Picture Her Bound-epub Read Online Free

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    “Nothing. I get migraines regularly.” She’d been plagued with them for as long as she could remember. Prescription pills and a specialty tea courtesy of a New Age shop around the corner from her condo helped, but they only took the edge off.
    He rubbed her temples with his thumbs and peered at her. She clenched her hands and kept them to herself when all she wanted to do was touch him. But he hadn’t given her permission yet. She wanted him to give it to her.
    “I have something that might help.” He took her hand and led her to the kitchen.
    She wore nothing but her panties and camisole from last night. It was normal to wear as much, or less, at the dungeon, and she’d been naked during their photo shoot, but for some reason, she felt more exposed. Odalia tugged at the camisole, pulling it lower, except then the plunging neckline barely contained her breasts. Neither solution worked.
    “Sit.” Jacques pulled out a chair and served her up a cup of coffee.
    Odalia curled her hands around the mug and sipped the bitter contents. She sighed as the warm liquid slid down her throat, a contrast to the chilly morning air.
    The loft was sectioned off into three rectangles, the imaginary boundaries marked by metal supporting beams. To the right was the kitchen, with the cabinets, stove, sink and fridge against the wall. The bathroom was the only separate room on the other side of the brick wall from the kitchen. The dining table sat near the dividing line while the couch and TV appeared almost orphaned in the middle, with the bed beyond. It was minimal to the extreme, but there were a few personal touches here and there. Photographs she suspected he’d taken.
    Would he have framed one of the pictures from their shoot?
    She liked the idea of decorating his wall with her body, keeping watch over him. Would he be aroused by some of the more erotic shots they’d taken? Her cheeks heated at the memory of one in particular. She’d been naked, her legs spread slightly so he could photograph the one tattoo on her thigh, but she’d known he’d caught a glimpse of her pussy. His cheeks had sunk in, and his gaze darkened. If the camera hadn’t disappeared, Odalia wondered where the shoot would have taken them. It had felt more intimate than foreplay.
    Jacques pulled jars out of a cabinet. It was stocked with a variety of labeled containers. She tilted her head to the side and tried to make out what some of them said, but the script was too small.
    “What are you doing?” she asked.
    “My mamère was a traiteur . She learned it from her father. Passed it down to me.” He left two canisters and a mason jar on the counter and returned the rest.
    “A what?” The word sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place it.
    He filled a bowl with water and placed it in the microwave for a minute.
    “ Traiteur , a faith healer.” He continued to make whatever concoction he was creating as he spoke. “Her children, my father and aunt, never had the faith for it. When I was a boy, she taught me before she died. It’s herbal remedies and believing the Almighty don’t want you banged up. A good deal of what I learned is a combination of the traiteur traditions and Native American herb craft. Mamère was the daughter of a black man and an Indian woman. They used to live out in a parish, live off the land and help people. Mamère was just like them. Lived her whole life in the house she was born in.” Jacques placed a mug from the draining board in line with the stuff he’d pulled down. He measured a little powder from each container into the mug as he spoke. The microwave dinged, and he used a potholder to grasp the bowl by the edge and pour the water into the mug with a tea bag from a box on the counter.
    Odalia watched, fascinated. There was history and culture in the bayou. It had fascinated her as a child, and though she’d never had the means to go further in school, she’d often thought she could make a life out of digging