The Izzy and Seb Collection: The Evermore Series Books 1, 2 and 2.5

by Rachel De Lune

  “Of course I’ll help. It’s what I’ve been trying to do. I think you should speak to a counsellor. I have a friend who’s recommended someone to me. I can set up a meeting.”

  “I was thinking you could help by taking me to Solace.” His hand stills and he tips my chin up to look at me, confusion clear on his face.

  “Solace? Why?”

  “Because I think seeing scenes where women are vulnerable but are consenting will help. I need to see that the submissive does hold the power.”

  “I can show you that without taking you to Solace. You said you wanted to take things slowly. You don’t need to rush things, Izzy.”

  “I’m not, but I’m sick of feeling like I lost a part of us in the attack. I want it back. But I’m not even sure what it is.” I puff out a sigh. This wasn’t how I thought this conversation would go.

  “I’ll take you, but it’s on my terms, and after you’ve spoken to the counsellor. That doesn’t mean we can’t have fun tonight. I’ve missed you, too.” His arm snakes around me, pulling me across his thighs so I’m straddling him. “I’m going to strip you before I spank your beautiful back and pretty nipples with a crop.”

  His voice has dropped and holds the command that he uses when he’s dominating me. It sends a shiver down my spine and my body presses against his growing erection, eager to feel his touch.

  “Yes, Sir,” I purr.

  “Your only job tonight is to do what I tell you and to enjoy it.” He reaches up to kiss me. A leisurely kiss that tells me he’s in no mood to rush things tonight.

  “Take off your top but leave your bra on.” I follow his command, locking my eyes on his. My blouse and vest top hit the floor so I’m left in my work trousers and my bra. Seb tilts me forward and buries his face against my chest. He nips and bites at my breasts. A rough contrast to his tender touch a moment ago.

  His hands run down my arms and he pulls them behind my back, thrusting my boobs further into his face. He moves my wrists into one hand and clamps his fingers around them. I try to think about what he’s doing with my body, pushing the cup of my bra down so he can suck my nipple into his mouth. Instead, my mind lingers on the hold of my wrists. I twist them but he keeps his hold.

  His earlier instruction to do as I’m told and enjoy vanishes. I wriggle on his lap and pull my arms out of his grip. “Not my wrists. Please, not yet.” I thrust my weight against Seb and kiss him, determined not to spoil everything.

  “No wrists.” Seb lifts me from his thighs, turns me around and dumps me back on the sofa with a start. It’s so out of the blue I can’t help but laugh. “Keep your hands above your head. I won’t touch them, but you have to keep them in position.” I raise my arms while Seb unfastens my trousers and peels them from my legs. He stands, looming over me. His broad shoulders and the dark look on his face re-ignite my craving for him.

  His fingers toy with the top of my knickers before slipping beneath the top. He trails his fingers over my skin, his touch only just not tickling, as he removes my knickers.

  “Spread your legs for me. I intend to have you moaning my name, but I want to look at you first.” His carnal words spike my arousal. I move my legs wide, wanting nothing more than to get lost in Seb. He continues to stand over me, scrutinising my body, but I can see his appreciation, the outline of his hard cock pressed against his trousers.

  Finally, he lowers his body and settles between my legs. The burning desire for him to lick me has me clenching my own fists. I shift my weight down into the sofa, inching my bum towards the edge to give him better access to my pussy.

  A feather-soft touch grazes my labia and I almost buck off of the sofa. Seb’s next touch is firmer, stroking me with just enough pressure to settle my body. While he explores, I lock my arms overhead, determined to keep them in place.

  Seb grows bolder with his caress, his thumb seeking out my clit and rubbing the tight bundle of nerves. Before his lips even touch my swollen clit I’m moaning his name, my ardour clearly visible from my soaking pussy.

  His tongue dips between my wet folds, tasting my arousal.

  “Hmm. You’re very sweet, Isabel. You seem to be enjoying this.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I sigh.

  “You’re turned on by submitting to me.”

