Wild Submission Page 4

  “Here are the cupcakes.” Olivia opens the box and gives a peal of delight. “Don’t they look pretty?”

  “It’s a good thing we won’t be eating any,” I note wryly. “Lulu and the others will just coo and then ignore them.”

  I stop, realizing what I’ve said, but Olivia snorts with laughter. “You’re right,” she says. “We better have one now, before they see. I promise, I won’t tell,” she winks, holding out one of the tiny confections.

  I take it and nibble at the sweet frosting, feeling like a naughty child. I’ve just taken a huge bite when Lulu waltzes in.

  “Isabelle, darling. Calories!”

  I reluctantly put it down as she smothers me with air kisses. Her sharp gaze looks me up and down. “Where have you been hiding? I haven’t seen you in forevs.”

  “Oh, just around,” I say vaguely.

  “You’re in the middle of a redecoration, right?” Olivia pipes up.

  I stare blankly, until I remember: I told them I moved out of my apartment because I was overhauling the design. Not because I couldn’t spend another moment around Brent.

  “That’s right!” I laugh. “God, these things take forever.”

  “Who are you using?” Lulu demands. “I’m looking for someone to do my house upstate.”

  “This Scottish guy,” I say, pulling the first thing that comes to mind. “He’s big in Europe. A very… precise, bold style.”

  The girls look impressed. “You’re always ahead of the curve,” Olivia says enviously.

  I smile. Little do they know. I try to picture Cam as an interior designer, picking out fabric swatches. It’s all wrong. His brawny physique and charisma are out of place enough in the business world, but I can’t imagine him dealing with women like Lulu all day. He’d probably put her over his knee and spank her.

  Mmmm.

  “Are we ready to get started?” Lulu interrupts my vision. “I have a mani-pedi at two.”

  We assemble in the sun room, a pretty space decorated in soft, feminine silks. Nicole and Jessa are already there, with a couple of other women I know from the social scene: thin and glossy-haired, wearing immaculate designer outfits. Olivia pours the tea and passes tiny plates of finger sandwiches and cake. Sure enough, the other women compliment the pretty spread, but barely touch their food.

  “So, the event is next week,” I begin, pulling out my day planner. “The casino theme seems to be a hit, and I already talked to a few journalists about covering the night. Vogue is coming.”

  There’s a chorus of ‘oohs.’

  “Olivia, you’ll handle promotions and ticket sales. Nicole, you’re in charge of decorating the venue and Lulu, you’re handling the catering, right?”

  Lulu gives a smug grin. “My boyfriend’s restaurant is going to supply food and servers.”

  “Maybe I better add catering to my list,” Nicole chirps brightly. “God knows, Lulu can’t hold onto a man! He’ll probably have dumped her by then. ”

  The others laugh, and Lulu fakes a smile.

  “Darling, I’m this close to a ring. I saw a Tiffany’s brochure on his desk the other day. I already put a hold on the Plaza.”

  There’s an explosion of chatter about wedding dates and design themes. I catch Olivia’s eye across the room. We share an amused look. Sometimes I can’t believe that I’m part of this clique. Growing up, I never would have wanted to hang out with these people, much less call them my friends. We come from different worlds—but they’ll never know.

  I clear my throat. “We’re so close to being done. Nicole, decorations?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Relax, Iz, I’m using my designer, and the event space is all set. I don’t know why you’re taking this so seriously,” she adds. “It’s supposed to be fun!”

  For them, maybe. Everyone else in the room is treating the fundraiser like an excuse to gossip, but it has a deeper meaning for me. We’re raising money for a charity that supports foster children—just like the girl I used to be.

  Not everyone has an Ashcroft to whisk them off to a life of luxury. For millions of kids, the reality is harsh and bleak. I want to help them, however I can.

  But I also know I need to maintain my cover. If any of these women knew my real motivation, they would lord it over me somehow.

  “I know babe,” I give an easy smile. “But I heard Jacinta talking the other day, and she swore her Gatsby-themed party was the best of the year. How about we prove her wrong?”

