Kneel

By Elyzabeth M. VaLey

He’s her number one fan.

Thomas Helton has been obsessed with model Kendra Williams for over a decade. Beautiful and sensual, Kendra shows a seemingly tough exterior, but Thomas craves to break through the facade to see what truly lies beneath, and he’ll do anything to achieve it.

She’s the woman everyone wants to see on her knees.

Kendra Williams kneels to no one. She teases, she flirts, and she assumes all other poses, but she never submits or drops her picture-perfect mask—until she meets Thomas Helton.

The fetish photographer, well known for displaying not only the eroticism of BDSM but also the emotional bond behind it, appeals to her in the same way the man who made her averse to kneeling did. Common sense warns her to stay away, but Kendra finds herself getting inexorably closer.

Will she regret her decision, or will Thomas be the man to finally make her kneel?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Publishing
• Release date: Aug 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9780369502131

Book preview

Chapter One

It was debauchery.

EBM music blasted through carefully disguised, state of-the-art speakers, drowning out all but the cheers of the crowd gyrating wildly to the DJ’s set. Scantily dressed women danced on pedestals while men swayed from side to side, heads raised and eyes glued to the perfect bodies on display. Green and red lights swept over the guests at Staerling’s mansion, exposing slack jaws and half-lidded eyes. With lust, drugs, or simple exhaustion, Thomas didn’t know. A new beat filled the hot and heavy air. As one the throng cheered, moving like a wave about to crash against the shore, Thomas took a step back and returned to the hallway. He ran his fingers through his hair, his face damp with perspiration just from stepping into the dance room for a few seconds. He pulled out his phone and checked Staerling’s message.

We’re in the Greenhouse.

Thomas took a left through another passage. Quietness settled around him, his footsteps sinking into the plush Persian rug. On the wall, Staerling’s face stared down at him. It was a collection of self-portraits of the middle-aged man in different poses, each of them lighted with a spotlight, forcing the visitor’s gaze to the pieces.

Finally, Thomas muttered.

He hurried into the next room and stopped in his tracks. Staerling called it the greenhouse because of its large windows which allowed sunlight to stream inside throughout the day and keep the area warm. Technically, however, it was a luxurious indoor swimming pool area.

Now, it was a tropical paradise. Staerling had filled the place with palm trees, leafy green plants, hammocks, and sun beds. The ceiling had been painted to look like the sky which reflected on the circular pool in which a few people splashed around. Waiters in short-sleeved shirts and tight black shorts went around serving alcohol and canapés. The guests wore everything from flashy Hawaiian shirts to tiny bikinis. At the back of the room, he noticed a stage was set up. Another DJ played chill-out music.

Champagne? a server asked.

Thanks.

Thomas grabbed the drink and scanned the crowd. Staerling had said they were here. The question was where? Thomas slipped to one side of the room and pulled out his phone.

I’m here. Where are you? he texted.

He sipped at the bubbly concoction, hoping to ease his nerves. He hated these over-the-top parties. Ever since he’d met Staerling, the playboy, aka self-made movie director, aka, owner of Lance magazine, he’d been invited to his summer-in-winter party. Thomas never came. He hated the crowds, the mobs, the dull small talk, and having to deal with men and women who were either drunk or high as kites.

So why was he here? He sighed. Kendra Williams. The lengths he would go through to meet her still astounded him. He’d given up on it several times, but every time a new opportunity arose, he was there. This was no different. Staerling had sworn she’d be here, so Thomas had thrown on his clothes and come down. He’d considered bringing his camera, but then he’d remembered Staerling had a strict policy on photographs during his parties. Staerling hired professional photographers to take care of any lasting digital memories. Everyone else had to sign a waiver upon entering and if caught taking an unauthorized pic, they were kicked out and sued.

His phone chimed.

Go to the stage.

Thomas groaned. He had to cross the room, which meant he’d probably see people he knew and be forced to engage. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Kendra’s fiery red hair and bright green gaze popped behind his lids.

For her.

He began to slither his way across the crowded space. Head down, shuffling and whispering his apologies every time he accidentally pushed someone.

Kendra.

