Total Submission
Total Submission
by Roxy Sloane
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Copyright 2014 Roxy Sloane
Cover Design: Louisa Maggio at LM Creations
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places
and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales
or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
All relationships are about give and take.
Power and submission. In a hundred small ways, the battle of two
wills plays out. Most people find a compromise, a delicate balance
between their own wants and their partner’s desires.
I’m not most people.
I demand total control – but I give you the
ultimate pleasure in return. It’s my will that always dominates; my
commands that will determine every one of your choices. But in
exchange, I offer you the sweetest surrender.
No guilt. No shame. No second thoughts.
Because the truth is, you long for me that
way. To simply give yourself to me, and never once have to worry
about the consequences. To let me take control of your pleasures,
and never once share the blame.
I know what you need. I know how your body
tightens in anticipation of my collar; your thighs clenching with
the thought of my cock. I know because it’s my job, my duty. To be
so in tune with your desires that I can take you to heights you
never dreamed about.
You may be the one surrendering, but I’m the
one in your power, my sweet. I must have you, and I will do
whatever it takes to bring you to me.
Wet. Ready. On your knees.
Isabelle needs me. To dominate her, to
cherish her, to free her. And I won’t let her down. I won’t stop
until she’s mine again, screaming with pleasure, completely undone
and safe in my arms. She’s all I want, and I always get what I
want.
She is my everything.
It’s been ten days.
Ten days since I walked out on Cam. Ten days
since I looked him in the eye and lied like I’ve never lied before:
told him that who he is disgusts me, and that I wanted to end our
relationship before it had barely begun.
I didn’t mean a word of it. It broke my
heart to walk away, and now that pain has haunted me every minute
of every day since.
I want to call him. Reach out, just to see
him again. I want to tell him I didn’t mean the cruel things I
said. I want to swear that I’ve never felt so safe, so loved, as
when I’m in his arms. Submitting to his commands.
Surrendering to the pleasure only he can
give.
But I have no choice. Not with Brent
blackmailing me like this: using the most terrible secrets of my
life to buy my loyalty. He ordered me to leave Cam and move back
into my old apartment with him, and I obeyed, but that hasn’t
stopped me from spending every waking moment trying to think up a
way to leave him again, and all my time asleep dreaming of Cam: his
voice, his touch. His mouth. His demands.
If anyone learns the truth about me…
I stop that thought dead, turning away from
my grim reflection in the dressing room mirror. I’m back in my old
bedroom, surrounded by pretty things: soft blue velvet curtains and
a gold silk bedspread, gilt-edged mirrors and a walk-in closet full
of designer clothes that’s bigger than most people’s
apartments.
None of it means a thing to me. Not without
Cam.
There’s a noise at the door and then Brent
comes barging in. “Get a move on, I’m ready to go.”
“I told you, you’re not allowed in
here!”
Brent sneers. His gaze scans over me.
“You’re not wearing that, are you?”
I tense. He told me I had to go with him to
dinner. I didn’t realize it came with a dress code. “What’s wrong
with it?” I’m wearing a simple black dress and heels, not feeling
like going the whole nine yards when inside, I can’t stand being
near him.
Brent snorts. “You look like a fucking
depressive nun. Put on something decent, show off that body of
yours.”
I cross my arms over my chest, shuddering at
the thought of his eyes on me. “No.”
Brent stalks closer. “Aren’t you forgetting
something,
sis
?” he demands in a low voice. “I’m the one
calling the shots this time. I let you get away with running off to
that Scottish asshole once, but now you need to make it up to
me.”
He reaches out to touch me, but I shrink
away. “Keep your hands off me! That was our deal, remember? I came
back, I’m paying your bills, but you don’t ever get to touch me,
ever again.”
Brent’s eyes flash with anger. “Frigid
bitch,” he curses. “Time was, you were begging for it. Couldn’t get
enough of me.”
That was never true, but I can’t afford
to push him too far
.
“Times change,” I spit back, bile rising in
my throat. “Now, do you want me at this dinner? If so, let me get
dressed in peace.”
Brent pauses, then decides. “We’re not
finished here,” he says, backing away. “You belong to me, and that
means all of you.” He grins lasciviously. “Just wait.”
He walks out, slamming the door behind
him.
I sink onto the bed, my heart pounding. I’m
so tired. I’ve kept him at arm’s length all this time: filling my
days with appointments and social events, and locking my bedroom
door at night. But I know Brent, and he won’t stop – not until he
gets what he wants. I’ll never be safe.
I swallow back my fear and go pick out a new
dress: something short and tight and silver, to turn heads the way
he wants. Maybe if he gets enough jealous attention, he’ll be in a
more forgiving mood.
Either that, or he’ll get too drunk and high
to pay attention to me.
I can dream, can’t I?
* * *
Brent drives us downtown, speeding too fast
in the sportscar I’m still paying off for him. Ever since his trust
fund got cut off, he’s been depending on me to maintain his lavish
lifestyle. It’s the only leverage I’ve got with him, but I don’t
know how much longer it will keep him from crossing the line.
“Behave yourself at dinner, OK?” Brent snaps
at me, as he pulls up by the valet. “This is an important investor,
could be my big break.”
I don’t reply. He’s always talking about his
next big business venture, but most of the time, it’s just an
excuse for expensive dinners and partying with his preppy rich
friends.