  Everyone hates Jacinta, who swears she’s related to British royalty, so the mention of her is enough to get them back on track. Soon the meeting is over, and we’re all saying our goodbyes.

  “Thanks again for hosting,” I tell Olivia on my way out. “I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

  “No problem.” Olivia glances around. Nobody’s within earshot. “Are you sure everything’s OK?”

  “Yes. Why do you ask?” I snap.

  She blinks. “No reason.”

  I feel guilty. Olivia is the nicest girl of the group. She’s always tried to be a true friend, inviting me out for lunch, and confiding in me about her life. But her problems are whether her super-rich parents will get a divorce, or if her fiancé will sign the pre-nup in time. She would never understand what I’ve been going through, and I can’t risk her reaction if she finds out.

  So no matter how much I want to spill the craziness of the past week, I hold back. “Let’s do something this week,” I offer as an apology. “Just the two of us.”

  Olivia brightens. “That sounds great. Call me!”

  I head downstairs, relieved that the meeting is over. I’m looking forward to getting back to Cam’s; it seems like every day, his home becomes more like a sanctuary to me. Someplace safe, where I don’t have to keep up the pretense of my perfect, glamorous life.

  “Hey, sis.”

  Brent’s voice makes me freeze. I whirl around, suddenly panicked. He’s waiting on the sidewalk for me with a smug, menacing grin.

  I flinch back. “What are you doing here?” I gasp, my heart racing. Just seeing him brings all the bad memories flooding back, how I trusted him—and how he repaid me with cruelty and betrayal.

  Brent strolls closer. “You didn’t change the password on your calendar.”

  I stifle a groan of frustration. I thought I’d covered my tracks so well, but of course I forgot the one thing that would lead Brent directly to me.

  I cross my arms and try to glare. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

  “With your new boyfriend?” His smile turns angry. “Are you running off home to fuck him like the good little whore you are?”

  His words cut me, but I try not to show my emotions.

  “What I do is none of your business,” I answer coldly, raising my hand to signal for a cab.

  Brent grabs my hand and yanks me closer. “I’ve had enough of this bullshit. You’re coming home with me right now.”

  His eyes are steely, furious. I remember that there’s nothing Brent hates more than losing what he wants.

  “I gave you your money,” I whisper, hating the fear that’s snaking cold in my blood. “It’s over. Please, leave me alone.”

  Brent snorts. “You think ten grand is going to fix this? That’s bullshit. I know you’re sitting on millions in your trust fund—and that money should belong to me.”

  My heart sinks. Ever since Brent got disinherited, he’s been obsessing over the wealth he always thought he’d get. I’ve been supporting the both of us all year, letting him stay in my apartment, paying his astronomical credit card bills.

  “So how much will it take?” My throat feels dry, and I’m worried someone will hear him. Any minute now, Olivia or one of the others could come out and see us like this. I couldn’t bear it if they knew the truth.

  “A hundred k, for starters.” Brent gives me a mean grin.

  “That’s crazy!” I protest.

  He darkens. “Think of it as payment—for my silence. Unless you want everyone knowing the
truth.”

  “You’re bluffing,” I tell him, hiding my fear.

  Brent sneers. “Try me.” He pulls out his cellphone and dials. “Yeah, put me through to Cam McCullough’s office.”

  Fear slices through me. “Brent, no!”

  “I think it’s time me and your new man had a little chat about where you came from…and who you really are.” Brent looks so happy, it sickens me. My life, my future is on the line, and he’s relishing his power.

  I can’t risk it. I don’t know what I would do if Cam discovered the truth.

  “Fine,” I whisper, fighting back sobs. “I’ll give you the money. Whatever you want.”

  “Good girl.” Brent reaches out and strokes my cheek before I can pull away, and the gesture makes me shudder with revulsion. “This isn’t over, sis,” he adds, threatening. “It will never be over. Not until I’m satisfied. Not until I have everything I want.”

