Dominating Amy Read Online Free Page A

studio.
    Clumsily, she fumbled the latex phallus into place. The rubber-spongy texture made her skin crawl. Her stomach rebelled at the unfamiliar girth of the synthetic shaft. She’d never wrapped her hand around a penis, fake or otherwise, that didn’t belong to Mac.
    The flat butt of the dildo pressed against the narrow strip of blonde hair curling between her thighs, snagging and pulling every time she moved. She tried not to wince as she approached the photographer, dildo and breasts bobbing every step of the way.  Mortification set her chest and face on fire.
    Christophe examined her with a critical eye, made notes on a yellow legal pad, and went to set up the camera in the station nearest Mac. "Kneel on that table, on your hands and knees, facing away from the camera," he directed.    
    Blood pounded sluggishly between Amy's ears. She always thought the metaphor of moving through molasses was a hillbilly grandma saying, but she suddenly knew how appropriate it could be, even in her urban environment. She placed one foot in front of the other until she reached a table draped with midnight blue sheeting. Mac’s gaze seared her skin, driving hot pinpricks of awareness into every muscle, from her shoulders to her calves.
    She didn't know how to mount the table gracefully, given Christophe's failure to provide a step for her benefit. The table hit her at waist height, forcing her to hike herself up until she could catch the surface with her knee. The bulbed end of the strap-on smacked the edge of the table. The impact knocked the synthetic shaft askew. She had to readjust it.
    “Put your feet together but keep your knees apart.” The photographer came close to place a prop between her feet. Amy glanced down between her thighs, past the strap-on, and frowned at the long-stemmed pink rose nestled against her ankles. That wasn’t right.
    The air conditioner blew cold air through a vent directly above her. She swore she could hear Mac breathing. His breathing was one of her favorite sounds, whether he was asleep, or finishing a workout, or in the midst of sex. Especially during sex. The way he inhaled and inhaled and inhaled, short little pulls of oxygen all in a row without breathing out, always signaled his approaching climax. She listened hard, craving the sound, and shivered as he inhaled.
    Was he still angry? That little edge of growl that kept his voice from being completely flat gave her some small bit of hope she might survive this display. She wanted to look at him. She could casually flip her hair out of her eyes and sneak a glance, attempt to gauge the expression on his face. Fear kept her from doing it. She’d find out what he thought later, after the photo shoot was finished, when she didn’t need to focus on retaining her composure.
    Bad enough that she was certain Christophe had noticed her scent, as nervous anxiety and embarrassed arousal battled for dominance of her body’s responses.
     
     

Chapter Four
     
     
    Mac spent too much of his life looking at his wife, wanting her, loving and sometimes hating her, but not knowing how to touch her since she’d changed. Really touch her, inside, make her open her eyes and see him. Amy existed in a fog he couldn’t penetrate, turned in on herself , searching for something he hadn’t been giving her. He was tired of fighting it. He should stop hedging and get the divorce papers together, but every time he tried to imagine life without her, his system locked up.
    Christ . How would he manage? She’d been his crutch before later becoming his reason. Losing any more of her than he already had would ruin him. He knew what she needed him to do. The meaning behind the array of props spread across the different photo sets had slapped him in the face the moment he entered the studio. The curling tongue of a riding crop wouldn’t be employed on a horse. Fear surged through him at the sight of the instrument. Only an instinct to protect Amy kept him from