by Desiree Holt
He collapsed into one of the chairs. “Then what does? I feel as if I’ve been shot and I’m slowly bleeding to death.”
Claire poured coffee into one of the mugs and handed it to him. “Here. You look like shit. This ought to clear some of the fog out of your brain.”
He sipped the hot liquid, watching over the rim as Claire sat opposite him.
“I don’t have any easy answers,” she began, “if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“No. I don’t expect you do. I’m just hoping you can help me make some kind of sense out of it.”
She leaned back in her chair, clasping her own coffee mug, staring at him thoughtfully.
“Let me say first of all that I don’t judge the way other people live their lives as long as they’re decent people. The kind of sex life you and Fallon have is your own business. I’ve known her for a long time. I know she’s smart, she’s savvy and she’s well respected in her business.” She frowned. “When she doesn’t take herself out of circulation.”
“I sense a ‘but’ in there somewhere.”
Claire nodded. “But I always knew she was searching for something more in her private life.”
“Did she date a lot?” He snorted. “Date. Do people our age actually do that, or is it called something else?”
Claire’s laugh held little humor. “She was pretty selective about the people she saw. I knew she really wanted someone she could connect with but no one seemed to hit her on a deep level.” She sipped her coffee. “I think she was really looking for what you offered, only Brian found her first.”
Cord frowned. “Did she say that? She really discussed our sex life with you?”
“Not in great detail.” Her mouth curved in a semblance of a grin. “Don’t worry, cowboy, your secrets are safe.” The grin disappeared. “When she first met Brian he was smooth and seductive and charming. She was so excited. ‘This is what I’ve been looking for,’ she told me. ‘A man who reaches right into the core of me.’”
“He did that all right,” Cord spat. “And more. He did everything to mentally break her.”
“When you met her, she was like the old Fallon,” Claire went on. “Almost, anyway. Vibrant. Alive. Together.”
“We connected right away.” Cord ran his fingers through his hair. “We both felt it. But we were also both cautious. I didn’t know what she’d been through but I’m no spring chicken. I was looking for something permanent and didn’t want to make a mistake. So we took it one step at a time.”
“I know she fell hard for you, if that’s any consolation.”
He took a swallow of the hot liquid in the mug. “The D/s lifestyle is hard to understand for people who aren’t in it, but I can tell you one thing. When it’s right, when there’s respect, there’s also a core of trust you don’t find anywhere else. It’s the most necessary ingredient of the relationship.”
“I don’t think ‘trust’ is in Brian Willoughby’s vocabulary. And not just in a personal situation.” Claire shook her head. “This is beyond what I understand a D/s relationship to be. It’s a classic abuser situation, hardly different than your typical domestic abuse. It’s a sick symbiosis. The abuser makes the victim depend on him absolutely, emotionally, physically and, in this case, sexually.”
“You don’t know how badly I want to get my hands on that guy,” Cord growled. “My attorney tells me he’s considered a Grade-A bastard in every aspect of his life and gets off on destroying people.”
“I’m sure your attorney also let you know the man comes from obscene wealth and privilege and that, like his father and grandfather, he has an enormous sense of entitlement, with an ego to match.”
“He says Willoughby gets off on ruining people’s lives and leaving the mess for someone else to clean up.” He swallowed the rest of the coffee and refilled his mug. “I can’t relate to something like that.”
Claire leaned closer. “If you did, Fallon wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.”
“And did she?” he asked. “Fall in love with me? At this point, I’m not so sure.”
“I’m going to say yes, but then I have to explain why that wasn’t enough to keep her from falling prey to Brian’s spell again.” Claire chewed her lower lip. “By the time I pulled her out of his house, he had drilled into her the fear that no one besides him would ever love her. That’s why I was so thrilled when you and she connected.”
“But now it seems all that’s undone.” He rubbed his forehead, as if he could erase the images of Fallon with the asshole. “She’s right back where she was before I met her. Fallon isn’t stupid. She’s a bright, intelligent woman. Confident. Sassy. It just boggles my mind that this could happen to her.”
Claire sighed. “Think of it like training an animal. You seduce them with the treat first. In this case, the allure of the forbidden and the incredible sexual stimulation and response. And the bait? His unequivocal affection and desire. But then—”
“But then, when he sees she’s hooked, the gloves come off and the punishments becomes actual abuse. He conditions her to believe only he could want her. She’s nothing to anyone else. Am I right? At least that’s what I’m hearing.”
Claire nodded. “And if he’s feeding her drugs, even in a minimal amount, her mind won’t be functioning on all cylinders. Again, just like really smart women who put up with domestic abuse that has nothing to do with sex, she becomes afraid that if he pushes her away, she’ll be nothing. I know it’s hard for you to understand.”
He shook his head. “No, unfortunately I understand it all too well. Situations like this aren’t unheard of. I just didn’t think I’d be involved in one in any manner.”
“When I pulled her away from him before, it was my decision, not hers. Once she was healthy again she was able to talk to me about—things. She had a hard time understanding her own behavior.”
“But she still went back to him.”
