An excerpt from Graphic.

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Her head bobbed against her chest due to the drugs in her system. She shook it in an effort to bring herself into the moment, and then she shook it again to try and remember. Wrapping her brain around what was going on was a maze of confusion. Even the drugs couldn’t mask the way the atmosphere changed when he entered the room.
He placed one finger under her chin, lifting it, forcing her to look into his cold, black eyes.
“Get your shit together, girl”—he turned snapping his fingers in Heinz’s direction, who in turn handed him an ice bucket filled with ice cold water and cubes. The look in his eyes was sharp, direct, and unwavering as he addressed the man who not only did his driving, but watched his back. “Heinz, I told you not to drug her too much.”
He shrugged in an effort to minimize the present situation. There was no reason to piss off the man who held his life in his hands. “Low tolerance for drugs. That’s a good thing boss. Means she doesn’t partake in illegal activities.”
Dominic directed his attention back to the woman he had bound and at his mercy. Though he was talking to Heinz he was looking at her in an accusatory manner. “This little vixen’s drug of choice is adrenalin. Isn’t that right, lovely lady?” He stood pouring the ice cold water over her head. He felt his cock twitch when he saw the effect the ice cold water had on the white shirt she was wearing. A soft growl came from somewhere deep in his chest cavity, the manifestation of a predator mesmerized by his prey. “Beautiful. Fucking beautiful.”
“You son of a bitch!” she screamed, as the frosty concoction dripped down over her head and onto the clothing she was wearing. Spit and sputter flew through the air as she did her best to shake it off. The chair she was tied to fell over when she attempted to jump up out of it. She was awake now. That was for damn sure.
Her eyes looked over at the high gloss, high dollar shoes he wore as he bent down beside her where she’d toppled over. Damn it. Damn those shoes and the fucking man wearing them. Her eyes moved up the tailored suit and then to the amused black eyes. She jerked her eyes away when the realization hit her that he knew she was admiring them.
Once again, one finger on his manicured hand lifted her chin. “Men’s shoes—men’s hands. I know you better than you know yourself. I’ve spent months watching you. But that temper of yours”—he shook his head in disappointment—“I can’t let that go. It wouldn’t be good for your training.”
“Set her chair up Heinz.”
Now his attention was solely on her. She shook her head in fear when his lighter touched the end of the cigarette dangling between those straight set lips. He was angry. “Normally I’m more hospitable to my guests.”
“I shouldn’t have done it, Dominic. Dominic… I lost my temper. You fucking cornered me.”
“It will not be the last time, for either. You’ll lose your temper, I’ll corner you and then… well, that remains to be seen.”
Her eyes locked on the ember. The sound of it crackling as he pulled on it was intensified by the fear she felt. Could he read that too? The way he was looking at her made her think so.
An excerpt from Graphic. Available on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Suzanne-Steele/e/B00C9L6YRQ
©2016 Suzanne Steele

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