Erotic Takeover Read online

  Erotic Takeover

  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

  Erotic Takeover

  Tina Donahue

  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.

  Chapter One

  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.

  Jodi didn’t do that. She was unbelievably levelheaded and genuine. With her, Mac sensed a man could be himself. He wouldn’t have to put on a show and prove he was more than he could ever be. Imperfect was good enough. Being simply human would suffi
ce. Her quiet manner and intelligence not only comforted, it aroused.

  Weird.

  Many of the men Mac knew would have gladly chewed off one of their balls in exchange for a few minutes with Krista. Fucking idiots. She seemed perfect but was unbelievably boring. Talking to her about stuff he liked was torture for both of them. At twenty-two, she was too young to have known real heartache and had never heard the word no, at least not from her adoring parents. They approved of whatever path she took, always cheering her on. Her wealth gave Krista added protection against the frustrations of daily living. She’d been born into money, as Mac had, and probably wouldn’t hurt too much in this life.

  His mom and dad hadn’t suffered at all. The moment they got annoyed or uninterested with anything, they simply drifted to their next diversion.

  When Mac had been in his late twenties, he’d begun to crave more than an endless good time, even though he hadn’t been certain what it might be. At thirty-two, he still wasn’t sure.

  He headed for the west wall, which was all windows, perfect for the nudes he shot in natural light. Thankfully, the studio was on the second floor, which kept pervs and the general public from peering inside from the sidewalk. For those shots with studio lighting, he’d set aside a distant corner of this space. Cait was finally there, perched on a ladder as she hung the shackles on an exposed beam in the ceiling.

  “Careful, babe,” Hilary called out.

  “She’ll be all right,” Krista assured breezily. “She does that all the time. I need you to finish my makeup.” She thrust out her chest, no doubt wanting her pale-pink nipples rouged.

  Rocco had his own problems. He’d shoved his hands in his pants and was scratching his ass.

  Mac glanced out the window. Jodi had just left the building. Turning right, she headed toward the organic food store. The summer sun set fire to her red hair, making him smile. With her pale skin and the splash of freckles across her nose, she was appealingly wholesome. A woman you could trust.