“Because the switch is still there, buried in her mind. And Brian has tripped it. But Cord?” Claire put her hand on his arm. “She will come back to you. I can’t explain, I just feel it. Here.” She touched her chest. “Think of it like curing an infection. You have to get rid of it all before you can heal.”
“If there’s anything fucking left of her by then,” he growled.
He sat silently for a long while, sipping the hot coffee, trying to sort out everything tangled up in his brain. He’d told Claire the truth. He’d heard rumors—rarely—of bad Doms like Willoughby and how they literally destroyed their subs mentally and emotionally. He hadn’t paid a lot of attention because that just wasn’t him and he had a hard time understanding people like that. Maybe he could give Jack a call, solicit his help as well in trying to make sense of this.
That wasn’t like him. Leaning on others… Claire, Jack. It just proved how distraught he was. And angry, only he wasn’t sure who he should be angry at.
“Go home, Cord.”
Claire’s soft voice broke into his fog. He looked at her, seeing the concern on her face.
“Go home,” she repeated. “Fallon’s a lot smarter than she was when she first met Brian, and what she feels for you will be strong enough to pull her out of this. Meanwhile, you have a ranch to run. And if you fall apart, or let your business fall apart, what will you have to offer her when she comes back?”
“I notice you said when, not if,” he pointed out.
Claire took one of his hands in both of hers. “Because that’s what I want to believe. And I never lose hope.”
He stood, picked up his hat from the table. “Thanks for putting up with me. You’re a good friend.”
“To both of you,” she told him.
Cord had never been much for praying but as he drove back to the ranch, he seriously considered striking up a conversation with the Big Guy. Maybe that was the only thing that would help.
Chapter 11
Fallon sat in the wing chair where Brian had left her, still as a statue. The room was almost a du
plicate of the suite he had kept her in last time. Occasionally her eyes would track over to the bed, where he had placed the chosen implements that morning, and memories would tickle her brain. Memories of pleasure—that were quickly replaced by those of intense pain and fear. The ball gag especially made her tremble as she recalled how many times Brian had used it. How sometimes it was so tight it nearly choked her.
As hour after hour passed, she felt as if she were shrouded in a fog, but one that kept changing shape. The last time she’d been in this house, she’d sat like this day after day, waiting for Brian to return, terrified that he’d abandon her.
You only do what I tell you to. I own you. Never forget it.
Once, those words had given her a sense of security. A feeling of place. Until she’d become so lost she had no sense of self left at all. Yet still she’d clung to what she thought of as security. A man who cared enough to own her no matter how worthless she might be. Who would push her to greater heights of sexual release no matter how intense the pain getting there.
She had hoped to confront this lingering obsession once and for all, to discover if this would be her chance to finally make a clean break. Not have him hiding in her head, wrapping around her brain. But something was off. Strange. Out of sync. She’d felt it at the hotel yesterday, and when she’d called Brian to tell him she’d left Cord. There was something missing.
In place of anticipation, a cold ball of dread lodged in her stomach as the day wore on. Like a voice whispering in the dark, something telling her this time was different. He was different.
This morning, she hadn’t seen the sexual hunger in his eyes that usually lay there like a banked fire. The signals that roused her own desires. Instead she saw only cruelty so intense, if she could have moved her feet, she’d have fled. The magnetic pull was still there, but the anticipation of pleasure brought by pain had disappeared, buried under a building sense of unease.
Leave, the little voice in her head whispered.
No. I have to do this. I can’t want this with him anymore. I have to break this pattern.
You made this decision. You chose this.
She’d wanted to feed the beast one last time and kill it. But she had a feeling what she wanted was not what she was going to get.
And, as before, the only time she moved was when Mrs. Hudson brought her lunch tray, a meal she knew Brian had selected. She ate at the small table by the window, as directed. From where she sat, she could see the sweeping lawn at the front of the house. On the other side of the fence, she saw cars moving and people walking by. A world totally unreachable, like a scene from a movie.
Maybe that was the purpose of having her sit here. To let her see what was beyond her reach unless Brian gave her permission, and under his careful restrictions.
When she’d lived here before, she’d never been tempted to step outside unless she was with Brian. Inside was safe, outside was quicksand and danger. Today, however, outdoors seemed to offer the promise of—what? She didn’t know, couldn’t identify it, but there was something out there she had an almost burning need to reach for.
She was so strangely lethargic, though, she couldn’t force herself to even think of a way to leave.
Sitting in the chair nude was nothing new. Indeed, the familiarity of it anchored her. Previously, she was only permitted to wear clothing when it suited Brian, and following his orders became a habit. In the beginning he was softer about it, cunning, telling her he liked carrying her naked image with him when he left the house. That the thought made his cock hard all day. And that aroused her. By the time he’d return home, she would be so turned on she could hardly wait for him to deliver the pain that would take her to the knife-edge of pleasure.
Despite the fact that the edges of her brain seemed dulled, the past kept playing in the back of her mind, like a video on a loop. All those days and weeks and months. Like Pavlov’s dog, he’d initiate the signal and her mind would automatically respond. Anticipating things her subconscious early on told her were bad for her. That lure of the forbidden darkness that had the walls of her pussy pulsing and her nipples hardening. Craving the pleasures he would withhold if she displeased him. After a while, though, it had become far more punishment and humiliation than stimulation. If she objected, he disciplined her severely.
