In his left hand, he
held shackles. In his right, a leather strap, thick and brutal. At thirty-two,
he was Hollywood’s premier photographer of women in varying stages of
undress—gorgeous black-and-white portraits, many with BDSM themes of females
delighting in being taken, ravished, enjoyed.

Jodi Bishop’s upper lip stuck to her teeth, her mouth was
that dry. Tonguing her lip loose, she drank in Mac. At six-three, he was sinewy
and solid. So damn male it made a woman forget to breathe. She dragged in some
much-needed air but still felt woozy. Mac’s black tee hugged his broad
shoulders and pecs just as Jodi would have liked to do. Beneath his left
sleeve, a bold tat peeked out, its wide swirls gracing his brawny biceps.

God help her, she ached to lick the design then kiss her way
down to his well-worn jeans. The denim hung low on his lean hips, caressing his
firm ass, powerful thighs and the amazing bulge between his legs.

Jodi leaned up for a better look. Her chair squeaked. She
flinched at the noise, which sounded huge, despite the music, but that didn’t
keep her from ogling him.

Mac had an erection, its rigid length unmistakable behind
his fly. Jodi’s head swam. She inched her attention to his large hands. His
thumb stroked the irons that would soon be around a model’s slender wrists. He
tapped the strap against his leg as though to remind himself of its future use.
The leather swatting a woman’s plush ass, pinking up those cheeks, delivering
punishment before intense warmth and pleasure followed.

Swallowing hard, Jodi warned herself to look away. Right—fat
chance of that. For too many nights, she’d imagined herself stripped bare and
restrained, her ass, breasts and cunt exposed for Mac’s delight and use. His
hot, wet mouth on her nipples, his stubble rasping her softer flesh, his
fingers exploring her cleft and needy clit.

She shivered at the thought of him playing lustful adult
games with her, taking charge of her body and pleasure as her Dom. Jodi had
little doubt he’d be good in the role. For the last several months, she’d been
his assistant, seeing him in glorious action here. He might deliver his orders
to the models in an even voice, but there was raw power behind his words. His
commands were always uncompromising when it came to how he expected them to
react for the camera.

“Show me you want this,” he’d ordered more than once as he’d
clicked shot after shot of them being paddled, displayed, thoroughly corrupted.
“Beg for more,” he’d demanded.

The model’s eyes would glaze over at his compelling baritone
before they’d give him the expression he craved as an artist…and possibly as a
man. Most of the women clearly wanted Mac, boasting when he wasn’t around about
how they’d be the first to get him in the sack. Jodi couldn’t blame them for
fantasizing about him.

He was freaking gorgeous, his features sinfully virile. A
strong profile, silky black brows, eyes so blue the color didn’t seem real,
sooty lashes, bronze complexion and a shadow of a beard that would make a
confirmed celibate whimper.

Jodi bit back a moan.

He wore his black hair longish and shaggy, the ends dangling
over his forehead and curling around his ears. One lobe sported an earring—a simple
black stud that made him more tempting than a pirate—while the thick ridge
behind his fly had her trembling with too much desire.

Jodi stopped herself from gaping at what he had below his
waistband again. Her gaze crept north once more, past his torso to his chest,
neck, bristly jaw, luscious—

“Hey, doll.”

The male model—Rocco something—stood at the side of Jodi’s
desk, interrupting her indecent journey up Mac.

“Do you have any baby powder?” he whined. “These damn things
are killing me.”

He pointed to his leather pants, so tight they appeared
glued to him.

“I’m fucking sweating like a pig,” he moaned. “My boys are
dying here.”

Sounded as though he was in serious pain. Ordinarily, Jodi
would have given him a moment’s sympathy. Not now. Her cunt felt heavy with
need, her slit drenched with lust. Still riveted to the dark stubble on Mac’s
upper lip, she pointed over her shoulder. “Talcum’s in the restroom.”

“Thanks. Shit.”

He swore all the way to the bathroom and slammed the door.

Deeper bass punched from the radio, the boom-boom-boom
throbbing in sync to the beat of Jodi’s heart.
Look away,
she warned
herself. If she stared at Mac too long, someone would notice. It wasn’t as
though they were alone, even with Rocco in the john. The rest of the crew was
here, including today’s model, who paced as she spoke to someone on her iPhone.

