OnLocation

Sindra
van Yssel

Submission Island, Book 2

Kyle likes being alone on
Submission Island. The only exceptions are the other three Doms with whom he
owns the place and the women who pay to play with them. He certainly doesn’t
want a whole movie crew filming on his island home. So when bossy Teresa comes
to scout the location, he’s not happy about her presence. Even though she is
easy on the eyes.

Teresa doesn’t know what to make of
Kyle. He’s blunt. He’s an unabashed sexual sadist. He doesn’t know how to
compromise. She’s an independent woman who is used to getting her way with men.
But curiosity drives her to see what sex with a Dominant is like. She discovers
she has more of a taste for his kinky games than she ever expected, and soon
she’s aching for his rope, his whips and his kisses.

A Romantica®
BDSM
erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave

Kyle Stewart stood on the dock, looking over the bright-blue
Pacific Ocean, and scowled. The small launch he could see as a dot in the
distance was carrying trouble that would disrupt his solitude for weeks, all
because Carter and Roger and Tom had thought it was a good idea. None of them
were even around. They’d left it to Kyle to play host and he hated playing
host.

The boat carried one Terry Barstow, location scout for a
movie loosely based on
The Odyssey
. Why they didn’t shoot the movie in
the Mediterranean was beyond him. For some reason, they had picked out
Submission Island, owned by the four Doms, as the ideal spot for the
shipwrecked Odysseus. It was ludicrous. The plants would be all wrong, for one
thing. Mangroves and orchids and whatnot that were native to the Southern
Hemisphere. If Carter’s girl Natalie were here, she could tell them all about
that. He suspected movie people would think nothing of getting rid of a few
trees to shoot a scene, but he personally liked the island as it was. The only
time he liked having people other than his four friends on the island was when
they were women whose desires mirrored his own, and such women were few and far
between. He had learned to tolerate Natalie, but that was as far as it went.
This guy from the movie business was going to be a royal pain in the neck.

The boat got closer and Kyle’s scowl deepened. Besides the
pilot, there were two other people. The big house they’d built on the island
had room for that many and more, but that wasn’t the point. Even the whole
island wasn’t big enough to avoid other people unless he shut himself up in his
room all day, and he wasn’t going to do that.

Chill
, he told himself.
You’ve jumped out of
airplanes, snuck into armed encampments, faced down armed Taliban with nothing
but your bare hands. One or two twits from Hollywood are not going to be a
problem. Even for a week. It’s just an annoyance.

One of the two, he noticed, was a woman, with long, braided
auburn hair, wearing blue jeans and a plaid shirt with a couple of buttons
open. The other was a man, tall and carrying a bit of extra weight, with a
white collared shirt, a blond beard and a shaved head. Lovers? Kyle doubted it
from the way they were sitting in the launch, their hips a good six inches
apart. He wondered if Roger had known that two people were coming and left that
information out. He shrugged. The woman looked as if she might be fun. She had
curves, and a face that looked innocent and experienced all at the same time.
But the odds that she would like what he liked were not at all high. Still, one
night of vanilla sex could be entertaining, as long as she didn’t get clingy
afterward. She was supposed to be here for a week; he didn’t want to be dodging
her for six days. No, that particular pleasure would have to wait.

He walked down the wooden planks to meet the boat as it
pulled up, not so much because he wanted to but because he supposed he should.

“Hi. I’m Kyle. Welcome to Submission Island,” he said as the
boat pulled in, its motor still whirring but slowing toward a halt. The woman
was in the nearest seat, so he stuck out a hand to help her up and out.

The woman frowned but took his hand and managed to get up on
the dock with some grace, which was no easy feat. “Thank you,” she said after a
moment. “Gallagher, bring the stuff up, will you?”

“Yes ma’am,” said Gallagher.

“Now then. That must be the house.” She nodded toward the
wood-and-glass building at the other end of the dock.

A bossy woman. The type that so wasn’t his. “Yes, it’s the
only building on the island,” Kyle said, since she sounded as though she wanted
to impress him with her deduction. He looked at Gallagher and said, “Hand me
the things, mate, and I’ll give you a hand.” If the man was Gallagher, the
woman must be Barstow. He hadn’t considered that Terry might be a woman, and he
suspect that was because of the way Roger had talked about her. Normally a
pronoun would slip in somewhere in the conversation, and with Roger, one
normally expected some additional information if that pronoun was female, all
of which meant Roger was purposely toying with his mind. Being a shrink didn’t
give him any right to pull this kind of crap.

