Sin City Submission BN Read online

  SIN CITY SUBMISSION

  A Doms of Genesis Novella

  Jenna Jacob

  Sin City Submission

  A Doms of Genesis Novella

  Jenna Jacob

  Published by Jenna Jacob

  Copyright 2016 Dream Words, LLC

  Edited by: Blue Otter Editing, LLC

  ePub ISBN 978-0-9864306-6-4

  Print ISBN 978-0-9864306-7-1

  If you have purchased a copy of this eBook, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book. This purchase allows you one legal copy for your own personal reading enjoyment on your personal computer or device. You do not have the rights to resell, distribute, print, or transfer this book, in whole or in part, to anyone, in any format, via methods either currently known or yet to be invented, or upload to a file sharing peer to peer program. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Such action is illegal and in violation of the U.S. Copyright Law. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. If you no longer want this book, you may not give your copy to someone else. Delete it from your computer. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To my amazing husband, Sean.

  The unconditional love and encouragement you give

  through good times and bad fill me with the strength and determination

  to keep reaching for those elusive stars.

  I love you.

  To Shelley, for your guidance, friendship,

  and most of all…your love.

  Thank you.

  And to you…the loyal readers who bless me with your passionate support,

  laughter, and astonishing friendship. You all amaze me.

  Thank you—each and every one—from the bottom of my heart.

  Jenna

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  DEDICATION

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  OTHER TITLES AVAILABLE

  ABOUT JENNA JACOB

  CHAPTER ONE

  Ava Gibbs climbed out of the quiet taxi only to be met by an onslaught of commotion. Time was money, a fact driven home by the flurry of valets and cab drivers, shuttling luggage as if they were buckets of water meant to put out a fire. Ava knew all about fires. She hadn’t been able to snuff out the blaze that had been roaring inside her for over a week. A smoldering hunger her boss, Quinn MacKinnon, CEO and President of Fusion Productions—the industry leader in concert promotions—had ignited when he’d invited, or rather instructed, her to join him for a night of fun in Las Vegas.

  Ava was neither stupid nor naïve. Dating your boss was a cliché at best and oftentimes destined to end in disaster. But Quinn was more than her boss and lover—he was her Master. A fact they kept a closely guarded secret. Even the fellow members of Club Genesis—the private BDSM dungeon where they’d met—didn’t know they were living together much less fulfilling their kinky desires behind closed doors.

  She sometimes missed her friends and the club, but it was a small price to pay. The sheer joy and contentment she found with Quinn couldn’t compare. Even after being together for three years, the mere sight of him still made her tingle inside, and she was beyond ready to lay eyes on him again, not to mention have him fuck her senseless.

  The cabbie cleared his throat, drawing Ava from her wistful musing. She tipped the driver, then tugged her suitcase behind her and into the hotel. Entering the lobby of The Nyte—Las Vegas’ newest and most exclusive luxury resort—a knowing smile kicked up the corners of her lips. While she’d expected a classy and extravagant hotel, finding herself surrounded in a sphere of cascading crystal and shimmering gold took her breath away. Quinn didn’t skimp when it came to indulgence; the six-foot-four, sexy Scot, with his thick spice-colored hair and intoxicating sage-green eyes, enjoyed pampering her. Ava didn’t complain a bit.

  Gliding deeper into the lobby, she felt her excitement blossom even more. In a matter of minutes, she’d be enveloped in Quinn’s strong arms again. A part of her felt like a ridiculous schoolgirl. He’d only been gone from their sprawling estate north of Chicago for five days. Quinn had come to Vegas to supervise the kickoff tour of Splatter—a group of talented young musicians who regularly brought the rock world to its knees. But only a few short hours after he’d left, Ava had felt her focus slip away. The centered, submissive type of focus her Master instinctively bred inside her.

  Weaving her way through the people in the lobby, she followed Quinn’s instructions and stepped up to the front desk marked VIP. A dark-blonde-haired man with boyish lips and pewter-gray eyes welcomed her. Darting a glance at his nametag, she flashed a courteous smile at Wesley Tate, Supervisor.

  “How can we help you today, pretty lady?” Wesley asked. His tone teemed with gay pride.

  “I’m joining one of your guests…Quinn MacKinnon. He asked that I see you first to give you my thumbprint.” Asked my ass. Instructed was more like it, she thought with an inward scoff.

  Wesley straightened, tilted his head to the side, and dissected her with a delving stare. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess,” he said, tapping a finger to his pursed pink lips.

  “Guess about what?” she asked, feeling utterly confused.

  “Which recording artist you are, of course.”

  “Oh, I’m not…I…” For crying out loud, don’t tell him you work for Quinn. He’ll think you’re a sleazy gold digger. “Oh, I’m not a musician. I’m just a good friend of Mr. MacKinnon’s.”

  “Of course you are, sugar. Why else would you be spending the night with him in our most popular suite? You lucky little thing, you,” Wesley whispered with a conspiratory wink before a knowing grin speared his lips. He quickly guided her thumb to the center of the scanner before nodding toward the lobby. “The elevator is to your right. Carlos will take up your luggage.”