  “Yes.” A shudder runs through me as I take a deep breath. Seb searches my face before his face erupts in his perfect sexy smile. It’s infectious.

  He wastes no more time with small talk and sets about making me moan.

  The Clark Practice is a swanky building in the centre of Bath, all glass fronted with minimal furniture. I am due to meet Dr. Amanda Cross at 11:30 a.m. It seems that Seb has some sway and managed to make me an appointment for Tuesday morning. I sit, gnawing on my lip as I wait for 11.30. My stomach is in knots. Like the incoming tide, anxiety hits my chest, wave after wave, each time the door to the patient area opens. My rational mind tells me that there is nothing to be frightened of or apprehensive about, but my rational brain has never won out in these situations.

  “Ms. Fields?” A petite woman in her early forties calls my name. I stand and follow her through the double doors, relieved to finally be getting this over with. She escorts me into a comfortable room. A large desk stands beneath a frosted window and two small sofas sit at right angles to one another in the corner of the room. She gestures for me to take one and she takes a seat on the other.

  “My name is Dr. Amanda Cross. This is your first session with me. Have you been to a counsellor before, Isabel?”

  “Please call me Izzy, and no. This is all a bit new to me.” I twist my fingers in my lap, attempting to stay as still as I can.

  “Okay, Izzy. There’s nothing to be worried about. We’re just going to talk and see where that takes us, alright? Everything you say here is in complete confidence, so please try not to worry.”

  “Sure, that’s fine.”

  “Good. Can you tell me why you’ve come to talk with me? And what you’d like to get out of these sessions?” Her question forces me to really think about what I want.

  I fill Dr. Cross in on some basic background and what has led me to come here. I provide a concise rundown of my marriage and how Seb and I met. It all really skirts around the real issue, but I need some time to work up to that.

  “I would like to talk about something that happened to me. To help me get over it. I don’t want it to affect my life anymore, and a few people have suggested that talking about it might help.”

  “Can you be specific, Izzy?”

  “Um, sure. Well, my ex-husband assaulted me. He forced himself on me.” I take a breath and look around the room, reassuring myself that I’m safe. “He didn’t rape me, but he would have if Seb didn’t step in.”

  “This is what you’re looking to move past, the attack?”

  “Yes, and how it makes me feel now. How I react when I’m with my… boyfriend.”

  “And how do you feel now?” Amanda’s voice is soft and soothing. It has a lilting quality that is relaxing.

  “Hurt. He was my husband and he hurt me. He made me feel vulnerable and cheap. I was powerless, and he wouldn’t stop. We spent years together, yet he could treat me so appallingly. Like it was his right to do so. He put me in a situation that took something from me. Now, he’s cast a shadow over my relationship with Seb. We have a Dominant/submissive relationship and because of what Phil did, certain things frighten me, or rather they make me panic.”

  “Has Seb ever done anything that would make you feel that way with him?”

  “God, no. He would never hurt me.”

  “That’s good. Then what happens between you that makes you fear your feelings?”

  I remember what it is. The placement of his hands. Around my ankles or my wrists. The points that Phil used to tie me. It took my ability to fight away and I felt helpless. I close my eyes, fighting off the sting of tears. I take a few deep breaths and choose my words. “When we’re together, when he moves to touch me in a particular way
, my mind goes back to what Phil did to me and I panic.”

  “You have triggers that take you back to the trauma. That’s very normal, Izzy.”

  “But I don’t want to have them. I used to enjoy what Seb did to me. It’s not like we can’t be intimate anymore. It’s just, tainted by Phil. He’s taken what I love and tarnished it.” Tears drop from my lashes, mourning the beautiful connection that Seb and I had. “He’s taken everything away from me. He ignored my feelings, ignored me for so long. When I finally found what I wanted, what I needed, he still had to have his way. He wouldn’t just let me leave him and move on with my life. Now, I’m going to be a disappointment.” My words rush out, strung together in a panic. Amanda leans over and offers me a tissue to dry my eyes. She gives me some time to get myself together before speaking again.

