by Desiree Holt
“You must be Fallon Crowe.” The woman, a tall brunette who Fallon guessed was in her forties, held out her hand. “Michelle Brandon. Shelley.”
“Nice to meet you. Where would you like to start? I thought maybe you could give me a walking tour of the facility and the grounds first, so I’d know what I’m talking about. Even in just a few moments, I’ve come up with some ideas you might like.”
“Grounds. Tour. Yes.” Shelley wet her lips. “Actually, plans have changed a little. The new owner is here and wants to meet with you himself. This way, please.”
Fallon shifted her slim briefcase and followed. So the owner was here. Good. That meant she could discuss her ideas directly and get his input. But when Shelley opened the door to an office, Fallon nearly passed out.
Brian Willoughby rose from behind the antique desk and came forward.
“I’ll take it from here, Shelley. Thanks.”
“Yes, Mr. Willoughby. Of course.” Shelley nearly ran from the room.
Fallon wanted to turn and run but her feet were rooted to the floor. Besides, she was shaking so badly she was sure she’d fall on her face.
How was it that, after more than a year and a new relationship, this man still held so much power over her? He was beside her in seconds, his massive body looming. The fingers of one hand closed tightly around her arm and guided her farther into the room. She wanted to resist but the familiar feeling of subjugation seemed to envelop her, dulling her mind and subverting her will to refuse.
“I-I thought—” she stammered.
“One of my companies bought this place. I thought this might appeal to you.”
Was he actually offering the opportunity to handle the promotion after demeaning and diminishing her ability for so long? Her head spun.
“I… Yes, I—” Her brain seemed to have stopped working.
“Michelle was happy to do me a favor and greet you. I didn’t want you to run off the moment you saw me.” The hard look on his face softened slightly. “I think it’s time for you to stop running. You belong with me, you know. You belong to me.”
“Brian, I—”
“Ssh, ssh, ssh.” He stood directly in front of her, reaching out to stroke her jaw with the tips of his fingers. “Your skin is just as soft as I recall. Like the petals of a flower.”
She hated the fact that his touch sent shards of lightning straight to her pussy. That her juices soaked her panties at once. She shifted uncomfortably.
“I don’t think—”
“Exactly. Don’t think.” He crowded her space, his body barely a breath away. Those ice-blue eyes locked with hers and she was powerless to turn away. To move at all. “I know you remember as well.” His breath was a soft breeze on her skin. “My touch. My commands. The punishments that excited you so much.”
Punishments. She wet her lips as images pierced her brain. Her body manacled to the St Andrew’s cross. Heavy clamps on her nipples, the ones that pulled and dragged on them. Other scenes where he’d punished her mind as well as her body before delivering the pinnacle of pleasure. The benefit of bending to his will.
His smile was one of satisfaction. “Yes, you remember, all right. You loved it when I spread you open, restrained, the vibrator humming inside you while that thin whip striped your skin. Every time you climaxed without my permission, I pulled out the heavy crop.” He blew out a breath. “I still get hard when I remember your screams. Your pleas for mercy.” He moved closer still, something she hadn’t thought possible. “You learned your lessons well, slave. Never disobey me. Never displease me. Remember how hard that made me? You loved sucking my dick after that.”
Fallon’s heart rate accelerated. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she should turn and flee the room. Run from this man. But his touch, the penetrating look in his eyes, his mesmerizing presence, knocked her back two years and all her good intentions melted like candle wax.
The present faded and disappeared as if wiped away with a wet cloth as the past assaulted her. In an instant she was back in that mausoleum of a house, shackled to the bed. Or sitting in a chair, naked, waiting desperately for Brian to enter the room and give her absolution for—what? Or completely undone when he stayed away from her for two or three days, so grateful when he walked into the room, she didn’t care what he did to her.
In the beginning, before he’d moved her to his house, she’d been drawn by the excitement of the attention from such a powerful man. By the taste of the erotic, the forbidden. Images burst forth in her brain like shards of lightning and she could feel her body’s automatic response. God! How sick was it that she both feared and welcomed his anger? Would he punish her so severely that she would be mindless with the pain?
But then the orgasm…
Her pussy spasmed as her body remembered the mind-numbing intensity of her orgasms after harsh punishment. After denial. After strict discipline.
“I had to go to great lengths to arrange this, slave,” he went on, his voice almost seductive. Even when his words turned harsh his voice was still soft. “I’m not pleased. I don’t like humiliating myself this way. You deserve severe punishment for forcing me to do this.” His voice dropped, falling into a hypnotic cadence. “And, of course, the ultimate reward. You like that. I know you do. You loved it when I paddled that ass bright red, tied you up and fucked you until you screamed. Until you had no breath left. Until,” he growled, “your mind knew nothing except what I allowed it to know.”
Fallon couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from those eyes that held the ability to rivet her in place. She made no protest when he reached for her purse and briefcase, allowing him to set them on the desk. She stood there as if encased in concrete, senses vibrating. She felt herself falling into a familiar pattern of submission, of obedience to even the most demeaning, humiliating things for a tiny scrap of approval and the promised fulfillment.
