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Blurb:

A dark, billionaire, BDSM, BWWM romance story. Aspiring musician Mel’s life hasn’t been the easiest. After floating from one abusive foster home to another as a child, she now bartends with the dreams of making it big one day. When she crosses paths with the seductively handsome billionaire and Powers Records CEO Tristan, Mel recognizes the opportunity to launch her music career.

And it helps that their chemistry is off the charts! But Tristan isn’t going to cave to her desires as easily as she thought, and he won’t offer a recording contract without a price: He wants Mel as his submissive in the bedroom during their collaboration and fulfill all his dark fantasies.

This arrangement has taken Mel on a rollercoaster of uncharted and intense experiences. But as they grapple with their unconventional relationship, will love blossom between them? Or will the complexities of their desires tear down everything that they have built? Discover now in this dark submissive romance novel by Tyra Small.

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Chapter 1

Mel Fairbanks watched the tall, sexy, dark haired man as he mingled with the other bigwigs at the record label party from her post behind the bar. He was sexy, she’d give him that, but that’s not why she was staring at him. Tristan Powers was not only a person of stature in the record label, he owned it. That meant he had something Mel wanted; a record contract. Playing guitar and singing at open mic nights were one thing but Mel wanted to make it big. She deserved to make it big. Especially after…no she wouldn’t think about that right now, she had work to do, and she didn’t mean serving drinks to drunken, handsy, rich men.

Mel watched Tristan circle the room, smiling and shaking hands with everyone while his body language was rigid. She wondered what he had to be so standoffish about. Shrugging with resignation, Mel grabbed her tray, tugging the tiny skirt down to cover her ample bottom, and rounded the bar. Plastering a fake smile on her face she sidled up to two men in their fifties, handing them each a cold bottle of beer and pocketing the tip they gave her in the small apron over her skirt. At least this job was good tips. Mel snorted; it was a small price to pay to have her ass ogled by strangers if she could walk out of here with enough money for two months rent.

The next two hours went by quickly, and before Mel knew it she only had a small window of an hour left to make her move and talk to Tristan Powers. She needed to do this, to get her head out of her ass and make something of her herself. Waitressing, open mic night and other tiny gigs at small bars weren’t going to pay the bills for long. It was her dream and she had to at least give it a shot. Finally a window of opportunity opened when a man; a very sleazy, slicked back hair, rap*st looking man, who was talking to Mr. Powers asked her to get him a drink. Then tried to slap her ass. Luckily for her, Mel was quick and was out of his arms range before he made contact. She made the decision right then and there that after delivering this man’s drink she would talk to Tristan. This was her only shot. Nerves caused her stomach to clench as she walked the extra fruity drink back to the sleazy guy but she took two deep breaths and forced them back; now was not the time to chicken out.

Mel handed the man his drink. “Thanks, doll,” He muttered, his nasty, hot breath making Mel want to gag as he leaned in. Did he think she was going to kiss him?

Backing up, Mel said, “You’re welcome.”

She waited for a tip but he didn’t produce one. Mel frowned, but kept her dissatisfaction to herself; nothing was going to get in the way of her speaking to Tristan Powers. When she didn’t respond to the man’s advances after a moment, he moved on to another cabana girl, managing to grab her ass before she could get out of his way. Mel stood close to Tristan, feeling a little awkward. He was talking to a man on his right and Mel was back by his left elbow. She wasn’t sure how to proceed. Not wanting a little awkwardness to discourage her, Mel waited for a moment until the man he was speaking to walked away. Now was her chance!

“Excuse me, Mr. Powers?” Mel hated how small and timid she sounded, but to be honest, he intimidated her a bit.

Mr. Powers turned, and looked down at her, a dark frown spreading across his face. “Can I help you?” He sounded put out, like she was the last person who should be speaking to him.

Mel’s stomach knotted and she almost bolted. No, this had to be done. This was what she wanted. She cleared her throat and began. “I, um, I’m Mel Fairbanks, a cabana girl,” Mel motioned weakly towards the bar, “I just wanted to ask you a question.”

Tristan didn’t answer; he just stared at her with a look of boredom.

“Um, I’m a singer/songwriter and I was wondering if you have any time to hear me play a…”

Tristan raised a hand as if to dismiss her. “I’m sorry, Ms. Fairbanks. I’m very busy at the moment. If you could just resume the job that I’m paying you to do we will forget this conversation ever happened.” He turned and walked away without another word.

Mel stood for a moment, her face heating. That was the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to her. Fortunately for her, very few people saw how Tristan Powers humiliated her. Pressing a cold hand to her hot cheek, Mel turned and walked back to the bar.

“Did you do it?” Blake asked, tossing her long, red curls behind her shoulder.

Mel nodded. “It was awful. He dismissed me like a dog. Blake, what am I going to do? That was my last shot. None of the other record labels I’ve contacted will even return my calls. I don’t think this is going to happen.” She looked down at her hands, which were grasped tightly together, and frowned.

Blake patted her back, brushing Mel’s shiny black hair off of her shoulder. Refusing to cry at work, Mel squeezed Blake’s hand and rounded the bar, ready to resume her shift.

*****

Tristan watched the woman with the café au lait skin as she rounded the bar while her red headed friend jabbered on. These women were all the same. They thought they could use their good looks to get a record deal. He’d seen them all. Most were rich kids, and daddy was paying for them to have a session at the studio. They’d record an awful song and get a copy of it but Tristan refused to even try to get it out there. The ones without rich fathers tried to use their good looks and s*x to persuade Tristan to give them a contract. Just like their rich counterparts they had little to no talent and couldn’t carry a tune to save their sorry skin. Sometimes Tristan would use them, but after once or twice he was bored with them and had better things to do like run a company. He had yet to encounter anyone with real talent who looked like that Fairbanks girl and he wasn’t inclined to waste what little time he had at a night out networking on some nobody with a guitar.