Dominating Amy Read Online Free PDF Page A

him in and of herself.
    She rested her cheek on her forearm, facing him. He’d never seen her eyes so dark before, soft and languid and sultry. Begging for his attention. For his approval.
    “You’re too wet,” Christophe abruptly announced. He threw a rough rag at Mac. “Wipe her with that.”
    Amy’s thighs clenched. She turned her head until her hair hung in her face. Mac couldn’t tell whether her expression changed at all, but he was humiliated and angry on her behalf. And he hated that damned pink rose propped between her little feet, thorns dangerously close to pricking the tender skin. White roses were her roses. He had never given her any other color, and he wanted to jam that pink one up the photographer’s ass.
    Instead, he strangled the rag he’d been given and moved behind Amy, blocking her from Christophe’s view.
    “Are we here because this is an assignment you want, or because you’re trying to talk to me?” He spread his fingers across the small of her back, directly over the tattoo she’d gotten as a gift for his twenty-fifth birthday. Mac remembered the sex that night, Amy pulling off her panties but keeping her camisole, proudly presenting her new ink and inviting him to fuck her from behind. Sometimes she had a dirty little mouth. The sight of the mark never failed to make him want to bury himself balls-deep and ride her hard. He tried to pull back on the urge. This close, her fragrance drugged him. Something stronger than gravity tried to drag him to his knees, to bring him to a level more conducive to planting his face between her thighs and licking until his tongue wore raw.
    “Quickly!” The photographer heaved a disgusted sigh behind Mac and swore beneath his breath. “We’ll never make deadline,” he muttered.
    Amy didn’t respond to him or the photographer. Chest tight, Mac wrapped her bright pink hair around his fist and tugged. “Amy, answer me.”
     
     

Chapter Five
     
     
    He stood behind her, unseen but undeniably present. Finally. Right where she wanted him, in control and enjoying her display. Another man directed her movements but she was for Mac. She bowed her back, presenting for his examination, craving the rough murmur of his approval. Thrill shivered down the back of her neck when he pulled her hair.
    Mac’s voice reached down deep into the warm pool of fantasy that bound her. His voice broke the promise of the dark and offered something new, if only she could claw her way free and grab it.
    Somewhere, an unfamiliar person asked, “Amy, what is this?”
    “Back off.” That was Mac. “She’s sick.”
    His gruff tone alarmed her. She wanted him tender and attentive, not angry, but the gentling filter of fantasy unraveled faster than she could wind it back up. She surfaced through layers of sensation. Numbness pricked her shins. The still-unfamiliar weight of the harness she wore skewed her balance. She drew her knees together, closer to her chest, and something sharp stabbed her ankle.
    Big, warm hands cupped her shoulders and drew her upright. A heavy weight draped across her back. “Mac?” She blinked at the expanse of wrinkled fabric, the single row of buttons that marched down the broad chest that blocked her view of the room.
    “I’m taking you home,” he said. He fumbled with the buckle of her harness. Her hips shifted toward him of their own volition, responding to her sensitive, aroused body’s needful cravings for his touch. Mac’s fingers grazed her swollen labia. Amy’s breath caught. She arched into the touch, her eyes closing, and tried to sink back into the fantasy of his hands on her body.
    “What are you doing?” the other voice in the room asked. His irritation stung her ears, dragged at her resisting awareness. “We’re not finished!”
    “Yes, you are,” Mac said. “Find someone else.”
    A door opened and slammed shut. Amy jumped.
    “I love you,” she murmured. She pressed her forehead to Mac’s chest. “I