by Desiree Holt
The short succession of men in her life had varied, from white-collar professionals to those who made a living working with their hands. All good men. Caring Doms. Praising her as a submissive. Each helping to build her confidence one block at a time.
Then she’d met Brian, and her world had tilted on its axis. She was stunned that such a handsome, wealthy, renowned man would be interested in her, the ghost of a disappointing middle child still clinging to the recesses of her mind. In the beginning, Brian had simply overwhelmed her, reeling her in like a hungry fish. He appeared to respect her mind, her accomplishments in her field. He was attentive. All the things she wanted. By the time she realized he had adeptly dragged her into a nightmare, she was trapped in his opulent net, unable to free herself.
He’d drawn her in so carefully and skillfully, teaching her about extreme pain and delivering such intense pleasure, she began to crave it. When she wasn’t with him, she had a hard time thinking about anything except her next powerful orgasm and his praise. The pain that drove her to peaks of pleasure at his hand.
She’d needed that full year after Claire had pulled her from the nightmare to find herself again, constantly battling feelings of worthlessness and the ingrained need to please.
And then she’d met Cord.
Their instant connection made her giddy with pleasure—and frightened that she didn’t deserve it. But the emotions he stirred in, the love she felt with him was unlike anything she’d ever had. She basked in it, secure in the knowledge of his feelings for her, even though at times the past still nipped at her heels. Her insecurities still lingered, making her wonder if she really deserved him.
Or if indeed, underneath it all, she was as worthless as Brian had made her believe.
God, just his name made her stomach clench and a feeling of nausea roll through her. Even after all this time, she still felt as if she had to scrub every part of her body inside and out to rid herself of the vestiges of his control. How sick was that?
She was so preoccupied with her thoughts when she gave her car to the valet parking attendant, she didn’t look where she was going…
Until she bumped into someone and a hand closed over her arm.
“Well.” His mouth curved in that seductive smile that hid so much. “It’s been a very long time, Fallon. I understood you were hiding up in the Hill Country.”
She looked up to see him standing beside her, as if conjured by her very thoughts.
Brian Willoughby was tall; taller than Cord. So tall that when he stood next to her, he almost blocked the sun. And broad, every bit of him hard, solid muscle. His razor-cut blond hair still fell in precise lines to just above his collar and his deep blue eyes were still as chilly and penetrating. Power radiated from him, a power tinged with evil that unfortunately still had the ability to hypnotize Fallon in an instant.
At once her mind and body reacted, and she tried to push away the programmed response. Disaster and destruction were standing right in front of her if she didn’t get a grip. She knew exactly how junkies and alcoholics felt while trying to dry out. Nothing satisfied the sick hunger. Yet even knowing that, and with Claire’s conversation fresh in her mind, her body reacted automatically.
Think of Cord.
Fallon forced herself to breathe evenly. Heat burned her skin where his fingers rested on her arm. His touch was light but it might as well have been steel talons. She wanted to jerk away but the message didn’t seem to filter down from her brain.
“You heard wrong.” From somewhere she managed a hint of defiance in her tone. “I’m not hiding at all.”
“Oh?” He lifted one eyebrow in a too-familiar gesture. “I’ve missed seeing you.”
His fingers stroked her arm where they held her.
Ohgodohgodohgod.
She wet her lips. “I was just—reordering my priorities.”
His eyes raked over her. “I’ve missed you.” He took a step closer, shrinking the space between them. “You’ve missed me too. I know you have.” He bent his head so his mouth was at her ear. “You’ve missed me fucking you when you were bound so intricately you couldn’t move a muscle, and I could plow into you at will.”
His tone had that same compelling quality she couldn’t forget. She trembled at his words and the gush of fluid into her panties disgusted her. Yet at the same time, vivid images of the scene he described flashed into her mind and all the months dropped away. She found herself being lulled by him again. Falling into the same trap.
No! Cord! Think of Cord!
She extricated herself from his hold—but damn it, she missed his touch as soon as it was gone. “I have a new life. A better life. I could say it’s been nice running into you, but I’d be lying.”
He reached out and touched her cheek, his knuckles grazing the skin. The contact sizzled and another kaleidoscope of memories and sensations bombarded her.
No!
Finding courage she didn’t know she had, she backed away two steps and glanced at her watch.
“Sorry, Brian. I really have to run.”
She deliberately used his given name rather than the honorific. She had a new Sir, a better one, and she couldn’t muddy those waters. Turning quickly, she strode away, never looking back, heels clicking on the pavement. She managed to make her way through the door and to the restaurant’s ladies’ room but the moment she was inside, she collapsed against a wall, heart racing, pulse pounding. She brushed her hand over her forehead and discovered it covered with perspiration. She leaned over the sink and looked at herself in the mirror.
God!
