by Roxy Sloane
“How about cupcakes tomorrow?” she suggests. “You could come to my place. We’ll order in.”
“Maybe, I’ll see how I feel and give you a call. But thanks.”
Her invitation means the world to me. Even though women like Nicole and Lulu have shown their friendship to be shallow and meaningless, Olivia is proving that I do still have real friends left.
The cab pulls up at Cam’s apartment. I give her a quick hug and then climb out, hurrying inside in case any journalists or photographers are lurking around.
The apartment is silent. I drop my purse by the door and look around. I’m right back where I started this morning, with thoughts of the past whirling through my head, impossible to keep at bay. I feel so powerless. Cam has his lawyers and investigator doing everything they can, but there’s nothing for me to do but wait.
Wait, and think about everything I’ve done wrong.
I climb the stairs. Cam’s private playroom is elevated above the main penthouse, the glass walls giving me a view of the city at dusk. It’s so removed from everything, I can tell why he calls it his sanctuary. There’s something so calming about the space, rich with meaning, even aside from the toys and implements that are racked neatly on the walls. In here, I can breathe.
I sit on the floor with my back against his chair, watching the city. I used to dream about New York when I was a kid. To someone from Tallahassee, it seemed like the most glamorous place in the world. I would read all the glossy fashion magazines I could get my hands on– no matter they were out of date, dog-eared copies I paged through in the library or in waiting rooms – and picture myself here. Living a fabulous life, with my own swanky apartment and a closet full of amazing clothes; eating in all the trendiest restaurants and partying all night in the hottest clubs with all the friends I’d make.
My dreams came true. Most of them, anyway. I came here, I’ve lived that life. But being on the brink of losing everything has made me realize just how empty that lifestyle was. I spent so much time and energy trying to fit in with Nicole and Lulu and society bitches like them. I faked smiles, and pretended I cared about silly things, and all for what?
To be on the inside? To pass for something other than what I am?
I feel a sadness welling in my chest. After everything we’ve been through, they only see me as some worthless junkie’s kid.
A killer.
“Isabelle?”
I look up. Cam is in the doorway. He moves closer, concern on his handsome face. “Olivia called me, are you OK?”
I exhale. “I didn’t have a breakdown, if that’s what you’re worried about. Well, only a little one,” I add, remembering how I sprawled all over the floor in front of everyone. “Now I have to find another hairstylist. Except, I guess I won’t need one in jail.” I try to lighten the mood, but the joke falls flat.
Cam holds out his hands. I take them. He pulls me to my feet. “Isabelle…” he cradles my cheek in his hand. “It won’t come to it, I promise you.”
“Maybe it should.” I give a defeated shrug. “Maybe they’re right. It’s in my blood, isn’t it?”
“Is that what those women said to you?” Cam looks like he’s about to punch the wall.
“It’s what everyone’s saying. Online, on the news. And they’re right.” I feel a knot forming in my chest, but I bite back my tears. I’m done crying today. “I grew up in foster care, and no one gave a shit. My mom’s a junkie jail-bird. It was stupid of me to think I could ever outrun the past.”
“You’re nothing like what they say,” Cam insists. “You’re more than that.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. It doesn’t matter where you come from, Isabelle, it matters who you are.”
Cam leads me to the chair and pulls me down on his lap so I’m cradled against his body. I snuggle into his solid, muscular frame. His arms hold me gently, stroking my hair with one hand. “You don’t see what I see when I look at you,” he tells me, his voice so warm and reassuring. “I see your strength. Your courage. Your beauty. Not the mask you put on to face the world,” he adds, turning my face to look him in the eyes. “But the real you.”
I feel a warmth inside. “I don’t feel strong,” I whisper. “I feel like I’m falling apart, always needing to be rescued by you, or Olivia, or someone.”
“Are you kidding me?” he grins. “You’re stronger than you realize. You’re the one who convinced me to take you on as my sub. You walked right into the club and got on your knees. You wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“I was scared as hell,” I admit, remembering that night. “I thought you were going to tell me to get out. That you wouldn’t want me.”