  “Izzy, I think you have a lot of emotions and feelings inside that you’re not sure how to make sense of right now. You said you wanted to move past the way you feel—the feelings associated with your attack. I’d like to focus on those triggers first. But I think that there are some other underlying issues that you might want to think about airing as well.” I nod at the woman, feeling content to talk to her and have her help. “You said that Phil has taken everything from you. I want to show you that you have the power to take it back.”

  “Really?” The hope in my voice is so profound. I didn’t realise how much I needed to hear that from someone else. “But how?”

  “It’s going to take some time, and I’d like you to work with me on it. But above that, you need to believe that he can’t take your happiness away. What he did to you was a specific episodic trauma. I want you to think about it as such. A one off. By recognising that and working up to facing the triggers, you’ll be able to control your reactions and move past them.”

  “That sounds very… simple.”

  “It’s not going to be fun and games all the time, but I can see how much you want to beat this. I’d also like to try EMDR therapy.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s short for Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing. It’s been very successful in treatment of PTSD, trauma and disturbing memories. It helps the brain to re-process the event so that you can move past it.”

  “Okay,” I agree tentatively.

  “I’d ask you to talk over the attack and recall the feelings you had while asking you to focus on my finger. You focus on moving your eyes. After talking over the attack, your memories are replaced by more peaceful ones and you’re able to re-process them.” It sounds a simple technique, although I know reliving the memories will be painful.

  “That sounds simple enough.” She smiles at me and places her hand over mine in a comforting show of support.

  “I’d like to schedule a few further appointments with you. Do you feel comfortable with that?”

  “Yes, that’s fine. Thank you.”

  “Okay. Remember what I said. It was a single incident that you were unable to control. You’re in control now. You’re with Seb. You know he won’t hurt you. We’ll work on the triggers and the memory with the EMDR.”

  I leave the Clark Practice, and I feel lighter than when I walked in, as if by talking through everything, the burden has been lifted. I can see a way through. I feel hopeful.

  Amanda said that it will take time and that my triggers won’t disappear overnight, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try to work on them as well.

  I head into work with a brighter outlook. I can focus on working and not letting Phil get to me more than he already has.

  When I turn my computer on, there’s an email waiting for me from Mark. I head over to his office, keen to look at whatever he needs. We’ve started to work well as a team. The last couple of months have been great for White Cube. I knock and poke my head around his door. “You wanted to see me, Mark?”

  “Come in please, Izzy. Shut the door.” Mark’s face looks grave. I immediately think back to the campaigns we were working on last week. None of the new content is due to start being released until the end of the month, so it can’t be that. I take a seat opposite his desk and look nervously at him.

  “Izzy, I’m afraid… I’m afraid some information has been brought to our attention and it has some serious implications for you.” I flinch at his words, unease coursing through my body.

  “What information? Mark, what’s going on?” My heartbeat thuds loudly in my ear.

  “Are you familiar with The Erotic Fantasy, a Tumblr blog called ‘My Secret Side’ or Fetlife?” Mark names some of the websites and social platforms that I used to frequent regularly, where I would set my imagination free and fantasise about everything I wanted in my life. My face flushes red, knowing that Mark has seen or has access to my private profiles. I can’t look at him and lower my eyes.

  “Yes, I am,” I choke out, panic impairing my voice.

  “They have been directly linked to you. In our area of business, our expertise, we can’t allow our name or our client’s names to come into disrepute. There is a clear clause in your contract that states that the online behaviour of employees must not risk the reputation or credibility of the firm or our clients. This is… Well, it does.”

  “These are very private, Mark. They don’t have my name on them. They can’t be linked back to me. I’ve had these for years and it’s never been a problem.” I can hear where he’s going and I can’t believe it.

  “Well, someone has linked you. It’s been reported to me.” Mark sits back in his chair, seemingly as uncomfortable as I am having this conversation.

  “Who? Who would think to do this? I don’t understand, Mark.”