Finally, she’d just stopped questioning.
She’d been like a child, dutifully awaiting whatever he chose to do, lacking the power to change things. Over and over, he’d pounded into her that she didn’t deserve any better. What would he have in store for her tonight? She had disobeyed him, he’d said. Disappointed him. And all those months of conditioning told her she deserved whatever he meted out. That she should willingly accept the most painful and degrading treatment so her body could experience a heady release.
She tried without success to remember what she had enjoyed about this but only unpleasant memories flooded her brain. She could almost feel the choking pressure of the ball gag, and the biting pain of the cat-o’-nine-tails on her skin. When she’d been with him before, the expectation of those sensations had ramped up her sexual hunger.
Why wasn’t that the case now? Today her brain was sending warnings that the flame drawing her to Brian was going to burn her badly this time. She had the vague sense of being two people, both of them arguing in her head.
You wanted this.
No. Yes. Did I really?
The pleasure isn’t worth it.
Yes, it is. I can’t live without it. I’m nothing without him.
You’re nothing with him.
I don’t want to need him.
Then don’t, you weak-kneed idiot.
Her head ached from the voices arguing so loudly.
Run. Get out of here. You can leave.
And suddenly she wanted to but couldn’t make her body obey. Ingrained habit battled with vague determination. So instead she waited for Brian’s return, not with anticipation and need, but with an unfamiliar feeling of dread.
Eventually she noticed the sun setting. She wondered if she would be served dinner tonight. Often when Brian wanted to play, he withheld food until she’d satisfied him. And almost subconsciously she realized that the fog around her mind was clearing. Just minimally, but she felt slightly more alert.
She had just tilted her head slightly to get a better view of the stars in the sky when the door opened and Brian strode into the room. Tonight he had changed from his suit to a pair of leather pants that rode low on his hips. His torso and feet were bare, his chest gleaming with the oil he liked to use.
And that same cruelty, that uncontrollable rage she’d seen in his ice-blue eyes that morning, was even more evident. The tempting darkness that always lured her before wasn’t there. Now she felt an increasingly familiar edge of fear. Not anxiety that he’d withhold things from her—his attention, his affection. Sex. No, this was more on the order of dread.
What is wrong with me? Why can’t I make my mind work the way it should?
“I hope you spent the day contemplating your punishment,” he began. “Come here.” When she hesitated, he snapped, “Now, slave! At once.”
She rose and walked on slightly unsteady legs to a point directly in front of him.
“Spread your legs apart.” Anger flared bright and hot in his eyes when she only separated her feet by a few inches. “What’s the matter with you? This isn’t anything new. I shouldn’t have to repeat my instructions.”
Fallon widened her stance and flinched slightly when he thrust one hand between her thighs to feel her pussy.
His gaze rose to her face.
“Goddamn it. How can I touch you without remembering someone else had his fingers here? His cock? And anything else that gave him pleasure.”
The pinch of his fingers was unpleasant pain.
“I’m sorry, Sir.” The words came out as a whisper.
“How can I properly fuck you when I still sense another man’s imprint on your body? On what’s mine. Mine
! I left instructions for you at the hotel but we need to start over, here.” His fingers pulled her chin up, his grip tight and cruel. “We need to completely scrub away every bit of the bastard you betrayed me with. Maybe that’s your problem. He’s on your skin. In your body.”
She started to speak but remembered in time. Not until he gives permission.
“Go into the bathroom and wait for me,” he told her.
Nausea threatened as she walked toward the huge, opulent bathroom. She wished suddenly that she was as out of it as she’d been earlier in the day. Everything in here was a duplicate of the bathroom she’d used before. Vaguely she wondered again why he’d put her downstairs.
She sensed rather than heard him behind her. In a moment his hands settled on her hips, fingers digging into her cruelly. When he pressed his body against hers, she discovered he was naked, the long thickness of his cock pressing against the crevice of her buttocks.
He gave her a slight shove. “Turn on the shower.”
She reached into the enclosure and turned the handle, watching as mist sprayed from multiple showerheads in the ceiling and walls, before she stepped inside. Brian followed, moving her so he could reach every part of her body. He pushed a button that dispensed shower gel, rubbed it into a cloth in his hand, and began cleaning her.
There was nothing sexual about the procedure. In fact, he seemed angry throughout the entire process. He took his time with every inch of her skin, leaving nothing untouched. Giving her orders in his cold voice.
Lift your head.
Stretch out your arms.
Turn to the side.
Hold out your breasts to me.
When she did the latter, he took the nipples one by one, gave them a brutal pinch, and pulled until her breasts were fully distended.
Move your legs apart.
Show me your cunt.
When he reached between her legs with the cloth to thoroughly soap her flesh, the friction teased her clit. But for the first time since she’d met Brian Willoughby, the roughness of his touch did not excite her. Did not arouse her. At all.