He holds me tighter, and I feel his lips against my ear. I suppress a shiver.
“I always wanted you,” Cam vows. His hand slides down my neck, tracing over my skin.
I melt against him.
“I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anyone,” he says, kissing my ear, my jaw, and down my throat. His hand glides around, lightly stroking my breast.
I gasp.
“You transfix me, Isabelle. Everything about you. I’ve never come so close to losing control as when I’m with you.”
His fingertips brush my nipples, achingly light. I wriggle against his lap, feeling the hard outline of his cock pressing into my ass. Heat rushes to my core, I want him so much.
In one swift movement, Cam lifts me by the waist and pulls me around, so I’m straddling him. He runs his hands down the front of my body, making me moan from his touch even through my dress. His eyes flash darkly.
“You’re perfect,” he growls, his voice thick now with desire. “Every part of you.”
He pushes up my skirt, reaching to brush between my spread thighs. I moan again, feeling the light pressure against my clit. “Cam,” I breathe, thrusting into his hand. “I need you.”
“Not until you say it,” Cam commands. “Tell me you’re perfect.”
I stop cold and shake my head. “I can’t.”
“You can.” Cam strokes me again, pushing my panties aside and burying one finger into my pussy. “You will.”
I clench around him. God, he feels so good.
“Say it. That’s an order.” His eyes take on that steely glint, the one that makes my pussy ache with desire.
“I… I’m perfect,” I whisper, flushing. The words feel so foreign on my lips. I’ve spent my life trying to change myself: to be prettier, thinner, more bubbly, more blonde. Yet here I sit, flawed and exposed, and still Cam can’t take his eyes—or his hands—off me. Could he really think I’m perfect just the way I am?
Cam unfastens his belt, pushing his pants lower. His cock springs free, hard and ready. He takes my hips, guiding me into position above him. I feel him pressing hard against the entrance of my pussy. I want him inside, filling me up, obliterating any bad thoughts.
“Say it again” he demands, bringing me down on his dick in one thick thrust.
I moan with the feel of him, sliding deep inside, so big. He’s waiting now, and I know I have to follow his orders if I want more of him. And I do. “I’m perfect,” I cry, as Cam lifts me up, then pulls me down again, spearing me with every last inch. “Yes!” I gasp, as he finds that sweet spot, high inside me. “Oh God, yes.”
Cam rocks into me hard. “Ride me,” he demands, fisting my hair in his hand. He fixes his gaze on me, just inches away. “Take what you need.”
I find the rhythm, lifting myself and slamming back down, rocking so that my clit presses against him with every stroke. God, it’s so good. He fits me, stretches me, sending pleasure ricocheting through my body. “Master,” I gasp, already so close to the edge.
“I’m here,” he growls. “Your Master is right here.”
His lips crash down on mine, possessing me in a fierce kiss as his cock impales me. His tongue surges deep, his cock strokes harder. I feel his fingers playing with my ass, rubbing against me as he pulls me closer to him. He’s everywhere, consum
ing me, every part of me. I lose myself in the feel of him, falling into the sensation until he thrusts again and I come.
He pulls back, his gaze fixed on me as I see him come undone with me. I feel him shudder inside me, see the look in his eyes as he goes over the edge. And at that moment, it finally feels true.
To him, I’m perfect.
SIX: CAM
I carry Isabelle to bed. She falls asleep almost immediately, but rest doesn’t come so easily for me.
Holding her in my arms like this just reminds me again how right this feels. This woman is the missing piece in the puzzle that my life has been. I found her, and now I’m whole. Complete. What I told her tonight is true. I’ve never felt anything like this before with any woman.
She is everything to me.
These past few weeks have only proven how right we are together. All these years with my subs, the other women I’ve dated, I was so careful to protect myself. Barricade my emotions away behind this wall of self-protection and distance. But I don’t have any defenses against Isabelle. She shatters every one of my limits, pushes me past the edge of my self-control.