Who was that woman looking back at her? Not the strong, vital, sensual woman who relished Cord’s mastery. No, this woman looked as if she’d been in a fugue state for a month. Her eyes were glazed, her skin pale, her hands trembling. She reminded herself of the way she’d looked when Claire had literally dragged her out of her high-priced prison. And yet…
And yet for an instant, all her defenses had threatened to crumble and she’d been ready to fall on her knees right there in front of the people milling around them.
What rotten luck running into Brian, especially after her conversation with Claire. It should have been a good test, a way to prove she’d gotten him out of her system. Instead, seeing him made her body vibrate with need and gave her the sense that she was perched on the edge of a precipice. And if she fell, it wouldn’t be Cord who caught her.
Even now, as Cord’s image swam before her, it was Brian’s face she saw.
Sick. It was a sickness. She knew it yet she couldn’t seem to find a permanent cure. So what did that say about her?
Cord will take one look at me and know. He’ll paddle my ass and it’s no more than I deserve.
She ran cold water over her wrists and dried them, lightly patting her face. Fresh lipstick helped, as did a swipe of blush. Glancing at her watch, she realized she had only moments before her client meeting. Afterward, she’d go home and immediately make herself presentable for Cord.
But he’ll know. Oh god.
* * * * *
Cord hung his Stetson on a peg in the back hall and toed off his boots. They were covered in mud and various other substances and badly needed cleaning, but at the moment he was just too tired. He and the hands had spent most of the day riding the fence line and making sure every pasture was secure before his new shipment of cattle arrived. They’d been a steal at an auction and he couldn’t resist. The bank had extended a substantial line of credit and that was the perfect reason to tap into it.
Everything was coming together much better than he could have hoped. The herd was finally at the size it needed to be and in the spring there would be new calves. The pastures of coastal hay were in good shape. And the work on the event center was nearly finished. Next week, he’d work with the hands who’d be leading trail rides and giving lessons and offering other guest activities, and oversee the finishing touches to the stables.
At least he could relax where the party was concer
ned. Fallon was working her magic with an ease that he admired. He smiled as he thought about how much pleasure she brought to all areas of his life. After the party, after the post-event details were seen to, he planned to take her away for a long weekend where he could tie her to the bed and pleasure both of them in as many ways as he could dream up.
Just the thought of that was enough to make his cock harden and strain against the fly of his jeans.
In the bedroom, he stripped off his clothes and dumped them in the hamper, then stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. He was so aroused he was almost tempted to take himself in hand and smooth out the edge while the hot water poured over him. Then he thought about Fallon, who was due home very soon, and decided he had much better ways to satisfy his lust.
He was just wrapping the bath towel around his hips when he heard her moving around in the bedroom. He opened the bathroom door, smiling—until he took a good look at her and his body tensed. Nearly all the color was gone from her face, her soft-pink lipstick seeming like a slash of vivid red in comparison. Her movements as she undressed were jerky, not smooth, as usual. Her body language was that of someone who had been through an emotional wringer.
What worried him most was the lack of eye contact. That was so out of character, at least for the woman he was used to.
“Fallon?” He moved closer. “Did something happen today? Your lunch with Claire? Something happen with the errands?”
She just shook her head and continued removing her clothing like a robot.
What the fuck?
And then out of nowhere, it hit him.
She’d seen him.
The bastard who’d fucked up her life. Fucked up her. Had she run into him or had she deliberately sought him out? Shit, he didn’t know how he’d handle it if it were the latter. It took all his willpower not to smash his fist against the wall.
Pulling himself together, he used his best Dom voice. “Fallon. Look at me. Now!” he snapped when she continued to look down at her feet.
She lifted her face to his, her expression a mixture of regret and disgust, but didn’t meet his gaze.
“You saw him today, right? That asshole you refuse to talk about?”
She nodded.
“Was it deliberate? Did you call him?” He was barely holding his temper in check. “Answer me, girl.”
“No, Sir.” She still hadn’t looked at him. From the moment he spoke she’d been in full submissive mode, only her attitude was more one of defeat than supplication.
What the fuck happened out there today? She was doing so well? We were doing so well.
Something had suddenly changed and he damn well wanted to know what it was, although he had his suspicions. He used every ounce of control to contain the rage erupting inside him.
“Did you run into him somewhere?”
“Yes.” The word was so soft he had to strain to hear it. Despite his instruction, she lowered her chin.
“Goddamn it, Fallon.” He hauled in a breath and clenched his fists, fighting for control. “Look at you. You’re a wreck. Did you run into Brian Willoughby?”
This time her answer was a whisper. “Yes.”
Cord felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach.
He let the next breath out slowly. He would have to do this very carefully.
“I want you to look at me, girl.” He made his voice as firm and steady as possible. “Keep your eyes on me and answer my questions. Do you understand?”
She stood before him, nude, stripped down to the bare individual. If she had any defenses against either her situation or his anger they were completely submerged.
“I asked you a question.” He took a step closer. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Sir.” Her voice was still so low he had to strain to hear it.
“Tell me what happened today. Where did you see him?”
“A-At La Cantera. The valet parking. I didn’t even see him until he was right there beside me.”