  A cab pulls up in front of us. I lurch away from him, and practically stumble into the car. “Please, just drive,” I beg, slamming the door behind me.

  We pull away from the curb, leaving Brent there with that smug grin on his face.

  I try to catch my breath. I’m shaking, my whole body in a panic. How much longer can this go on? What will Brent demand next in exchange for keeping my secrets?

  What happens when I can’t stop him anymore, and he reveals the truth?

  EIGHT: CAM

  My apartment has always been a place of solitude: my sanctuary away from the high-pressure demands of running the company. But finding Isabelle waiting for me in the evening, curled up on the couch with her laptop and a glass of wine, it’s become a home.

  She looks like she belongs here.

  “What are you working on?”

  Isabelle jumps. She’s miles away. But when she sees me, her face lights up.

  “You’re back. I thought you might be working late again.” She comes up and gives me a kiss on the cheek. Then she catches herself, and looks anxious. “Sorry,” she mutters quietly. “Is that OK? I mean, am I allowed…?”

  I soothe her with a smile. “You’re allowed. You should feel free to act normal around me, until I tell you different.”

  She nods, as if she’s taking mental notes.

  I put my briefcase down and loosen my tie. She’s still dressed in a designer outfit, looking polished and put together. “Did you have a good day?” I ask.

  She nods. “I was working. I’m co-hosting a benefit for a foster youth organization,” she explains. “We’re holding a casino night with all the proceeds going to the charity.”

  “That’s a great idea,” I nod. “Plenty of rich people with big egos looking to prove something at the tables.”

  Isabelle smiles. “I’m counting on it. I’ve just been making some updates to the site.” She turns her screen around to face me.

  The website is glossy and tasteful. “It looks great,” I say approvingly. “Did you create it?”

  Isabelle flushes and shakes her head. “God, no, I can’t do something like this. I just told the technician how I wanted it to look.”

  “You are a great designer,” I tell her gently. She does this so often, puts herself down. She doesn’t realize the talents she does have. “Were you with Olivia and the other girls?”

  A shadow crosses her face. “Yes,” she says hurriedly.

  I pause. Slowly, I sit down opposite her. Every move I make has to be strategic at this point. It doesn’t matter that I crave her body, and need her to be naked and spread for me already. I need to maintain our boundaries. My control.

  “What else happened?” My voice is casual. I watch her response.

  Isabelle looks away. “Nothing much.” Her tone is bright. “I wanted to get straight back and work on the website.”

  “Isabelle.” My voice is a warning. Still, she refuses to meet my eyes. “Tell me.”

  “I told you everything you need to know,” Isabelle snaps. “Is this a conversation or an interrogation?”

  “Both,” I reply calmly. “I’m asking you a question. That means you tell me whatever I want to know.”

  Isabelle stares back stubbornly. “And what if I don’t want to?”

  “Then you’ll require a lesson in obedience.” I stand. This is unacceptable behavior from any sub. And if I let it go, she’ll never learn. I cross the room and stand over her.

  “Get up.”

  I see another flare of stubbornness in her eyes. I glare back.

  Isabelle looks away first. She gets to her feet, still reluctant.

  “Go upstairs,” I order her softly. “Take off your clothes, and get on your hands and knees over the bench. Wait for me there.”

  I hear her breath hitch. Now, there’s desire in her gaze. “Yes, Master,” she breathes, clearly excited.

  She practically scampers into the hall and up the stairs. I take a moment, watching her go. She thinks this will be fun for her, a sexy game, but it’s so much more. We’re only beginning her instruction, but she needs to understand that I’m serious. There is no place for disobedience.

  My will is absolute.

  I decide to take a shower and change, and leave her waiting for twenty minutes or more. The anticipation of pleasure or pain is a powerful tool, and by the time I slowly climb the stairs and push open the door, Isabelle is flushed with excitement, on her hands and knees as I required.

