by Desiree Holt
“Up on your knees.”
Cord urged her to a kneeling position, facing away from him. Stretching over her, he placed her hands on the ledge of the tub, curling her fingers to indicate she should hold on for support. In this position, her ass and her pussy were completely exposed to his touch.
“What—?”
“Hush. Let me take care of you.” He busied himself adjusting the direction of the jets and shifting her body slightly. “There now. That’s what I want.”
What he wanted, apparently, was for the force of water from two of the jets to pulse directly into her vagina.
Oh god!
She tried to shift to a different position so the stimulation on her overused cunt wasn’t so intense, but Cord slapped her smartly on the ass.
“Uh-uh. Behave, girl, or I’ll have to get out the paddle.” He patted her cunt. “Those jets are great for stimulation, aren’t they?” He laughed, a deep, sensuous sound, lightly dragging the tips of his fingers over her folds.
She clenched her jaw and tried to ride the erotic thunderstorm brewing inside her.
“Fallon, I want to understand that you can trust me enough to tell me things, even if you believe I won’t like them or might be angry. It’s my responsibility to protect you. I can’t do it properly unless I know all your demons.”
She bowed her head, holding her body still as he reached around and cupped her breasts, lightly tugging on the nipple rings. “I understand. I do.” Fallon had a sense there was more he wanted to say but tonight he’d pushed her as much as he was going to.
After the party. I’ll tell him the rest after the party.
Pulling her back against him, he allowed her to lean against the hard wall of his chest.
“Don’t move. Just a little stroking to remind you who owns this cunt.”
With the tip of one finger, he traced her opening over and over, fingernail scraping lightly across the ultrasensitive skin of her clit. Surely he knew she couldn’t take any more. Didn’t he?
“No,” she cried when he took his hand away. She could hardly believe that after the way he’d played her body for what seemed like hours, she was on the verge of being fully aroused again.
He nipped the shell of her ear. “So responsive,” he murmured. “Always ready for my touch like a good subbie.” He bit the sensitive area where her neck and shoulder joined. “The best subbie.”
She sighed in relief when his fingers began their busy pattern again, this time moving faster, punctuating the rhythm with tiny pinches. When his fingers closed over her clit, she couldn’t hold back the groan of pleasure and, despite his warnings, pushed against his touch.
Cord put his mouth next to her ear, his laughter soft, his breath a warm, tickling breeze. “This belongs to me, you know. Whether I call you girl or Fallon, in or out of a scene, it’s all mine.”
“Yes.” She was breathless with growing need. “All yours.”
Her cunt throbbing with need, her head fell forward. Cord urged her to sit, reclining back against one end of the tub, then he spread her legs wide and propped her feet on the ledge on each side.
“Close your eyes,” he directed, taking her hands and placing them behind her head. “And don’t open them until I tell you to.”
And then she fell into a cloud of sensuality, where the only thing she could focus on was his fingers—rubbing her clit and the lips of her pussy, tracing the circle of her opening. And the steady pounding of water from the jets against her body. She wanted to squeeze her thighs together, trapping his hand, forcing his fingers inside her, but she knew he’d stop altogether if she did. She certainly didn’t want to go to bed trembling on the edge of orgasm. Unfulfilled. So she stayed as he’d arranged her, biting her lower lip as Cord stimulated and aroused every nerve ending.
By the time he dragged a fingertip down from her clit to slide inside her, Fallon was nearly insane with need. Being unable to close her thighs was driving her mad. He added a second finger, then a third, thrusting in and out in a maddeningly slow rhythm. Slowly he adjusted his hand so his thumb pressed against her clit.
“Don’t move,” he reminded her, his hand and fingers moving faster and harder.
And then, finally—finally!—the tremors began deep inside her body, spiraling upward until she was sure she would explode.
Fallon jerked against his hold as spasm after spasm rocked her. Fisting her hands, she tightened her fingers and dug her nails into her palms. The walls of her pussy clenched tightly around Cord’s fingers, and she rode the tidal wave of the orgasm as it shook her, gasping for breath.
When the last vibrations subsided, he slipped his fingers from her body and cupped her chin, turning her head so they could look at each other. His smile was equal parts male satisfaction, caring, and some emotion she couldn’t identify.
She was only peripherally aware of him turning off the jets, draining the water from the tub, lifting her out to stand on a thick mat. A large towel from the heated racks dried the moisture from her skin. Although he hadn’t imposed any painful punishment, he still rubbed soothing lotion into every inch of her skin.
Drowsy now, eyes closed, she leaned into him as he lifted her into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder. In seconds she heard the rustle of bedclothes as he pulled back the covers then felt the kiss of the soft sheets against her abused skin. Cord settled her on her side, one hand beneath her head the way she usually slept. Minutes later the bed dipped as he climbed in and pulled her against him, fitting their bodies together. His breath was warm as he brushed a soft kiss over her cheek.
She was safe with him. Sheltered. Cared for. Nothing bad could happen again.
She hoped.
Please.
And finally, she tumbled into a dreamless sleep.
