Point of Submission

by Remy Landon

  He chuckled at her reaction. “This is the effect you have on me.” His voice was rich and warm with desire. “And what am I doing to you, Cassandra?”

  His right hand slid down to squeeze and caress her bare thigh as she gasped. The combination of his hard cock and rigid chest against her while he softly, slowly kissed her neck was almost too much for her to bear.

  Carlo put his mouth on hers, kissing her more forcefully this time and sucking gently on her bottom lip. Cassandra felt a tugging, aching sensation in her lower abdomen, spreading between her legs and all the way down to her toes. Her arms lay stiffly by her sides, and she balled her hands into fists to keep them from touching him. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by the ping-ponging of her thoughts between thinking he should stop, and really, really wanting him to holyfuckingshit put his hand up her dress.

  She felt him draw back and startled at the authoritative sound of his voice.“Lean up a bit so I can unzip your dress.”

  “But I—”

  “Do you ever just do as you're told?”

  She was irritated enough to come somewhat to her senses. This was like the third time he'd acted as though he had the right to boss her around. “Excuse me? Are you saying I'm supposed to take orders from you?”

  His eyebrows lifted. His smile was just a shade away from a smirk. “I'm saying I'm going to unzip your dress. If that sounds like an order, so be it.”

  “I just—” Cassandra made the mistake of focusing on his mouth and felt her indignation begin to evaporate. “I just don't want this to go too far.”

  He studied her for a few seconds and then bent his head to kiss her collarbone, snaking a finger along the top of her dress and dipping it dangerously low into her cleavage. “Is this too far, Cassandra?” he murmured, his mouth next to her ear. He shifted his hips again and she felt a renewed sense of longing. God damn him, seriously, and his mouth and eyes and arms and all the rest of him.

  Carlo rolled onto his left side, pulling her along with him. Powerless, she found herself unable to move as his hand went to the back of her dress to smoothly unzip it. She sucked in her breath. He slid the dress off her shoulders and watched as she wriggled her arms free. She had worn one of her best bras, a sky-blue push-up with lace trim.

  Carlo appeared to approve. He unbuttoned his own shirt, pulling it loose from his pants, and her eyes grew large at his smooth, hairless chest and well-defined abs. He looked chiseled and ripped and god-like, and Cassandra found herself not minding in the least when she felt him deftly unclasp and remove her bra. Without saying a word, he pulled her to him and breathed into her hair, her head tucked under his chin. She was taken aback by how almost tender it felt, to be held like this by a man she had yet to really know.

  Suddenly, Carlo was pushing away from her. Whatwhatwhat? Was he done with her?

  He sat up and reached for her water glass, tipping it toward him and drinking slowly. Cassandra crossed her arms over her breasts and shivered, both from the cool air and self-consciousness, watching his throat as he swallowed and deciding there wasn't a single thing about him that didn't exude hot.

  The few remaining ice cubes slid down the glass and bumped into his lips. He opened his mouth to take them in, set the glass back down and removed his shirt. Now she could see the full effect of sculpted shoulders and muscular arms, the broad chest tapering down to a trim waistline.

  He climbed on top of her, grinding his pelvis into hers a bit more assertively this time. He was sucking on the ice cubes in his mouth as he gently moved her arms away from her breasts and held her hands above her head. Without a word, he slid himself down so his mouth hovered over her breast.

  Jesus...Christ. She gasped as she felt him take her nipple between his lips, the chill of the ice cubes contrasting with the warmth of his mouth. He sucked gently at first, then a bit harder, the melting ice collected around her nipple. Her pussy was pulsing with the rhythm of his sucking—it was absolutely electrifying, and she bit her lip to keep from whimpering. He released her now rock-hard nipple and flicked his tongue over the taut peak.

  “And now for the other,” Carlo said, looking up and flashing her a grin. “I believe in equal time.” He moved to her other breast and fastened his lips around the nipple, sucking and tonguing it, until a faint moan escaped her.