He grips my arm tightly and steers me into
the restaurant.
“Welcome back, Mr. Ashcroft!” The hostess
flashes a smile at Brent. “So nice to see you again.”
“Nice to see you too, Becca.” Brent leers at
her cleavage. “You put us at the best table, right? None of that
backroom bullshit.”
“Of course.” She leads us to a table in the
middle of the room. Brent takes his time following, and he parades
me through the room like he wants everyone to stare.
And they do. In this dress, with four-inch
heels and my blonde hair tumbling free, I look like I should be in
some trashy nightclub, not a classy restaurant like this.
I feel myself go numb under their stares.
Let them look. They aren’t seeing me, the real me, just this act I
have to keep together.
Remember you’re more than his prop,
I
remind myself
. Remember you’re more than this.
“Bring a bottle of Brut,” Brent barks at
her, as we take out seats. “And none of that new shit. Vintage, all
the way.”
Becca’s smile dims. “On its way.” She gives
me a look before leaving, as if to say, ‘what the hell are you
doing with him?’
Me too, honey. Me too.
Brent’s buddies stroll over to us, drinks in
hand, and claim seats at our table like they own the place. They’re
college friends, now all big-shot bankers and CEOs propped up by
daddy’s connections and trust funds, and soon they’re trading
gossip—the size of their bonuses, and the new expensive toys
they’ve been buying.
“Rooftop pool, state of the art
electronics…” One of the guys is bragging about his new penthouse
apartment. “It was a fucking bidding war, I went a mil over asking
to lock it down.”
I try to look interested, but I can feel my
eyes glazing over. These men, they don’t know how to talk to a
woman, how to respect her, make her feel valued. I’m just a
decoration to them.
“Sweet,” Brent says. “I’m looking too,
right, Iz? Your place is kind of cramped.” He’s noticed how quiet I
am and is trying to make me participate in the conversation.
My two-bedroom on the Upper East Side is
nowhere near cramped, but I smile and nod, appeasing him as I sip
my champagne.
“You got to go downtown,” his buddy insists.
“They’ve got great units in Soho, nine, ten mill. Bargain.”
Brent’s jaw clenches. “Sure, sure.” He
agrees, but I can see the jealousy seething in his eyes. I don’t
understand it: thanks to Charles Ashcroft, who adopted us both from
different homes when we were kids, Brent and I grew up in luxury.
But nothing was ever enough for Brent, he always hung out with kids
who were even richer than us, and kept acting even more entitled.
Now he has nothing left except my borrowed trust fund, but he still
won’t quit trying to act like a big-shot.
My gaze wanders around the room, scanning
the crowd. It’s a hot new dining spot, and it’s packed on a Friday
night with fashionable people and—
My heart stops.
Cam.
He’s being shown to a table with my
half-sister, Keely, and her fiancé, and he looks just as
devastatingly hot as ever. His tall, broad-shouldered physique is
draped in a designer suit, and his dark hair is matched with sexy
stubble.
I shiver, flooded with memories. His hands
gripping my wrists tightly. His body pressing down on mine. His
fingers trailing lower—
A hand slides around my shoulder, but it’s
not Cam’s. Brent grabs me so hard I wince, then raises his other
hand to wave.
“McCullough,” he calls, smug. “Good to see
you, man.”
Cam looks over, and his face turns to stone.
His eyes meet mine, unreadable, and then he keeps walking past me,
like I don’t even exist.
My heart breaks.
The moment he’s gone, Brent drops his hand
from my shoulder. “I wonder what’s bugging him?” he smirks. “Sore
loser.”
As if I’m some prize to be won.
I wait silently until he’s back talking to
the guys again. “Excuse me,” I murmur, then quickly leave the
table. I make my way blindly towards the restrooms, so close to
falling apart.
What must Cam think of me?
I push into the cool marble sanctuary of the
ladies room, trying to calm myself. I take deep breaths, but can’t
stop the panic that grips me. I plunge my shaking hands under the
cold water and try to pull myself together.
He’s here, right here. So close. And yet Cam
has never been so far from me.
I look at my eyes in the mirror, and see all
the sadness, pain, and fear about my life reflected back at me.
My resolve crumbles. I thought I could tell
him goodbye, but now, every part of me aches to be in his arms
again. He’s just a few feet away but it seems like an entire city
separates us. If only I could talk to him, explain why I did what I
did. But he probably hates me—he loathes Brent. Knowing that I went
back to him, despite everything that happened, might be too much
for Cam to take.
Too much to ever forgive—if I even deserve
his forgiveness.
The door flies open. And before I have a
chance to brace myself, Cam is standing right in front of me. His
body tense, his eyes flashing angrily.
“Isabelle.”
Just my name on his lips, and I’m
overcome.
I stare at Isabelle, just inches away from
me in the small marble bathroom. After all this time apart, I’d
convinced myself that she couldn’t be as beautiful as I remember
her, but I was wrong. She still takes my breath away.
Every time I see her, it feels like the
first time. Those big blue eyes, that luscious mouth. The warmth of
her body so close to mine. The scent of her familiar perfume hits
me like a fist. There’s nothing I crave more than the feel of her
in my arms. The taste of her sweet lips opening wide for me, eager
and ready.