Jodi fought for control, her willpower as shaky as a dieter
facing a molten chocolate cake while its decadent filling oozed out.
Helplessly, her gaze roamed Mac’s mouth and nose, his lushly lashed eyes,
impossibly blue and on her.

Staring at her as she was at him.

Oh hell no.
Heat shot to Jodi’s face, stinging her
cheeks. He’d watched her gawk, fantasize, yearn?

Please not that.
Her throat and chest burned with
embarrassment. She struggled to look away but couldn’t. Mac’s gaze pinned her.

It fucking owned her.

Jodi’s body froze even as her pride and resistance wilted.
In his eyes, she saw masculine privilege, bawdy lust, the promise of
earth-shattering sex. Every freaking thing she wanted. Stuff that wasn’t meant
for someone like her. Crap, she wasn’t hot on her best day, which this wasn’t.
At most, she was mildly cute and too big. Call it full-figured, curvy or the
always popular voluptuous, it still meant the same thing. Guys didn’t fall to
their knees and beg to do her.

Mac certainly never would. The heat in his eyes had nothing
to do with what she wanted. The shackles and strap had probably turned him on.
Jodi figured he didn’t even see her no matter how he stared. He was probably picturing
Rocco using those instruments of torture and delight on Krista, the model for
today’s shoot.

Naked as a newborn, Krista strolled to the desk and stopped,
her sumptuous body blocking Jodi’s view of Mac.

That broke Jodi’s paralysis but didn’t do a helluva lot for
the humiliation she felt. Pushing her glasses up her nose, she stared at her
computer screen. Before she’d acted like a lovesick idiot, Jodi had been
updating the studio’s website with Mac’s amazing photos. Shots that resembled
old Hollywood studio portraits, except that his female subjects were nude.

Tending to his online presence was one of the things he
expected her to do and paid her for. He was her boss. She was his employee. Their
working relationship would never go beyond—

“Daddy,” Krista sighed into her purple iPhone, interrupting
Jodi’s depressing thoughts. “I can’t make dinner with you and Mama tonight.
Something’s come up.”

Uh-huh. Jodi had seen Mac’s precious cargo rising between
his legs only a few seconds earlier.

“No, no, no, don’t worry, Daddy,” Krista
cooed. “The photographer isn’t working me hard at all.”

Jodi made a face. She bet Krista and Mac left bruises on
each other after their sexfests. They probably smelled of sweat, cum and Mac’s
fragrance. A clean, woodsy scent with a note of leather that made Jodi crazy
with longing.

“I’ll see you guys day after tomorrow. I promise. Kisses,”
Krista breathed, then killed the call. “Ah, sweetie.” She tapped the desk for
emphasis.

Jodi would have given several years of her life to ignore
Krista but couldn’t be that mean. Krista had never done anything snotty to Jodi.
At least not deliberately. With a face that resembled a young Anna Nicole Smith
and a perfectly proportioned body, Krista’s only imperfection was her real
name—Adelaide, of all things—and the fact that she really believed the world
revolved around her.

Jodi glanced over and got a perfect view of Krista’s cunt,
as hairless as an infant’s. Leaning away from it, Jodi said, “Uh-huh?”

Krista stopped fluffing her champagne-tinted curls and
sighed dejectedly, eyes downcast. Her irises were an amazing shade of lavender
today thanks to her colored contacts. “My makeup isn’t finished. Will you have
a word with the stylist? I can’t seem to get through to her.”

Hilary, the hair-and-makeup artist, was smooching with Cait,
her girlfriend, who was supposed to help Mac stage the shoot. Clearly, he’d
taken over as he often did. Neither Cait nor Hilary seemed to mind. Given their
lust for each other, they certainly hadn’t noticed his raw sexuality.

How Jodi envied them. “I’ll do what I can but from what I
can see, Mac’s nowhere near ready to begin.”

Blowing air through her pouty lips, Krista parked her bare
butt on the edge of the desk.

Jodi curled her upper lip. Rocco announced his return with a
subdued grunt. Smears of baby powder decorated his narrow hips, navel and one
of his pecs. Poor Hilary. She’d have to quit making out with Cait to fix that.