“Here’s what we’re going to do.” He cupped her chin, his fingers squeezing with a pain that was both brutal and seductive. “We’re going to have a little punishment session, right now, just to remind you that you’ve displeased me.”
He spoke in a conversational tone that Fallon found so at odds with the situation. Her pussy contracted and moisture flooded her thong. Her nipples were practically poking through the material of her bra.
Cord! Think of Cord!
“When I’m satisfied you’re properly contrite, I’ll put you in my car and take you to my house so we can pick up where we left off so many months ago.”
Fallon frowned. To his house? What? She was missing something here, but he fucked up her mind so badly with just the sound of his voice that she had trouble thinking.
“But—”
“Silence.”
The familiar dictatorial voice, the tone that said he cared enough for Fallon to brutalize her into submission. That his orders, the pain, the degradation, were evidence of how much she meant to him. She felt herself slipping into subspace, led there by that tone and the signals it sent to her brain.
“No speaking without permission,” he continued. “If you’re worried about your stupid car, I’ll have it taken back to that idiot you’re living with. You won’t need any transportation from now on, anyway.” His fingers circled her wrist, his thumb applying pressure on her pulse point so that more weakness shot through her body.
“On your knees, slave.” His voice had a sharpness to it now, just as mesmerizing, invading her senses like a drug. Then it softened again. “You’re still my slave, you know.”
He exerted more pressure on her wrist and old habits and reactions settled over her. Without thinking, she dropped to her knees in front of him. Her shields liquefied like water and she was gripped with a burning desire to please him. To get one scrap of praise. To do whatever he wanted if only he’d give her shattering orgasms.
He bent forward, maintaining his grip. The pressure grew to the point of pain.
“Eyes down. Who is your Master? Answer me, slave.”
>
Somewhere in her subconscious, a tiny question trickled its way through her brain.
What was she doing here?
Then another…
Why did she keep giving him this power over her?
She suddenly remembered a lesson from one of her first Doms. It seemed ages ago now, but his words just popped to the forefront of her mind. “Always take care with your choices… with the Dom you give your power to.”
But Brian’s presence was so overwhelming, all rational thoughts and lessons from well-meaning Doms disappeared. Her throat was so dry she couldn’t get words out. But even when she swallowed at last, she couldn’t say what he wanted to hear. Some semblance of sanity kept her silent as reality cut through her like a sword.
When she didn’t say anything, he growled, “You’d better not be thinking about that weak bastard who thinks he’s dominating you. I saw him at lunch today, pretending he operates on the same social level. How pathetic. I’m so disappointed in you, slave, to let yourself be taken in by such a weak Dom.”
His words were like a splash of cold water.
Oh god, Cord!
Fallon flinched as if she’d been struck. She couldn’t let her mess, this mess, damage Cord. Images of him flashed through her brain.
Cord, punishing her.
Cord, caring for her.
Cord, loving her.
That tiny shred of sanity exploded in her brain, piercing her somnambulistic state. From somewhere deep inside, she found the strength to push herself to her feet.
Grabbing her purse and briefcase, she fled the room, ran from the building, across the porch and down the stairs. One of her shoes came off but she didn’t stop to pick it up. She heard Brian shouting at her but she kept going. Practically throwing herself into her car, she burned rubber as she sped out of the parking lot.
She was at least five miles down the country highway before she drew a full breath. Looking out her rearview mirror to be sure Brian wasn’t following, she pulled over to the shoulder of the road, put the car in park, and went about pulling herself together. She was shaking so badly, she was surprised she hadn’t driven the car into a tree.
Holy mother. What is the matter with me? He says one word, touches me, and I nearly fall at his feet.
She sat for a long time, slowing her breathing, gathering her scattered thoughts. She could not—absolutely not—go home in this state. Cord would take one look and read on her face everything that had happened. And didn’t happen. In addition, she had only one shoe, and telltale moisture soaked her thong. She had to do some serious repairs first, both mental and physical.
When she could do so without shaking, she picked up her cell and punched in Cord’s number. Just the sound of his deep voice, so warm and easing over her like molasses, centered her.
“Just so you know,” he told her by way of greeting, “when you get here I’ll be waiting for you in the bedroom.” His voice eased slightly the tension gripping her. “And I think I’ll get out my favorite crop to stripe your ass with.” His chuckle was low and sexy. “Does that make you wet, girl?”
She closed her eyes. He was in full Dom mode and she needed that from him right now so badly.
Oh Cord, if you only knew what I nearly did you’d use more than that crop on me. How can I still be so fucked up?
She forced a calm tone to her voice. “Wet? Always. But I need to make a quick stop at Claire’s before I get home. My last appointment didn’t pan out quite like I thought.” And wasn’t that just the understatement of the year? “So about six? Maybe six thirty? Is that good?” She dropped her voice. “Maybe we could make use of that gigantic bathtub.”
“I’ll have it waiting. Don’t dally. And Fallon?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t forget I love you.”