  “I’m really sorry, Izzy. If it were up to me, it would be fine. But HR has a very strict policy and I can’t do anything to stop it. The risk to some of our clients is too big.”

  “Can you at least tell me who complained about me?”

  “I believe it was Phil Fields.”

  “Phil? My ex-husband, Phil?”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t undo the complaint based on who it came from. There is a clear trail from one post on your regular Facebook account that links back to your Tumblr blog. That then leads to the others. It’s enough, Izzy. I’m sorry. I’m afraid that you’ll be on gardening leave until the end of the month when you’ll no longer be working for us.” He’s going to fire me because of my private online profile.

  “What? This isn’t right, Mark. I’m good at my job. You’ve seen what I’ve done on the client accounts. We wouldn’t have won Sportletic’s new account without me.”

  “I know, Izzy, but my hands are tied.” It’s Mark’s turn to blush now. It makes me wonder if he’s seen some of the content of my Tumblr account.

  “What if I delete them?”

  “It’s too late. I need you to send me the latest reports you’re working on and clear out your desk.” Mark turns blurry in front of my eyes as the tears fill and overflow, landing on my clenched hands.

  I’ve only just reached the belief that Phil can’t take everything from me. Yet, an hour later, he is taking my livelihood away. My job, my career. “He did this for revenge because I divorced him. I’ve worked so damn hard these last few months for you.”

  “Izzy, please, I don’t want to have to let you go. But you’ve breached your contract.” The shock of this soon yields to fury. This can’t be happening. This isn’t real. The anger turns my tears hot and makes them run faster, but I have to compose myself. I can fall apart later. I dash the tears and stand abruptly, seething that Mark would take Phil’s side over mine.

  I head to my desk and grab the few personal belongings I have at work and shove them in my oversized bag. My laptop at home has duplicates of most of the reports and campaigns I’ve worked on.

  Mark is standing over me as I finish up, and he escorts me back downstairs.

  “I am really sorry, Izzy. I’ll write you a great reference, and like I said, you’ll be paid up to the end of the month.”

  “It’s fine.
Goodbye, Mark.”

  I walk to my car brimming with tears. After I open the door and dump my bag in the passenger seat, I take a few deep breaths to try to steady myself. It doesn’t work, so I hold my breath, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to force the tears to stop. They continue to leak from my eyes, and I gasp out. I try to blink my fuzzy vision away but it’s still there. The tears keep coming. Get home. Just get home. My heart is hammering in my chest, my breathing uneven. I pray that I can hold it together long enough to get home. Angry that the waterworks always get in my way, I swipe them from my cheeks and start the engine. I can do this. I can at least do this.

  I know that Seb won’t be home. It’s the middle of the day, and I’m grateful that I don’t have to face him. What would I say?

  I walk about the house in a daze, slowly drifting through the rooms, thinking about how I wish everything could be different. That I could be different. A myriad of emotions are fighting for dominance inside of me—hurt, betrayal, panic, shame and anger. Anger is winning, but it shows itself through ugly tears and big sobs.

  What am I going to do? How am I going to support myself? What will I do for money? Before I have a chance to make it to the bedroom, I’ve convinced myself that I’ll never be able to find another job, nor will Seb want a divorced, unemployed girlfriend who can’t give him what he needs.

  I pick up my phone and call Jess.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  I steel myself, sucking in air to try to keep my voice from cracking. “I… Jess, I need… I, I, I need help.”

  “Oh, hun. What is it?”

  “Work…” I gasp between the sobs lodged in my throat.

  “Where are you? Are you at home?”

  “Home,” I cry out, giving up on the battle to remain composed.

  “I’ll be over. Just give me a few minutes, okay?”

  “Th-thank you.” I collapse onto the sofa and pull the cushion up to my chest. I cling to it like a life raft as I’m swept out to sea in my own fears.

  True to her word, Jess is banging down the front door a few minutes later. I let her in. She barges through and has me swaddled in her arms before I can ask. She manoeuvres us back into the front room and onto the sofa.