Sweating profusely, Rocco tugged at the leather squashing
his balls. “Aren’t we ready to go yet?”

“Sorry, no,” Jodi said.

“Well I’m thirsty.” Krista twisted her torso to look at
Jodi. “Be a sweetie and get me another fruit drink. How about you, baby?” She
ran her tapered nails down Rocco’s taut belly. His muscles quivered in seeming
appreciation. “You want something?”

“Fucking A. My jeans. What idiot wears shit like this?” He
tugged harder on the leather. “Why can’t I be naked too?”

Jodi rubbed her temple. If her conservative, working-class
parents knew she was employed here, they’d both have a stroke. All she’d told
them was that after two years of part-time employment at a sandwich shop, she
was finally putting her business degree to good use as the manager of a photo
studio. Her real title of assistant never came up. Neither had all this naked
flesh.

Her mom had beamed, so proud that her twenty-five-year-old
daughter had finally found real work. Her dad had wanted details.

“A photo studio like the one at Penny’s or Walmart’s?” he’d
asked.

Jodi had assured him it was something like that. Good enough
for him. He’d lost his manufacturing job in the cruddy economy and was grateful
his baby girl finally had solid employment. Not only could she make rent,
utility bills and her crushing student loan payments but she could save up to
replace her clunker. On top of that, she had full benefits.

Jodi simply hadn’t told her dad what the benefits entailed.

Rather than gape at Mac again, she grabbed a twenty from
petty cash. “I’ll get you guys the same as I always do.” She hesitated at the
door and wondered if she should ask Mac if he wanted anything. He never had in
the past, so it was probably better not to bother him about a dumb refreshment
run he couldn’t care less about. She certainly didn’t want to irritate him. He’d
hired her full-time when no one else would. He’d given her a chance.

He made her want what she could never have.

With that reality guiding her, Jodi huffed out a defeated
sigh and left.

Mac slung the leather strap over his shoulder and dropped the
manacles on a table to the side. The lightweight metal clinked delicately in
comparison to the noise of the savage music. Its harsh bass matched his
pounding pulse.

He’d done it again. Without even trying, he’d run Jodi off.
Every time he caught her watching him, she acted as though he was going to bite
her…or maybe fire her. Was she worried about losing her job?

Mac hadn’t a clue. Since he’d been old enough to notice
women, their emotions had baffled him. In middle and high school, the girls had
liked how he looked and he sure as hell loved how they felt, so they’d hooked
up for some good times. When those brief encounters had ended, there were
endless recriminations and tears from the girls. Eventually, he’d learned to
expect that. Females got pissed about nearly everything. They cried. They also
survived to weep another day.

During college, he’d admittedly acted like a dog, mounting
every woman who moved. No way would he get married even once or—god
forbid—would he repeat his parents’ mistakes by tying the knot more than once.
He was simply out for a good time and an education. Again there’d been the
breakup fights. His ex-girlfriends always avoided him as they would an STD. But
he’d never had a woman behave that way before he’d even touched them.

What was with Jodi? More than once, Mac had sensed her
interest, seeing desire in her eyes when he unexpectedly caught her watching
him. At first, he’d thought she’d disapproved of him photographing nudes for a
living—especially with the added debauchery of BDSM. That notion had died a
quick death when he’d noted her flushed cheeks and barely contained excitement.

No different from a few minutes ago.

For a second, she’d surrendered within his gaze, her hazel
eyes glistening with arousal. Her lips had parted in seeming anticipation of
his tongue or maybe his cock. In that moment, he’d again recognized a kindred
spirit. She liked naughty games. She wanted a Dom to punish her for being bad
then love her until he’d drained away her doubt, replacing it with wonder and
joy.

Mac liked that. He enjoyed her.

Jodi didn’t come on strong like most of the women he knew.
Shit, she didn’t come on at all. She sure as hell didn’t worry about her looks,
which was a relief. Mac couldn’t count the times he’d tried to have a real conversation
with one of the models—discussing the craziness of a current war or the horrors
of the latest workplace shooting—only to have her nod absently while she caught
glimpses of herself in any reflective surface she could find.