* * * * *
Brian Willoughby pulled into the three-car garage and turned off the engine of his sleek silver Lexus LFA. Pulling the key from the ignition, he sat in the dark for a moment, staring through the windshield at the blank wall. Today had gone so well for him until he’d made that unscheduled stop at La Cantera. One minute he was mulling his latest business deal, the next he was in full-body contact with Fallon Crowe.
Fallon.
That bitch!
Just thinking her name left a bitter taste on his tongue. The thought of how she’d left filled him with rage.
What a sweet sub she’d been. Well trained to be obedient. Just the way he liked them. Hooked by his particular brand of play from the first moment he’d restrained her and given her a mind-blowing orgasm. Little by little, seduction by seduction, he’d drawn her in. Until she was so addicted to him, to his approval, that he could finally move on to what he really wanted—total control of both her body and mind.
He wasn’t sure which he enjoyed most—drawing a woman into his circle of depravity or completely destroying her afterward. Much the same way he dealt with the businesses he acquired and the people he hired.
After his discovery of BDSM on the web, he’d surfed lots of sites, mostly searching for types of punishments. He’d read all the crap about safe words, trust and respecting your sub. Brian respected no one but himself. His object was control. He was also aware of the ridiculous “safe, sane and consensual” mantra spouted by soft imbeciles.
He didn’t require anyone’s consent for anything. He made the rules and they played by them. He enticed them and they succumbed to temptation. End of story. He saw anything else as weakness. And he had no plans to change.
The pictures he saw of women in extreme situations of torture, their expressions mixtures of pain and pleasure; the stories he’d read about the sophistication of sexual torture, made his cock swell and his balls ache. That was what he wanted. To add extreme pain into the sexual mix and ingrain the need for it into another human being.
He’d trolled for the perfect sub immediately and found what he was looking for almost at once.
After several years and many subs, he’d learned even more about himse
lf. A woman bored him once he’d broken her completely, once she was completely dependent on him in all ways. Her pleasure was secondary to his. And the need to take things to more and more extreme levels continued to grow.
Brian had discovered his ultimate satisfaction came in the complete destruction of another human being.
Fallon was his one and only failure; the sub who had broken loose before he was ready to discard her. A situation he was determined to rectify.
He’d managed to push it to the back of his mind after she’d left so abruptly and he’d failed to get her back immediately, unwilling to look as if he was begging her to return. He never begged. Ever.
He’d thrown himself into business, and gone through three subs who’d turned out to be just pale imitations of Fallon before he’d found his current possession. But for more than a year the memory of her had simmered in a dark corner of his mind.
Today had slammed it all back to the forefront. He’d barely been able to leash the anger that threatened to burst from him.
No one—no one—left Brian Willoughby, not in his personal or professional lives. They were gone only when he was done with them.
Getting through the rest of the day had taken great discipline on his part, but that was something he had in abundance. And he allowed his wrath to make him even more voracious during his business meeting later that afternoon. The partners in the financial firm he was negotiating to buy looked as if they’d been thrown under a train when they finally left. Even his attorney, who’d been with him a long time, glanced at him strangely but wisely withheld comment. Evan Hollander knew when to keep his opinions to himself.
Brian had deliberately eaten a solitary dinner at a restaurant rather than returning home. He had certainly not felt like sitting through the meal but his consuming fury was tempered by the knowledge that his latest sub was waiting so patiently at home. The longer he made her wait, the more unsure she would become, and the more anxious to please him when he finally arrived at the house. He would push her to her limits, let his rage be appeased by her unsatisfied need.
And tomorrow he would make it his business to learn every single detail of what Fallon Crowe had been doing and who she’d been with since her friend had yanked her so unceremoniously from his house. He’d waited, not so patiently, for her to return, tugged by that invisible leash. He was sure that once Claire Panetta got tired of playing babysitter, Fallon would be back under his whip before he could blink.
He did manage to ferret out through a private detective that she’d tucked herself away in the Hill Country, never venturing into the city at all. She’d also taken up with a Dallas transplant named Cord Jamieson.
If she was with a new Master, that person best be on his guard. Brian Willoughby never lost, and never let go of anything until he was damn good and ready.
As for the moment, Natalie would be waiting for him, worried as always that she’d displeased him. She’d be so willing to please him that she’d do anything he wanted, no matter how extreme. Only the thought of her complete submission helped him battle the anger bubbling inside him since running into Fallon.
Briefly the thought crossed his mind that if he was successful in his plans for Fallon, he’d have to figure out what to do with Natalie, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. He’d solve that sticky little situation just like he did all the others in his life, his own satisfaction being the most important goal. The fact that Natalie would be another casualty didn’t give him a moment’s hesitation. He’d long ago stopped worrying about anyone but himself.
Climbing out of the car, he let himself into the house through the side door. The place was immaculate, as always. The people who cleaned for him knew that one forgotten smudge or missed film of dust and they’d need to move to another city to find work. Mrs. Hudson, the housekeeper who came in each day, had left a small lamp on in the front hall as well as one in the kitchen, as instructed. He didn’t need all the lights blazing away but he didn’t like entering a house that was completely dark.