  “That’s okay, I only have one—”

  “Ah-ahh. No. No. No. We’ll have none of that,” Wesley interrupted with a chastising wiggle of his finger. “No guest of Mr. MacKinnon will carry her own luggage. I pride myself on ensuring special guests and their visitors receive five-star service, and if you need anything at all, ring the front desk and ask to speak to me directly.”

  “Thank you, Wesley. I’ll be sure to do that.”

  The supervisor’s eagerness was endearing. Ava flashed him a quick smile before she turned and followed the young Latino bellman to the elevator.

  Carlos stood at attention in his crisp, tailored uniform as they rode in silence. She settled her gaze on his hands, firmly clasped behind his back and concealed beneath a pair of pristine white gloves. She found it ironic. Both she and Carlos provided a service.

  Though they were on opposite ends of the spectrum and some might construe their roles as menial or debased, Ava found comfort and satisfaction pampering Quinn and kneeling at his feet.

  Serving her Master completed her, and being adored and loved by him was icing on the cake of her happy life. She didn’t give a fig about those who couldn’t grasp the concept of a power exchange.

  As the elevator passed floor after floor, a flutter of anxiety bubbled in Ava’s belly, pelting holes in her self-assurance.
During her last conversation with Quinn, he’d made it clear that he intended to push her submissive limits at this Vegas rendezvous. Sucking in a deep breath, she glanced again at Carlos praying that when facing Quinn’s tasks, she could muster the same resolve that the bellman displayed.

  When the elevator stopped, butterflies swooped and dipped as the polished metal doors slid open. Placing her thumb on the keypad, Ava squared her shoulders, searched for the peaceful submissive within, and entered the suite.

  Her eyes grew wide as she took in the splendor around her. The luxurious surroundings looked more like an extravagant apartment than a hotel room. The décor of soothing creams and rich earth tones did little to calm the nervous energy pinging inside her. As she stepped across the speckled marble entry, the rainbow-colored prisms from the crystal chandelier above her head danced over her feet. Were the sinfully lavish surroundings meant as a message? Did Quinn expect a comparably stunning display of her submission? Ava’s anxiety soared off the charts. She needed to see him...touch him, feel his formidable calming, reassuring Dominance in a tangible way.

  Breezing past the sitting area and the inviting designer furnishings, Ava sucked in a ragged breath. “Quinn?” she called, cringing at the sound of desperation in her voice.

  But he didn’t respond.

  Semi-cognizant of Carlos following behind her Ava stopped and turned. While sliding a tip into the palm of his glove, she thanked him, then gripped the handle of her suitcase as she watched him exit the suite.

  “Quinn? Are you here?” she called once more, but again, there was no reply.

  A hint of his amber-musk cologne tickled her nose, and Ava followed the scent to a set of ornate pocket doors. Pulling them open, she discovered another exquisitely decorated room. A massive four-poster bed snagged her attention along with a rose, blindfold, and note that lay atop the mattress. Staring at the paper, she instantly recognized Quinn’s familiar bold pen strokes.

  Skimming a cursory glance over the thick oak balusters sunk into the carpet, a tiny wave of disappointment flittered through her. She’d expected to find some type of bondage apparatus attached to the bedposts. Ava loved when Quinn tied her up. Being at his mercy, bound beneath his soft, silk rope, was always a treat. He was a master of Shibari—Japanese rope bondage. Every time he pressed the shock of knots between her folds, Ava soared off into subspace. And Quinn would always send her higher by tugging on the rope that bisected her butt cheeks…teasing and toying with her mounting orgasm. Of course, his whiskey-soft, raspy voice wafting over her flesh, forbidding her to come only fueled her sexual depravation even more. A needy, hungry chill undulated up and down her spine.

  Biting back a moan, Ava eased onto the edge of the mattress and drew the rose to her nose. Inhaling its sweet fragrance, she picked up the note and began to read.

  My sweet princess,

  Remove your clothes, lie back on the bed, and bring yourself to the brink of orgasm.

  I know you’ll want to come, but you don’t have permission—that treat belongs to me.

  When you are done, go to the bathroom and prepare yourself.

  While in the tub, bring yourself to the edge once more, thinking of me licking and sucking your sweet, wet cunt.

  Do not come.

  Return to the bed ready to serve me…naked, blindfolded, and on your back with your legs spread wide. Play with your pretty swollen clit one last time, but remember...you do not have permission to come.

  I expect to find you writhing, begging, and out of your mind with need, but you will wait for me, princess. Wait in that blissful suspended state until you hear my voice.

  I have incredible pleasures in store for you.

  Go. Ready yourself for me, my succulent slut. I’ll be here soon.

  All my love, Q.

  Ava’s hands trembled in anticipation as she placed the note on the bedside table. Tracing her fingertips over the soft, satin blindfold, she couldn’t wait to get started. Bolting off the bed she quickly unpacked her suitcase. She had no idea when Quinn would arrive, but she wasn’t going to dawdle and disappoint him. Earning his rewards was far more fun than netting his punishments.