She ended the call and let her head drop back against the seat. Cord didn’t profess his feelings very often, but somehow he seemed to know this was one of those times to do so. If she didn’t get past this thing with Brian, she was going to totally ruin her life. Maybe there was a cure she could take or something.
Oh, wait. Cord was supposed to be the cure. And look how well that was turning out. She felt as if she had a systemic disease that resisted all treatment.
What she really needed was a dose of Claire’s balls-to-the-wall backtalk.
Checking that traffic was clear, she pulled back onto the road and headed to her friend’s house.
Chapter 8
“You know how stupid I think you are, right?” Claire Panetta stared at Fallon over the rim of her wineglass.
The two women were in Claire’s backyard, sipping wine. Fallon had just finished blurting out everything to her while her friend listened intently.
“I know I think I’m stupid,” she replied and shook her head. “But I’m like a junkie with him. I get a tiny taste of that crack and I fall apart.” She gulped some wine, hoping it would calm her racing pulse and ease the tension riding low in her belly. “Damn, Claire. Just when I think I’ve put it all in the past, something like this happens and I’m in danger of losing it again.”
Luckily for her, Fallon had some odds and ends left at Claire’s from her stay there, including a thong. No shoes, but thankfully Claire wore the same size and offered replacements when she blurted out the details of her flight.
“Do you want me to remind you again what a mess you were when I hauled you out of there?” her friend asked. “You were so damn thin. And depressed. All your beautiful self-confidence gone. Out of contact with everyone for months. You hardly even took a breath without his permission.” She took a healthy swallow of the liquid in her glass. “He destroyed your mind.”
“I know, I know.” Fallon sighed. She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. “God, Claire. It’s like my body disconnects itself from my mind when I’m with him. I want to beg him to punish me. Humiliate me. Anything he wants. Just for his rare words of approval, of praise. And the damn orgasms.”
“Fallon.” Claire set her drink on the umbrella table and stared at her friend. “Listen to me and pay careful attention to what I’m saying.”
“Yes, Mother.” Fallon twisted her lips into a wry grin. She was finally beginning to settle down, her emotional plane leveling out. Claire was better than a dose of valium.
“Don’t ‘Mother’ me. You came here for advice so you’re damn well going to get it. And listen to it.”
“Okay, okay, okay.” Fallon refilled her glass from the bottle on the table. One more. Then I’ll be ready to go home.
Claire leaned forward in her chair. “I’ll say this one more time. When I managed to get you away from Brian, you were a fucking mess. Barely able to tell me what day it was.” She slapped her hand on the table. “An emotional and psychological wreck.”
“What can I say? You’re right.” Fallon ran her finger slowly around the rim of her glass. “How did I let him do it to me, Claire? I’m smart, savvy, independent. How did I give him such control?”
“You tell me, kiddo. Although I have to say, the man has an appetite for control unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. You should hear what I’ve learned about his business tactics.”
Fallon stared at her, pulse quickening. “Who did you ask? I mean—”
“Honey, listen to me. It’s easy to get people talking about Brian Willoughby. Just drop his name, and six people whip out their knives.” Claire shrugged. “Find a room with ten people in it and nine have a reason to kill him.”
“How did I not see it? Am I that stupid?”
Claire shook her head. “No. Just vulnerable. Like a lot of us. And he knows just how to zero in on that.”
“And what did you find out?”
“That he treats everyone the way he treats his women. He fucks their minds. Finds their weak spots. Pushes their buttons, and when they start to fall apart, he swoops in for the kill.” Pain flashed briefly across Claire’s face. “I heard about someone he drove out of business mercilessly just so he could s
nap up the company on the cheap. He destroyed the lives of so many people, treating them like they were yesterday’s trash.”
Fallon couldn’t claim to be surprised. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Oh honey, I tried. But Fallon, you barely absorbed anything I said to you. For weeks after I got you out of his house, I was actually afraid you’d never snap out of it.” She lifted her glass and took a sip of the cold liquid. “Some nights I’d hear you crying and listen at your door. Hear you saying ‘I’m sorry’ over and over, and asking him to punish you so he would care for you again. What kind of man does that to a woman?” She blew at a stray strand of hair. “You’re seriously lucky that after all his ‘punishments’, he didn’t scar your body the way he scarred your mind.”
Fallon leaned back in her chair and looked down at her hands. “He has my mind all messed up and I can’t seem to fix it. It’s as if he has invisible ropes binding me to him. Why can’t I break away, no matter how smart I know it would be? One touch, one word, and I willingly fall into hell.” She looked at her friend. “I should be locked away someplace.”
“We tried that, remember? Here? In my house?” Claire shook her head. “I thought when you moved out you were good to go. You hadn’t seen him for months and didn’t even talk about him anymore. You were so eager to get your own place. Start up your business again.”
Fallon rolled the cool glass across her forehead. “Shows you how stupid I was. Am.”
“Do you remember telling me how important the issue of trust is in a D/s relationship? And about the concept of safe, sane and consensual? That those had been key not only with prior Doms, but most especially in your situation with Cord?”