I love her.
The knowledge is almost more than I can stand, because so much is at stake now. If I can’t protect her—
But I can’t think about that now.
I look at her sleeping, and brush some of her hair aside. She smiles in her sleep, and I wonder if she’s thinking of me.
I always rejected the idea of love, in a way. I thought it would make me weak. Less of a man. Less of a Dom. But loving Isabelle makes me feel stronger than ever. She’s showing me what it means to be truly responsible for a woman, to hold the power over her pleasure and pain in my hands: not just her body, but her heart, too.
It’s humbling how much she trusts me.
This love is sacred. Something precious to be cherished and protected. At all costs.
I pull her body closer. Cradled in my arms with her silky hair on my shoulder and my hand on the curve of her hip, I stay awake, guarding her from nightmares as she dreams.
SEVEN: ISABELLE
I wake up knowing one thing for sure: I need to figure out who this mystery witness is, and that means getting the information from Brent. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but every instinct says that he’s behind this somehow.
He can’t have me, so now he’s out to destroy me.
Down the hall, Cam is fixing a perfect cappuccino. He’s dressed for work, looking panty-meltingly gorgeous in a suit and tie, and it strikes me again how lucky I am to have him in my life.
He looks up and smiles at me, but there’s still worry in his eyes. “I can blow off my meetings, if you want,” he says. “Stay here with you for the day.”
As much as I love the idea of spending the day in bed with Cam, I know he has commitments he shouldn’t be breaking, not on my account. And he’s already helped me so much.
I shake my head. “I’m OK. At least I know to keep a low profile now. If I steer clear of the paparazzi and society bitches, I’ll be fine. Promise. I just wish there was something I could do,” I add, moving to sit at the kitchen counter. I reach for a fresh bagel on the platter, and take a frustrated bite.
Cam drops a kiss on my cheek. “I know it’s hard to wait around like this, but your court date hasn’t been set yet. Jake is hunting down information about the case, and our lawyer is doing everything he can on the legal side, too. You’re in safe hands, I promise.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” I ask. “Maybe if I tried to talk to Brent—”
“No.” Cam cuts me off. His face turns dark. “You can’t go near him, do you hear me, Isabelle? He’s dangerous and angry, you don’t know what he’ll do. Better if he thinks he’s won for now and lets his guard down, so my people can figure out what he’s up to.”
I reluctantly nod.
“Good girl,” Cam murmurs, kissing me again. “I’ll be home early tonight. I’ll make you dinner,” he adds, trailing his hand down my body. He kisses me slowly on my lips, before taking his briefcase and leaving.
The door closes behind him. I’m all alone.
My mind races. Cam told me not to speak to Brent. A direct order. But nobody knows Brent like me: he’s dangerous, sure, but he’s also arrogant and stupid sometimes. We’ve been stuck two steps behind the police ever since my arrest, but I know that if I push him right, Brent couldn’t help but spill the beans just to lord it over me. His quest for revenge could destroy my whole life. But I won’t let him.
I can’t wait for everyone to fix this mess for me. I need to do it for myself.
I feel a stab of guilt. Disobeying an order from Cam goes against everything in our relationship. But how can I sit around when they’re going to so much trouble for me?
If I can solve this, if I can get the information we need, then this will all go away. Cam won’t have to worry about me like this. I won’t have to hide out, away from the press and all my former friends. He won’t have to spend all this time and money on investigators and legal fees.
And I’ll be able to put the past behind me for good.
Going to Brent now is a risk, but I need to take it – for all our sakes.
I take a deep breath and find my cell phone. I speed-dial the front desk at my old apartment building – the apartment where Brent is still living, rent-free.
“Hello, this is the Dunsmore.”
“Andre, is that you?” I ask, recognizing the voice of my favorite doorman. “It’s Isabelle Ashcroft.”