  This seemed to excite him. He sucked harder, his hand revisiting her other breast to pinch and roll her nipple between his fingers. It was at the perfect level of pleasure bordering on pain, and just when she thought she couldn't take it any more, he took his mouth off her nipple and moved away from her, the cool air wafting over her bare skin.

  Cassandra scrambled to a sitting position, breathing heavily and crossing her arms over her breasts. What the hell was this?

  Carlo sighed, running his hand through his tousled hair. “I'm sorry.”

  “What is it?”

  “I need to take you home, Cassandra.”

  “Why do you—did I—” Easy, girlfriend! Play it cool. She swallowed and raised her chin slightly. “All right,” she replied, as if this was a perfectly logical next step.

  His tone turned brisk and matter-of-fact. “I don't think you're ready for anything more, and even though I can control myself, it's torturous. So we're at a regrettable impasse, and I need to take you home.”

  Well. Apparently, they were done. She didn't know whether to be relieved or crushed. The feelings he evoked in her were always conflicting ones. Carlo himself was a study in contrasts: gentle and firm, insistent and relenting, aloof and earnest. Contrasts, like what he had done to her nipple with his mouth, pleasuring her using warm and icy.

  Cassandra had to admit he was right—she wasn't ready and didn't know if she ever would be, with him or anyone. Vulnerability was scary, to say the least, and she was reluctant to put herself in that position. Yet she hadn't ever been so turned on. Contrasts again.

  He slid on his shirt. “Your body is telling me one thing, but I need your heart and mind to want me, too. And I'm willing to wait—I don't want to jeopardize anything here. You're too important to me.”

  Carlo was looking at her so plaintively, so sincerely, that she found herself saying simply, “Thank you.”

  Slowly, he buttoned his shirt, staring at her with a piercing gaze and the hint of a smile as she put on her bra and slipped her arms back into her dress. He moved to stand behind her, zipping up her dress and bending down to kiss her lightly on the shoulder.

  Cassandra slipped on her sandals as truth came raining down on her. She had crossed from fantasy into physical territory with Carlo. The reality had been better. And as much as it rocked her to her core to admit it—she wanted more.

  chapter eighteen ~ Carlo

  Surveying his staff in conference room two, Carlo was struck by the realization that simple things—like this, providing a surprise Monday lunch of sub sandwiches and fruit platters for his employees—were really big things. Simple human kindness mattered and was what people remembered. He'd learned this from his stepfather, who had told him never to underestimate the importance of relationships in business. It's as much about selling yourself as selling the product. People buy from people. And it had been more than just the selling with Scott Miller. He had prided himself on being a businessman, but he had genuinely enjoyed making other people happy: his wife, family, friends, employees. Carlo had learned from the best.

  Being the boss could be rather amusing, because at social-type events such as this one, you never quite fit in with anyone. Even when you'd try to put people at ease with small talk, still...you were the boss. Estelle was different; she'd always been comfortable with him, and he thought of her more as a partner rather than his secretary (she would have scoffed at anything else), but the others were deferential and timid. Carlo was well aware he didn't exactly put people at ease, and he was okay with this. Boundaries were sensible. Necessary. Reassuring.

  This boundary philosophy had carried over into his personal life, although it was a struggle wi
th Cassandra. He'd been unable to get her off his mind this weekend, despite going into the office, a strenuous gym workout and a hilly, five-mile run on Sunday. It had taken every ounce of his willpower to stop touching her on their date two nights ago, but he knew it was the right decision.

  Later that night as Carlo undressed, he had relived being with her. He had even brought his shirt to his nose to inhale the faint scent of her, then quickly balled up the shirt and tossed it into the hamper, rolling his eyes at his ridiculous behavior. Lying in bed, he'd grown painfully rigid, remembering how it had felt to kiss her, touch her...remembering how much he had wanted to push up her dress, pull down her panties and put his mouth between her legs, bring her to the brink before taking her...He had masturbated that night, and then decided he needed to get a fucking grip.