“And did you talk to him?”
Haltingly, fingers twisting together, she related their conversation. With each word, his rage grew. He could visualize the scene—the smooth, domineering bully using his magnetism to mind-fuck a woman who still harbored traces of an addiction.
Based on the little she was telling him of their encounter, Cord was beginning to realize that in leaving Brian, Fallon had challenged him. Challenged his control.
And Brian Willoughby didn’t seem like a man who would let that go over easily.
“And how did you leave it with him?” He was almost afraid to hear the answer.
“I-I ran from him, Sir.” She swallowed audibly. “I ran into the restaurant.”
“Did he follow you?”
She shook her head then, apparently realizing he wanted words, said, “No. Sir.”
So many conflicting emotions were at war within him, Cord didn’t know where to begin. The first thing he planned to do was put on some pants. He couldn’t possibly discipline a sub wearing only a towel. He left her standing there, fingers linked together, gaze lowered again, while he dug out a clean pair of boxer briefs and some jeans. He turned his back until he’d fastened the snap on his jeans and tugged up the zipper. He had to be careful that his anger didn’t bend his control.
“I can tell just by your attitude,” he said, “that you’re expecting a punishment session. Am I right?”
“Yes, Sir.” Her voice trembled. “I deserve it. I want you to punish me.”
“Not until you tell me what you did wrong. We aren’t playing for pleasure here. Not at the moment.”
She studied the floor and clasped her hands behind her back. “I didn’t tell you all about him before.”
He could barely hear her. That would never do. “When I ask you a question, girl, I expect you to answer in a loud, clear voice. So tell me again why I’m going to paddle that sweet ass of yours.”
“Because I hid things from you.” Louder this time. “Because I didn’t let you know everything about him.” She wet her lips. “About B-Brian. About our relationship. Because I wasn’t going to tell you about t-today.”
“And why is that important?” he prodded.
“I should never keep secrets from my Master. Secrets that might…affect our relationship.”
“That’s correct,” he nodded. “And this is a big one. A very big one. Because Brain Willoughby screwed up your head and I need to know how to straighten it out.” He paused. “We can’t make this work unless we have complete honesty between us. You need to have that impressed upon you.”
“Yes, Sir.” She bobbed her head. “That’s why I need to be punished.”
“No.” He ground his teeth. “Not tonight. I will never punish you for what someone else did to you.”
He loved the way Fallon embraced punishment, riding the edge of pleasure and pain that drove her to intense orgasm. But that was always within the context of the bedroom play. This was the first time he had ever seen her stripped down to almost nothing emotionally, pleading with him to reprimand her inappropriately, for something that was beyond her control.
But this situation was fraught with danger. He had to make her understand the depth of his feelings for her, and understand that punishment for running into someone completely by accident was cruelty, and he was not a cruel man.
Still, he had to handle this in a way that illustrated who was in control.
He blew out another breath. “On your knees. Hands behind your back. Forehead to the floor.”
He watched as she arranged herself as directed, bent low, ass in the air. The slight discomfort would serve as the punishment she thought she needed. He sat at the foot of the bed, hands on his knees. And steeled himself for what was to come.
“Now,” he said. “I want every single detail, what happened from the moment you bumped into him everything you said and felt. Leave nothing out. And speak up, so I can hear you.”
Fallon’s halting recitation of the run-in w
ith the fucking asshole made him grind his teeth in silent rage. Her description of the man’s effect on her, of her fear, as well as the addiction she battled, made him want to shoot someone. Preferably Willoughby.
Cord was a well-trained Dom. He’d studied at a couple of the best dungeons in Dallas and observed other Doms carefully. Safe, sane and consensual had been drummed into him. Respect. Negotiation. For every D/s relationship, there was a different degree of intensity, different definitions of how far to take things. But the basic rules were always in place. If anyone violated them, the D/s community policed its own.
To hear that Brian, someone who obviously had only a sketchy knowledge of the philosophy and practices, had subverted BDSM because he could, made Cord angrier than he ever remembered being. He’d never understood how any man could so extremely abuse a privilege granted to him. Listening to Fallon made his blood boil.
When she was finished, he sat for a moment, gaze fixed on her bent form. He wanted to pull her into his arms, soothe her, tell her they would get through this together and everything would be fine. But he knew that she wouldn’t believe him. So much of her emotionally destructive upbringing still lingered, still fed her insecurities. Punishment was like an anchor to her, but it had to be for the right reasons.
And tonight it would have to take a different from.
“And that’s all of it?” he asked.
“Yes. All of it.” Her voice was muffled by the carpet.
“Yes, who?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And he will never intrude into our lives again, correct? If thoughts of him distress you, come to me at once and I’ll talk you through them. If you run into him, you call me right away. If you need me to pick you up because he’s upset you, I’ll be in my car before we’re off the phone. Understood?”
“Understood.”
He didn’t remind her again that she hadn’t used the honorific. She was in enough emotional distress as it was.