He’s silent a moment, and I hold my breath, hoping he’s still an ally.
“Miss Ashcroft, are you alright? We’ve had all sorts of people waiting around for you here.” There’s nothing in his voice but concern, and I exhale with relief.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I say, giving thanks that nobody knows I’m staying with Cam. I guess all the press and attention has been on my old building. “Listen, I need a favor. Is Brent home today?”
“Not right now,” Andre answers. My heart sinks. “But I believe he’ll be back this afternoon.”
Good. I wanted to speak with him, but since he’s out of the apartment, a new idea strikes me. “Can you please have removal men and a locksmith meet me at the apartment? I need to get some things out of the property.”
“Of course,” Andre agrees quickly. “I’ll have them come right away.”
I hang up, feeling more determined. First, I need to get Brent’s things out, and then we’ll have the conversation that’s been a long time coming.
Cam will understand, I tell myself. He has to. This is my life Brent is screwing with, and I can’t let him do it another day.
* * *
I use a back entrance to sneak into the Dunsmore building, then spend the morning working with the movers to box up all of Brent’s things in my old apartment. It’s strange being back here, the place I called home all year, but still never felt like I belonged.
The décor, the style, it’s all showy and ultra-feminine, lots of gold and chandeliers and fancy touches I used to try and mark the space as my own, even with Brent using it as his personal crash-pad. His stuff is everywhere: expensive clothes and gadgets discarded like they mean nothing at all.
Not for the first time, I wonder how he can be so careless. We both came from poor foster homes, we both grew up with nothing, but instead of treasuring all the privilege the Ashcrofts gave us, Brent just acts like he’s entitled to whatever he wants.
I remember, the first Christmas we both were with the family, I couldn’t believe all the gifts waiting under the tree, it was like something out of a dream for me. Charles Ashcroft and his wife had gone all out: toys, dolls, games. I unwrapped everything so carefully, wanting to savor every moment, but Brent tore through all his gifts in minutes – and then threw a tantrum because they hadn’t gotten him an expensive model car he wanted.
Looking around the room, it’s clear nothing’s changed.
“That’s the last of it,” Andre says
when Brent’s things are finally boxed up in the hall. “The locks are changed, too. Here’s the new keys.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, taking the keys. “You’ve been wonderful, like always.” I see Andre’s smile reach all the way to his eyes, and he adjusts his cap to hide it.
“Did you want the boxes delivered anywhere, Miss Ashcroft?”
“Nope. My brother will be along to pick them up,” I say. I already texted him, telling him we need to talk.
Sure enough, barely five minutes after Andre leaves, I hear the elevator arrive with a ding! from down the hall.
I try to steel myself. The thought of seeing Brent makes me feel sick inside, reminding me of all the years I was under his control. His manipulation, his tempers. I worshipped him, but only because I was so desperate and needy for love.
No more.
I hear his footsteps approach the apartment. They stop outside the door, then comes the sound of his key in the lock. “Fuck,” I hear Brent’s muffled curse.
Be strong, I remind myself. You just need clues about the witness.
I get up and go open the door. Brent is scowling, already red with anger. “What the fuck?” he demands, pushing past me inside. “Why won’t my key work? And what the hell is all my stuff doing in the hall?”
“You’re moving out,” I say calmly.
Brent looks around, the truth dawning. “Are you forgetting something?” He turns back to me with a cruel sneer. “I know your little secret.”
“And now so does the whole world,” I reply, folding my arms. “That means you don’t have any leverage over me anymore.”
Brent’s face falls, and I have to try not to laugh. “Didn’t think it through, did you? Now that I’m officially charged with murder, you can’t blackmail me anymore. That means no apartment, no car payments, and no credit cards. That’s right,” I add, “I already called them and cut you off.”
I didn’t think I could find a silver lining to this terrible nightmare, but the look on Brent’s face as he realizes how screwed he is makes me feel better, just for a moment.