  Carlo shook off his thoughts and returned his attention to watching his employees from his position on the fringe, feeling a sense of satisfaction that they were enjoying themselves. At least most of them were; Spencer, his quality manager, was looking at him and smiling nervously. The guy never seemed able to relax in Carlo's presence. Carlo grinned back and was about to walk over and try to put Spencer at ease when Brock appeared at his side.

  “Nice lunch, Carlo. Impressive fruit platter, too.” He held up a plate of strawberries and pineapple.

  “Glad you approve. Thought I'd make Monday a bit more bearable for everyone.”

  “This works. Hey, I also wanted to thank you for recommending your housekeeper. She started a couple days ago, and Jesus, what a difference compared to that other one I had.”

  “Rose is a gem. She's been with me for quite a while now. I wasn't sure she'd be able to take on another client.”

  “I used your name, and she didn't hesitate to add me. It's always who you know.” He laughed. “How was your weekend?”

  “Short. As usual. Yours?”

  “Disappointing.” Brock popped a piece of pineapple in his mouth and chewed noisily. “My date ended early Saturday night. Family emergency.”

  “Hmm...”

  “It was legit. I was right there when she got the call. Her father was brought to the ER for chest pains. Fortunately for him, it was a false alarm. Unfortunately for me, there was no action. But I'm not too concerned. And you?”

  “There has been progress.”

  “Define progress.”

  “Things are moving forward at an appropriate rate. And that's all I'll say. If you think I'm going to show my hand, think again.”

  Brock's piercing green eyes studied Carlo, his eyebrows raised. “No need to get defensive, friend. I was just asking for a detail or two—you know, purely for the entertainment factor. You've never been this close-mouthed before.”

  “Let's table this for now, all right? Not exactly the appropriate time or place.”

  “All right. We do need to share initial photos, though. Mine seems vain enough to accommodate that.”

  “I'll see what I can do.” Cassandra was not at all vain, and Carlo could envision her wrinkling her nose at his request to take her picture.

  “Just give her a line about wanting to be able to look at her anytime you want. Women fall for that kind of bullshit every time.” Brock grinned. “I'm an asshole, I know. And I'm going to get back to my office. I'm working on that bid for Boeing. Thanks again for the lunch.”

  Carlo watched Brock walk off and pause to flirt with Darcy in billing, who blushed and giggled in response. Brock had this undeniable magnetism, but there was something lurking beneath his charming exterior—an arrogance laced with coldness. Intelligent women who hung around with Brock for any length of time fell into two categories: those who wanted to “save” him, and those who wanted to chew him up and spit him back out. What was remarkable, though, was that women in the latter group would still stay with him, until they were inevitably dumped. Brock seemed to thrive on the turmoil he inflicted upon the women he dated, deftly navigating his way through their sputtering protests on his way to find his next victim.

  Cassandra would not be one of those to fall prey to Brock—she'd probably even find him repulsive. He smiled inwardly, thinking of her giving Brock a run for his money. And here he was again, at his workplace amid the comfortable buzz of conversation, thinking of Cassandra. He was completely confident she wanted to see him again, and he knew he most likely could have gone further with her, but leaving her wanting was part of the plan. He'd wanted to gauge her reaction when he commanded her to take down her hair, and though Cassandra had initially resisted, she had complied. It had startled her to be ordered like that. But this was a good thing, because being startled made her feel unsteady, and therefore defenseless.

  “You're looking very pensive. Seems to be the norm for you lately.”

  Carlo was jolted from his reverie by Estelle, who stood in front of him frowning thoughtfully. “I'm just thinking of ways to make this company better.”

  “Your stepfather would be proud. If, in fact, that was what you were thinking about.”

  Carlo raised his eyebrows in mock indignation.“Ms. Perry, I'm offended. Are you calling me a liar?”

  “I'm calling you preoccupied. Which, as we both know, is very unlike you. The question is, which kind of distraction is it—pleasant, or unpleasant?”

  “I'm sorry...what did you just say? I wasn't paying attention.”

  She narrowed her eyes, but her lips were twitching. “I'm betting the pleasant kind. And if I'm right, good for you. Just don't turn into the womanizer Brock is.”