Gallagher and Kyle worked together to get the three bags up
and out of the boat and Terry Barstow simply watched. To be fair, the bags were
probably all too heavy for her, and one in particular weighed a ton.
Fortunately Kyle hadn’t stopped working out when he left the Australian SAS.
He’d just stopped being shot at.

If only he could stop thinking about being shot at in the
middle of the night, he’d be right as rain. He picked up two of the bags and
lugged them toward the house.

Terry Barstow carried a small suitcase with her as she
followed the two men. She hadn’t asked for Gallagher to come along, but John
Stegner, director of over forty feature films and four recent flops, had
insisted on it. With Gallagher came his equipment. Personally, she liked to
travel light, and she wasn’t going to strain herself carrying the other man’s
excess. Most of what was there was camera equipment. The SLR in her suitcase
was more than enough to catalog the various places on the island that might be
good for scenes in the movie. Hell, her cell phone was probably enough. She
didn’t get it.

The feeling had only intensified the night before in Cairns,
although she hadn’t known about all the equipment then. That had already been
on the boat, apparently. Gallagher had made a rather clumsy offer to share her
bed with her, on the idea that when two people were lonely they might as well
fuck like rabbits. Perhaps, but being alone didn’t mean she was lonely, and
there was something about Gallagher that struck her as not quite right. Not
that her taste in men had been anything to brag about. She had a tendency to
end up with bad boys who lived life too close to the edge, usually people
connected with the movies. Someday she’d find a nice wholesome man and settle
down. She hoped that wouldn’t happen anytime soon, because as much as she felt
she ought to want that, that type of man bored her to tears.
Which is
probably why I keep finding lovers who get arrested or cheat on me.

She’d known there was something dark about Kyle the moment
she’d gotten out of the boat. She had developed a knack for spotting that in
men. Maybe her heart sped up once she figured it out, or maybe the way her body
reacted clued her in. From what she already knew about him, it fit. Apparently
the men who owned Fleury Island ran some kind of BDSM resort on it some of the
time. Submission Island, they called it. She hadn’t expected Kyle to use the
name when he greeted her.

What they used the island for wasn’t any of her concern,
although it intrigued her. A few boyfriends had tried to tie her up or spank her,
but she never got the impression they knew what they were doing, and it had
been more awkward than sexy. Possibly Kyle was trying to see what effect
calling the place Submission Island would have on her. Or maybe that was how he
thought of the island. Either way, curious. She wondered if maybe she’d been
too cold in response, if she’d overdone it and revealed rather than concealed
her interest.

He’s got a nice butt, in any case. And a sexy voice, with
a lovely accent. Although maybe he thinks that it’s us who have the accents. I
wonder where he got those scars?
He would have been perfect without them,
but one marred his nose and another his cheek.

As they got closer, she realized the house was larger than
she thought. It was a mansion. The windows were big and the “front door” was a
big sliding panel of glass. Both those things had made the building look
smaller from a distance, as if the whole thing were out of scale. The living
room had space for a couple of couches facing a wide-screen TV, a card table with
chairs that managed to seem out of the way, and still space for people to
mingle. She could imagine a party in here comfortably hosting thirty or forty
people, more if they wandered into the dining room and the kitchen she could
see beyond. That was good, because they’d have a lot of people for the movies,
although very few of them would be staying on the island.

She wondered how many people they had when they ran the BDSM
resort here. Did they all mingle, pairing up here? Did they wear scanty
outfits, or any clothes at all? Maybe just a collar, for some of the women. Or
men, although she skipped over that thought quickly because that kind of man
didn’t interest her. She wanted a man who would take charge, although she often
found that the baddest boys ended up needing to be mothered like baby chicks.
Maybe a woman would be bent over the couch, and taken while everyone
watched—unless they were so jaded they didn’t even care to look.

Really, I think too much.
Kyle was saying something
and she ought to listen.

“You can leave your junk here, or take it upstairs, whatever
you like. I’ll let you manage it from here, but if you’re taking pictures of
the island, it’d be easier to leave your equipment here by the door. There’s
food in the kitchen; help yourself, but don’t break anything, and don’t expect
me to cook for you. I won’t pretend I’m happy to see you, so the more we stay
out of each other’s way, the better.”