Many people wondered why he, a bachelor, lived in such a large home. Ten thousand square feet was beyond pretentious but he didn’t care. He’d bought it because he could, and that was reason enough for him.
“Everything is yours for the taking,” his father had repeated over and over. “You just have to grab it and not let anyone get in your way. You have power. Use it or lose it.”
He’d lived by that all his life. Power was his drug of choice and he fed his need for it by eating people and businesses alive. He saw something he wanted and took it. Possession fed his hunger. People had accused him of being emotionless but they were wrong. Nothing got his juices flowing more or his pulse beating faster than acquiring something new. And acquisition just increased his supremacy.
Yes, that’s what he considered it. Supremacy over lesser beings.
His father had built an empire, firmly managing his life and the lives of everyone around him. Brian’s mother was little more than a faded smudge on his memory, background for his father, someone who’d embodied the meaning of subservience and actually seemed to thrive on it. Brian had exhibited a thirst for power and control at an early age and his father had been happy to be his tutor.
“As good as I am,” he’d said frequently, “you will be better. Never let anyone say ‘no’ to you and never let anyone cross you without being punished. People don’t have to like you but they must respect you. That’s what counts.”
Brian had taken his father’s empire and expanded it many times over. The Willoughby brand was found in every corner of the global business community. Too bad his father had died in a plane crash before he could enjoy his son’s success.
Now he paused a moment at the foot of the broad staircase to the second floor, looking around. The house was designed to convey both power and status and could be called nothing less than a mansion.
“Impressions,” his father had drummed into him. “An impression is a door opener. Everything you own is part of your image, of who you are. Project power and you become power. And power is intimidating. That’s your best weapon.”
He applied that to every area of his life, the house being an extension of his image. The rooms on the ground floor were spacious and filled with carefully chosen furnishings and accessories. He was a voracious bidder at high-dollar auctions on items that caught his fancy. When he entertained at home, he enjoyed watching his guests eye his spectacular objects with envy. Everything shrieked quiet and substantial wealth.
He climbed the staircase, enjoying the feel of the polished oak bannister beneath his hand and the plush carpeting on the stairs. A small lamp was lit on the side table in the upper hallway, also, and he moved toward the closed door of the suite where Natalie was housed.
Confining his sub to her own suite was another method of maintaining control over her. It kept her from intruding into his personal life. She was there for sex and nothing else. As he approached the room, his groin tightened in anticipation of what awaited him.
Outside the door, he paused for a moment, composing himself. These first few moments were always such a rush, better than any stimulant. Letting out a slow breath, he turned the knob and opened the door.
Here too there was only a dim light, this time from the wall sconce that was on a timer. It allowed him to drink in and absorb every detail.
Natalie sat obediently in the big armchair by the window, naked, just as he’d ordered. Her hands were folded in front of her, eyes focused on them, her feet placed just far enough apart that he could see her cunt. If she’d followed his instructions—and by now he had no reason to think she wouldn’t—she would have finished the dinner tray Mrs. Hudson brought to her then showered completely and prepared herself for his return.
When he left each morning, he never told her what time he’d be home. Or even if he’d be home. Often he had functions and meetings that kept him out at night. Not giving her the specifics of his day kept her off balance, just the way he lik
ed it. Sometimes he was gone for two or three days, leaving her to the routine he’d established but making sure she lived with uncertainty. Removing every vestige of choice was important in establishing command. It was so much easier to maintain control that way. He had taken every bit of power away, leaving Natalie completely at his mercy. His cock swelled just thinking about it.
When she was hired to help his executive assistant, he’d spotted her at once as prime submissive material. She was thrilled when he asked her to dinner, even more so the first time he took her home. Her reaction to the activities in the bedroom confirmed his feelings, that she had been involved in BDSM before. Perhaps nothing as extreme as what Brian practiced, but at least he hadn’t had to start from scratch.
In the beginning, he’d allowed her to keep her position at the office but once he actually moved her into his house, she’d worked from there. If Jocelyn, his executive assistant, had any questions about that, she didn’t voice them.
And then, so imperceptibly Natalie barely noticed, he’d shut the door on her friends and acquaintances. He didn’t want any outside influences, neither personal nor business. She was his. Every minute of her life belonged to him.
She had been with him six months now and her training had come along nicely. No one questioned her isolation. When she accompanied him to certain events, no one commented on her docile attitude or her complete deference to him. He dressed her appropriately, schooled her on proper behavior and displayed her like a prized possession. He thought secretly other men envied him; men whose women spoke in shrill voices, wore too much makeup, behaved unacceptably. Questioned their authority.
Whatever the reaction might be when he and Natalie were out in public, who would doubt the motives of the great Brian Willoughby? He believed most of her friends thought her damn lucky that she was in a relationship with him. Living in his house. Enjoying all the advantages he provided. They didn’t need to know the particulars of the situation.
“You may look at me now, sub.”
She lifted her gaze and in her eyes, he saw intense relief that he had actually come home. That she hadn’t been forced to spend another day alone in the room, watching only the television shows he permitted, reading the books he left for her, taking her meals in solitude. She was never allowed in other parts of the house when he wasn’t home.