  After stripping off her clothes, she positioned herself in the center of the bed. As she skimmed her palms over her warm, yielding flesh, goose bumps peppered her limbs. Settling her hands on her breasts, Ava toyed with her nipples. She plucked and pinched the tightly drawn flesh between her fingers and thumbs as a blissful sigh fluttered over her lips. As she tugged at her heavy orbs, ribbons of pleasure tingled up her spine and spooled beneath her clit in an urgent call.

  “Mercy, Quinn,” she groaned. “You’re asking the impossible. How am I supposed to keep from going over?”

  Ava knew it would take every ounce of self-control to keep from plunging headlong into the sweet abyss. Quinn knew that, too hence his reminders not to come.

  Lowering her fingers to their assigned destination, the moist heat of her pussy surged over her hand. And when her cold index finger met her sweltering folds, Ava’s stomach muscles tightened and rippled as she sucked in a gasp. Rubbing tiny circles over her clit, she closed her eyes. Picturing Quinn in her mind, she imagined it was his fingers, tongue, and lips tormenting her throbbing flesh. Strumming fervently over her sensitive nub, Ava dipped two fingers into her clutching center. She arched, moaned, and whimpered as she writhed in a lurid dance beneath her own scuffing fingers.

  Reaching the peak fast and hard, she hovered over the precipice. Poised like a ballerina straining on points, Ava craved to pirouette into the inveigling bliss. Thankfully the thought of defying Quinn sent a wave of panic cresting through her. With a groan of frustration, she dropped her hands and gripped the soft cotton bedspread in her fists. Beads of sweat dotted her brows. Her chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath and uncoil from the brink of disaster.

  Ava didn’t fare much better in the bathtub. As her need to orgasm grew, so did her irritation. Denying the roiling demand pelting her was far easier with Quinn beside her. She had little trouble holding back while gazing at his sexy green eyes, the slash of his rugged brow, and his raspy tone warning her not to come. But alone in the tub without his Dominant presence, Ava struggled to hold back her release while a bleak and hollow emptiness engulfed her.

  She needed Quinn there to help guide her through this daunting battle of self-control. But she was on her own, which stirred a subtle hint of resentment to worm its way inside her. Why was she finding this task so damn daunting? Then, like a bolt of lightning, it dawned on her. Quinn’s conniving Dominance and her overzealous libido were to blame.

  “That little sneak,” she groused out loud. “He hasn’t let me come in over three weeks. Quinn, you devious, wicked man.”

  And why was Ava just realizing she’d gone so long without orgasm? “Because Quinn is a damn good Master, that’s why,” she chuckled.

  He’d also kept her content and in her submissive frame of mind by bestowing heartwarming praise as she sated his desires. At the time, she didn’t feel the need for her own pleasure when she was tending to Quinn’s.

  With a newfound awareness, she drained the water and stepped out of the tub. Grabbing a thick, fluffy towel, Ava dragged the plush fabric over her flesh, cringing when it chaffed her hyper-sensitized nerve endings. Patting the moisture from her mound, she feared she might detonate like a Cape Canaveral rocket if the material touched her clit. When she finished drying off, Ava strode back into the bedroom.

  Gathering her courage, she yanked the comforter back and flopped onto the mattress. Tugging the blindfold in place before easing onto the cool sheets, she let her slender legs dangle off the side of the bed. The last thing she wanted to do was touch herself again. She wasn’t convinced she possessed enough self-discipline to keep from soaring over the edge this time.

  Her hand hovered over her mound.

  He’s your Master and you are his slave. You can do this. Besides, he’d rather you tried and failed than outright gave up,
the voice inside her beseeched.

  Determined not to fail him or herself, Ava spread her legs wide before inching a trembling finger to her cunt. Parting her pouty flesh, she began slowly circling her stiff, pulsating clit. With her brain already saturated in endorphins and dopamine, Ava didn’t slide languidly toward the heavens—she catapulted like a shooting star.

  In a matter of seconds, she was panting and writhing and straining to hear the snick of the door—past desperate for Quinn to arrive and save her…grant permission to satiate the demand clawing within. Holding on by sheer will alone, the only sounds Ava heard were her own panting and pathetic moans.

  “Oh, god…oh, god,” she chanted breathlessly, thrashing her head from side to side. “Please, Quinn. Where the hell are you? I…I can’t hold on.”

  Without warning, a gentle breeze wafted over the slick, hot juice flowing from her center. It was almost as if someone had displaced the air around her.

  Quinn. Thank heavens.

  Still strumming her clit, Ava managed to stop thrashing. She held her breath, waiting for him to give her permission. But when no words were spoken, she wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her. No, even with the scorching demand rising inside, Ava’s intuition told her that she wasn’t alone. The air felt heavy, as if weighed with a human aura. But if it were Quinn, he would have touched her or said something to make his presence known.

  Fear, icy and cold, blasted through her. The air stilled in her lungs, and she fought the knee-jerk reaction to rip the blindfold free. No, she couldn’t allow her will to undermine her submission.