At an easy canter, the party loped away, toward the open valley. Without looking back toward her, Jacob lifted a hand in a silent acknowledgment.
He’d been aware of her the whole time?
She uncapped her bottle. Of course he knew exactly where she was. No doubt he had some sort of cell phone app that was streaming images of every part of the property.
When they disappeared over a hill, she went back inside, leaving the door open.
This time, when she sat back down at her desk, she was inspired, but not to work on the project that was due at the end of the week. Instead, she accessed one of her private folders, containing the images that Julien Bonds had called kinky shit.
He might be right. No doubt plenty of people would agree.
To her, though, it was more, a pure and honest expression of sensual pleasure.
In college, she’d taken all the art classes that were offered. As part of her final grade, she’d had to display her work at a small avant-garde gallery in Denver. Her drawing of a nude caught the eye of a Dominant who had then commissioned her to paint a portrait of his submissive.
When she’d arrived at their house for the initial interview, the Dom had outlined his expectations. It needed to capture emotion. While most of Lydia’s body was to be bare, scarlet silk should cover her most private areas. He wanted to see just a hint of her nipples through the fabric—as if she were a precious gift to be unwrapped only by him.
And then he’d brought out heavy, thick silver chains.
Elissa had gasped at the sight. Until that moment, she’d known nothing about BDSM, and seeing the way Lydia glanced up at her Dominant with a soft smile rocked Elissa, expanding her view of the world.
Then, he’d nodded, and Lydia sank to her knees.
Belatedly Elissa grabbed her phone and snapped a dozen pictures of the sub, capturing her expression of adoring, blissful surrender.
During the weeks they worked together, Elissa received an education about Dominance, submission, what BDSM was, and what it wasn’t.
The dynamic intrigued her enough to accept their invitation to attend an open house at a downtown Denver club and to eventually scene with a couple different Dominants.
Later, she’d entered that ill-fated relationship with Robby. It had taken months and endless conversations with other submissives to help Elissa realize that his need to manipulate her had nothing to do with actual Dominance.
For a while after that, she would only scene with one of the club’s owners. Once she regained her bearings and learned to trust her newfound intuition, she moved on to other partners.
Because of her father’s illness and the sheer number of hours she worked, Elissa hadn’t been to the club since last summer. She’d missed it terribly—not just the connection with another person, but the sublime transcendence that occurred when she surrendered to an honorable Dominant.
Shoving aside the restlessness churning inside her, she opened one of her completed files and critically studied the image.
According to Hawkeye, Julien had suggested she show some of her work. She hated to disagree with a renowned genius, but clearly she didn’t have enough talent. These images wouldn’t be good enough even if she painted them as actual portraits—maybe because each subject reflected some part of her own personality.
Dismissing Julien’s opinion as kind and nothing more, she minimized the image and opened one she’d been playing with for days.
In it, the submissive was kneeling back on her heels in front of a standing Dominant. Her head was bowed, and her dark hair fell over her face, shading her features. The backs of her hands rested lightly on her thighs. She wore a short gossamer gown, and a small collar circled her neck.
The man held a delicate chain, and he looked at his submissive with absolute adoration.
Elissa wrinkled her nose as she zoomed in on the Dom’s features. Her intent was to show that he didn’t need anything substantial to secure the woman’s compliance. Their relationship was based on love and trust, respect, as well as consent.
The image wasn’t quite what she wanted. Something was still missing.
Using the highly responsive mouse, she darkened the background to add a little more intensity. Then, still not satisfied, she changed the first layer entirely, making it dark gray so the submissive’s gown appeared more ethereal.
Better.
But still not exactly what she was striving for.
Something about the man’s facial features wasn’t quite right. Maybe he needed to be a little more intense. With a few deft strokes, his jawline became more angular. Then she selected a deeper shade of green for his eyes.
Each alteration brought him into sharper relief, pleasing her.
Continuing on, she gave his abs slightly more definition before adding a small scar to his torso. She didn’t want him to be perfect—she wanted him to be real, with flaws that made him human and gave him the capacity to care.
Then, satisfied, she enlarged the entire image to fill her screen.
In stunned fascination, she blinked.
The changes made her Dom resemble Jacob. What in the hell?
“Chardonnay?”
Screaming, heart pounding from sudden panic, she jumped.
“Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Slowly, she spun her chair to face the door.
Jacob.
Late-afternoon sunshine silhouetting him, he stood in the entryway, holding an insulated tumbler that served as a wineglass. “I knocked. Dinner’s close to being ready, and I thought you might want to unwind a bit first.”
“I…” Somehow, she’d lost track of the hours. “That’s thoughtful.”
He stepped across the threshold and closed the door behind him.
Obviously he’d showered after his ride. The scent of summer wrapped around him, and his dark hair was still damp. He’d changed into a navy T-shirt and blue jeans. And it was everything she could do to pretend she wasn’t turned on by him.
“Mind if I have a look at what you’re working on?”
Horrified, she turned back to her computer to hide the image. But since the computer was slightly different from hers, the key she pushed didn’t make the screen go blank.
He moved in behind her and looked at the screen over her shoulder. “That’s…”
What? Had he noticed the Dom’s resemblance to him? Or maybe the connection was only clear to her. She held her breath as she waited for him to speak.
“Is this what Bonds was talking about? The art he thinks should be in a gallery?”
Embarrassment raked through her, and she gave up on the lie that they were for a client. “This one is a rough draft.” It shouldn’t matter what the hell he thought, yet his opinion was important to her.
“It’s stunning. And if you have others that are equally as good, I’m really impressed.”
His warm approval sent shivers dancing up her spine.
“I’d like to have a look at all of them.” His voice was soft with invitation.
She wasn’t sure that was a good idea. Showing him would expose her in a way she’d never been before, making her vulnerable.
He waited in respectful silence.
Then, with a soft sigh, decision made, she opened another folder and selected the slideshow setting.
Each of her images appeared onscreen for a few seconds before vanishing.
When the final one faded and she clicked the mouse to exit, he took a step back, and she swiveled to face him.