“Is the island safe?” asked Gallagher.

“The water isn’t,” Kyle said. “Jellyfish. The occasional
shark, but the jellyfish are deadly, and the sharks will usually leave you
alone. Stay onshore and the worst you’ll get is a very painful spider bite.”

She wondered what they’d done to piss the man off.
Presumably if they weren’t welcome, they wouldn’t have been allowed to come,
and yet he was clearly being honest. He didn’t want them there. Probably he
wasn’t happy about seeing two people when he’d expected one, and on that, at
least, she agreed with him.

“I’ve heard about Australian spiders. Funnel webs. Nasty
things.”

“There aren’t any funnel-web spiders here, and the most
dangerous spiders are on the mainland. The ones here are more sensible, and
only have enough poison to kill things small enough to eat.” Kyle looked her
over as if deciding whether she was small enough for a spider to eat. She
shivered. She was, to be sure, dwarfed by the two men. Kyle was about six feet
tall, and built. His white T-shirt hugged taut muscles. Gallagher was taller by
two inches and might have been handsome if it weren’t for the way his eyes
perpetually seemed unfocused. Still, compared to most men he was a
good-looking, decently built man. Next to Kyle he looked as though he’d had too
many beers and french fries. Either way, she was several inches shorter than
either.

“I think I’m too big for a spider.”

“Yes.” Kyle looked thoughtful but then he shrugged. She
decided that if he could look her over, she’d look him over right back, so she
did.

“Sleeping,” he continued. “I was only expecting one person,
so I only got one room ready. Do you two share a room?”

She’d gotten to his belt when he said it and was looking
forward to taking in his legs. It was the only reason she was too distracted to
respond immediately. Gallagher looked at her rather than answering, and she
caught his gaze when she looked up. She felt her face get hot. The pause only
made it worse. Kyle was smirking. He’d caught her looking. She’d expected that
and had decided she didn’t care—she was doing to him what he’d done to her—but
now that it was happening she felt decidedly like prey again. Small enough to
eat, indeed.

She realized she still hadn’t answered. “No. We absolutely
do not.”

“Then you’ll get the room I’ve prepared. Although…”

“Hmm?”

“We don’t usually have male guests.”

“Oh.” Well, that cooled the temperature. Not. What exactly
happened to their female guests, anyway?

“But no one bothered to tell me that you weren’t a bloke. In
any case, we do have some rooms that are set up for the women who come to
Submission Island. If you don’t think you’d be too offended, I’ll let Gallagher
have the room I readied and I’ll put you in the other.”

“Why would I be offended?”

Kyle shrugged. “My sisters would be. I have no idea. Anyway,
that’s what we’re doing and if you don’t like it, you two can work it out.
There’s a couch.” He gestured over at the one that didn’t quite face the TV.

Terry didn’t get it, but maybe it would make sense to her
later. It wasn’t close to bedtime yet, but she’d rather put her suitcase in the
room where she would be staying.

“Fine,” she said. She wasn’t sleeping on the couch,
regardless. She’d kick Gallagher out of his room first. She may not have been
able to resist having Gallagher put on her “team”, but she’d been quite clear
that she would have to be in charge if he was along, and Stegner had agreed. If
he hadn’t, he’d be out a location scout.

Kyle had turned and headed up the stairs already. She
followed and Gallagher brought up the rear, bringing along two of the three
heavy cases despite Kyle’s suggestion. There were nearly a dozen doors off the
hallway that ran the length of the second floor. Clearly they had enough rooms.
Kyle showed Gallagher his room first, which was at the far end of the hall. It
was sizeable but plain—a queen-sized bed with olive-drab sheets and a dresser.
Nothing fancy about it; in fact, it was spartan. Kyle’s dislike of their
presence, she suspected, predated finding out there were two of them, although
maybe this was the way he liked to live. Still, an ordinary guest room, she
thought, would have more of a sense of identity.

Once Kyle had closed the door on Gallagher, he took her case
and walked her back toward the stairs. He got out a key ring and opened one of
the doors; Gallagher’s door had been unlocked already and Kyle hadn’t offered
him a key.

The room was gorgeous. The walls were a soft pink. Satin
sheets the color of rich red wine covered a queen-sized four-poster bed. There
were twin maple dressers, a dressing table with a mirror, plush gray carpet and
an adjoining bathroom. She didn’t understand his reluctance. She stepped in.
“It’s lovely.”