She couldn’t say no this time. He had a reputation. He was as much a part of the industry as she was. It wasn’t like the first time he’d tried contacting her. How long ago had it been? Ten? Fifteen years? Back then, her manager, Antonio, had replied with a strict no. He couldn’t believe he still remembered the guy’s name. Then again, it was impossible to forget. Antonio had come up in the news, years later, a prominent drug lord, keeping women as slaves, living off the misery of so many others. Kendra’s name had also briefly appeared, her old relationship with him a selling point for many tabloids.

Thomas reached out to her shortly after. He’d never gotten a reply.

As he thought back to those years, he shouldn’t have been surprised. She was in another league. A woman with an established career in fetish modeling. If he had been her, he would’ve ignored his messages too.

But hope was the fool’s gold, wasn’t it? He’d focused on his career, working hard to become a coveted photographer, one with whom she’d come begging to work. Men and women, magazines and videographers pleaded to work with him, but not a word from Kendra Williams. Several times he wrote to her, only to delete the message before sending it. He wanted her to pursue him, to implore him for his time and talent. She never did.

Another man would’ve dropped the subject and moved on. He could have any model he wanted. He was important enough to be able to call the shots. Unfortunately, he could never let go. He pined over Kendra like a horny teenager, collecting her pictures, watching her videos, admiring her from afar and too fearful of her rejection and what the real woman would be like to go after her.

Yet, here he was. Fumbling with his phone and approaching the stage at a turtle’s pace, all for the chance to see and speak to Kendra for an instant. A Russian model he’d worked with a few times greeted him. He waved back but didn’t stop. His phone chimed. He glanced at the text.

I hope you’re ready.

Chapter Two

The lights dimmed and dramatic music started to play, filling the space and hushing everyone. A flurry of white flakes began to fall.

It’s snowing! someone yelled.

People cheered.

Oh my God, up there, a woman nearby said with a gasp. Thomas followed her line of vision.

Holy shit, he whispered.

Kendra Williams stood on stage, strapped to a Saint Andrew’s cross, back to the audience, dressed in white lingerie with killer boots and enormous wings. Ricardo Dirk Gonzalez climbed on stage. Shirtless, with tight leather pants which left little to the imagination, and wielding a nasty-looking whip, he approached Kendra. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the long rope snapping, making everyone present draw in their breaths. Kendra shrieked. Dirk ripped the wings from her body and raised them victoriously. Thomas kept his gaze on Kendra. Crew members had spun the Saint Andrew’s cross, so she was no longer visible. The music changed, becoming a deep, haunting melody. Kendra reappeared, wearing a bold red lingerie set with matching boots and a set of horns. Dirk faced her again and froze. The music began to pick up its tempo. Kendra took a step in her partner’s direction. He dropped the whip. Kendra picked it up and snapped it, making everyone in the room cringe. Dirk dropped to his knees. She approached him and carefully placed a booted foot on his back. The lights lowered and a voice, which Thomas recognized as Staerling’s, rang throughout.

No one can beat the wrath of the winter angel. Or is it the winter devil?

Darkness and silence enveloped them before the lights returned and the music took on an epic turn. The guests burst into applause. Kendra grasped Dirk’s hand and helped him up. They both bowed while the voice on the speakers broadcasted their names.

Thomas’s phone vibrated.

Stage right.

He made a beeline for it. A guy the size of a wardrobe for giants stopped him.

Name? he asked gruffly.

Thomas Helton.

The bouncer nodded. They’re expecting you. Go on.

The beefy man waved him past a screen and into a flurry of activity. Behind the stage, Staerling had set up a dressing room and makeup and prop station. Thomas stared as Dirk chatted with a model, a woman with rainbow hair stowed away makeup, and someone else hung clothes.

Incredible, isn’t it?

Thomas spun around. Staerling stood next to him, grinning from ear to ear, stretching the wrinkles Botox couldn’t hide.

It is. I had no idea this was what your parties were like.

You would’ve known if you’d come before.

Yeah, but—

I know. I know. Staerling slapped him on the back, making Thomas wince. You don’t like crowds and you’re here for her. He nodded in the direction of another screen where a woman’s silhouette was visible.

Is she there? Thomas whispered, blood rushing from his brain to his cock as his mind filled in the blanks of what he couldn’t see.

Yep. Give her a minute. Staerling chuckled. "Do you need some liquid courage? I feel like you