Total Submission

  Total Submission

  by Roxy Sloane

  THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO THE SEDUCERS,

  YOU HOT SEXY THINGS ;) THANK YOU.

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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

  PROLOGUE

  ONE: ISABELLE

  TWO: CAM

  THREE: ISABELLE

  FOUR: CAM

  FIVE: ISABELLE

  SIX: CAM

  SEVEN: ISABELLE

  EIGHT: CAM

  NINE: ISABELLE

  TEN: CAM

  ELEVEN: ISABELLE

  TWELVE: CAM

  PROLOGUE

  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.

  ONE: ISABELLE

  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.

  TWO: CAM

  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.

  “Cam…” she swallows. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Yes. I should,” I growl, furious. “You won’t answer my calls, you won’t see me. We’re talking right now, and I’m not leaving until we do.”

  Her eyes flicker nervously to the door. “I can’t talk to you…”

  I hate seeing her like this, being led around by that asshole Brent like she’s some kind of pet. She can’t have meant what she said to me. She can’t possibly pick him over me.

  “Tell me why you left,” I demand, moving closer. “Tell me why you broke the contract and went back to him.” My voice twists on the word. “What’s he got on you, Isabelle? What’s he doing to make you stay?”

  “Nothing,” Isabelle protests weakly. “It’s like I said. You were right. This isn’t for me. The life you lead…the whole sub/Dom thing, it’s not what I want.” She drops her gaze to the floor, and I know every word of it is false.

  “You’re lying,” I say quietly, taking another step towards her. “I know you, Isabelle. I know when you want me. When your body aches for me…”

  I reach out and stroke down her neck, her breath catching as I trail my fingertips softly over her silky skin.

  “I want…” Isabelle whispers, but then she stops herself and sighs.

  “You want more,” I murmur, leaning to kiss the trail of her collarbone. I feel her body shiver against me. “You’re already wet for me, aren’t you, my sweet? You need more.”

  “Cam,” she whimpers. There’s need in her voice, raw lust, and the sound goes straight to my cock.

  I kiss her throat, breathing her in as I slide my hands lower, over her waist and the curve of her delicious ass. Fuck, I’ve imagined this moment, going out of my mind alone at night with nothing to keep me warm but the memories of her shuddering in climax, screaming my name.

  Nothing makes me feel this way but her. Nothing else will ever do. And if I have to play dirty to make her see she belongs with me now, then damn, I’ll enjoy every minute.

  “You need me,” I whisper in her ear. I slip a hand between her thighs, stroking a fingertip over the damp lace of her panties and the heat of her core. “You want me to order you down on your knees right now, command you to suck my cock. You want me to dominate you, my darling, because that’s the most alive you’ve ever felt before. And I can give it to you. I can give you what you need.”

  She sways against me with a breathy sigh – not surrendering, but not resisting either.

  “So don’t fight it,” I tell her softly, stroking again. Fuck, she’s so wet for me. Ready for my fingers, my tongue, my cock. “Give in to me, Isabelle. Come home, where you belong. Where I can take care of you.”

  I slip her panties aside and sink two fingers deep into her slick cunt as I claim her mouth in a kiss.

  Isabelle moans into my mouth, arching against my hand. I plunge my fingers deeper, relishing the feeling of her yielding to me, surrendering to my will. My tongue probes he
r mouth as my fingers explore her tight wetness, and she opens, willingly. I can taste the champagne on her lips and feel the slickness of her desire.

  No matter how much she denies it, Isabelle was made to be my sub. Made to be mine.

  “Yes,” I growl. “Submit to me.”

  But suddenly, as if a flip has switched, she tears away.

  “We can’t do this!” Her voice is ragged, filled with a desperate pleading. “Don’t you get it, Cam? There’s no future for us. We can’t be together.”

  Tears glisten in her eyes. “It’s too dangerous. If people found out about…” She stops, and shakes her head. “I can’t. Please understand, Cam.”

  “Understand what?” I fight to keep my temper. “Tell me what’s wrong. Has Brent threatened you? Hurt you in any way? Because if he has…” Rage boils up inside me, and I have to clench my fists to keep control.

  “Just leave me be. Please, Cam.” Her voice twisting, Isabelle brushes past me.

  I reach out and clasp her hand. “Isabelle, let me help you.”

  Isabelle wavers. I can see the longing in her eyes, the desire to submit. But then she looks away. “What’s done is done,” she whispers, cheeks flushed. “You can’t fix it.”

  What is she talking about?

  She hurries out, the door swinging shut behind her.

  I take a moment to compose myself, then step out of the restroom. I watch her head back to the table and slide into the seat beside Brent. Obedient. Silent.

  Miserable.

  Fury cuts through my confusion. No way in hell am I giving up without a fight. No matter what she says, I vowed to take care of her and it’s my job to make sure she’s safe.

  I dial a number on my cell. A private investigator I’ve known for years; I can trust him to be discreet—and thorough.

  “Yes?” Jake answers gruffly, but I don’t care what I’ve interrupted, not with so much on the line.

  “It’s Cam,” I tell the voice on the other end of the line. “I’ve got a job for you.”

  Across the room, Isabelle fakes a smile, but her eyes tell a different story.

  That woman is mine—body, mind and soul—and I’ll do whatever it takes to uncover the truth about what’s keeping her away from me.