  A pang of guilt. If Estelle found out, she would lose all respect for him.

  “I think you know that Brock and I are two very different individuals.”

  “I do know. I just don't want to see you turn into something you're not.”

  “You're quite esoteric for a Monday, Estelle.”

  “I am esoteric every day of the week, Carlo.” She gave him a wry smile. “Thank you for the nice lunch. I'm headed upstairs to get back to work...my boss is a slavedriver.”

  “He's not so bad. And he really appreciates you.”

  She drew herself up straighter and responded in a brisk tone. “That's nice to know. I'll see you in a bit.”

  He grinned as he watched her leave. Estelle had never been one to want to let her guard down. Which was partly why she understood him so well.

  Carlo went over to the food table and put a turkey sandwich and melon slices on his plate to take to his office. His employees began to disperse, taking plates of their own and thanking him. He needed to get some work done this afternoon; all this musing about a girl he would only be with for a limited time was foolish and counterproductive. He would need to untangle fact from fiction, reality from fantasy, until everything was laid out in front of him in a neat, orderly plan, as it should be.

  As he needed it to be.

  chapter nineteen ~ Cassandra

  This was, Cassandra decided, exactly where she had to be today—at the stable, immersing herself in barn chores. Here, things were earthy, grounded. And even if she drifted into thinking about Carlo and their date Saturday night, nothing would bring her back to her senses more than shoveling shit.

  She had called Teal yesterday to tell her about the date. As expected, Teal had been squealy and full of questions. It had been fun, actually, talking about it. But she found herself wishing she could turn to someone who would provide a more mature, reasonable assessment of this whole thing with Carlo—someone like her mom. It was funny and kind of sad; she could be doing all these big girl things like dating and working two jobs and living on her own, but there were still so many times when she wanted to just curl up on the couch in her childhood house, lean her head on her mom's shoulder and soak up the comfort and safety of being mothered. Cassandra supposed she and her mother had been even closer because of her father's “transgressions,” as Stacey had called them. I don't want this for you, Cassie, she had said. I can take it, but I don't want it for my daughter.

  Her mother had not be
en able to take it—not really. She had baked and sewn and cleaned and gardened her way through her marriage, but the hurt, humiliation and anger from her husband's affairs lay thick and heavy within her. Cassandra was convinced that this was the cause of her mother's rare cancer that had developed and ravaged her so quickly, ultimately releasing her from the pain she had suffered for far too long.

  After her mother died and Cassandra's frozen heart had thawed, the reality of the situation had flattened her like a steamroller. It wasn't just the practical things, like the nightmare of dealing with a house in foreclosure, paying overdue bills and weeding out the remnants of her mother's life crammed into flimsy, water-stained boxes in the basement; it was the uncertainty of her future as a now-motherless daughter. She didn't know how to do this. Stacey Larsen may have been a weak wife, but she had been a wonderful parent and had always been there for Cassandra, from lunchbox notes to weekly mother-daughter dinners out. Losing her had been soul-crushing. And, as Teal had once pointed out, this was also part of the reason why Cassandra was so reluctant to love again. You're fucked up in a couple of ways, Cass. Teal was nothing if not blunt.

  Using her pitchfork, Cassandra pulled the remaining bedding in Brownie's stall to the center and went to get two bags of shavings out of storage. She took the utility knife out of her back pocket, cut a clean line down the side of each bag and emptied the bags into the stall, inhaling the fresh pine scent. Ingrid always insisted on deep bedding for all the horses. Cassandra smiled wryly, thinking this was cushier than her own mattress. But Brownie deserved it; he was being worked hard getting ready for the Devon show. She felt lucky she'd gotten to ride him earlier for a fifteen-minute warmup before Ingrid took over—he'd been a bit spooky but settled down nicely.

  She wondered what the CEO of Miller Valve was doing right now. It struck her how very different their lives were: hers, wheelbarrows and serving trays, and his, stiff shirts and business meetings. Yet she had seen him in casual mode, too, and he looked natural and relaxed in a t-shirt and shorts. Not to mention gorgeous.