  She’s taken off her clothes, but she’s not naked yet. She’s wearing lingerie and a pale pink silk slip. Gorgeous. Her full breasts swell under their lacey cages, her rounded ass inviting my cock.

  I close the door and turn the lock. She jolts, breathless at the sound.

  “Each time you defy my command, you will be punished,” I tell her sternly, pacing closer. “There’s no room for fear or disobedience in this relationship. Follow the rules, and I’ll reward you. Break them, and suffer the consequences. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Cam,” Isabelle whispers. One sharp look at her and she immediately corrects herself. “I mean, yes, Master.”

  “Very good. Now, because you have been childish, I’m going to have to punish you like a child.”

  I can see the anticipation on her face, the nervous mix of excitement and fear. I remind myself that she’s an innocent: she’s never had someone teach her like this before. Her only experience with pain was when Brent flogged her at the club, and that has nothing to do with her needs.

  I need to show her the pleasure that can walk hand in hand with pain; introduce her to the delicious sting of sensation that only heightens her pleasure.

  And remind her who’s boss.

  I order her firmly. “Crawl to the bench and lift up your skirt.”

  Isabelle quickly complies, hiking her slip up over her hips and exposing her creamy buttocks, divided by a lacy thong.

  God, she’s a fucking goddess, every Dom’s fantasy brought to life. Innocent and stubborn, her body crying out for my hand.

  I stroll over to the carved wooden rack where I keep my tools. I feel Isabelle’s eyes burning with curiosity as I stroke along their handles. “What should we use today?” I muse, knowing the delay will only add to her heightened state of anticipation. “A flogger? My riding crop? A whip?”

  I hear her gasp in shock. I hide my smile. I would never break in a new sub by going straight for the extreme tools, but a little fear is healthy to teach her some respect.

  “Or maybe not.” I put the toys down and turn back to her. “I don’t need any extra help to punish you. I’m more than capable of making you beg with just my own hands.”

  Her pupils flare. She wets her lips, nervous, and the gesture goes straight to my cock. Damn. I want to own that mouth so badly, thrust into her wet, empty mouth until my cum is spurting hot down her throat.

  Soon.

  I stride back to the bench and lean over her, running one hand through her silky hair and down over her back. I rest it gently on the swell of her ass.

  “Take hold of the bench,
” I instruct her. “And under no circumstances are you to let go.”

  She gulps, grabbing on to the specially-designed handles that extend down by the ground. Her thighs part, revealing the scrap of pink lace covering her mound. Now her body is braced and open to me.

  I spank her hard and without warning.

  Isabelle shrieks, jolting forward against the bench. Before she can recover, I spank her again, a series of short, sharp blows. She yelps every time my hand makes impact with the smooth skin of her ass, but I’m careful to vary where each slap falls, never hitting the same spot twice as I continue, relentless.

  Two. Three. Four.

  I can feel her body bracing against impact now, feel the tremble in her limbs.

  “Please,” she gasps. “Cam!”

  Five. Six. Seven.

  She lets go of the bench and tries to scramble away. “No. Stay.” I fist her hair in one hand, yanking her back in place as I let the final blows rain down with perfect accuracy.

  Eight. Nine. Ten.

  I stop.

  Isabelle collapses forwards, sobbing on the bench. I let her weep.

  She’s not crying from the pain, just the shock of it. I was careful: I never apply more pressure than absolutely necessary, and although her ass is mottled red now from the impact of my hand, the marks will fade soon.

  The lesson won’t.

  I see every handprint like a victory mark. Power courses through me like a drug, but I don’t pause to savor it. She’s felt the pain of disobedience, only now she can learn the pleasure of submission.

  “Good girl,” I murmur softly. I gently caress her back and ass, smoothing softly where I just struck hard. My fingertips whisper over her skin, soothing. “You’ve been such a good girl.”

  Isabelle swallows back her tears. She lifts her face to me. “That hurt!”

  I smirk. “It was supposed to.”

  She clenches her jaw stubbornly. “So, was that it? My punishment?”

  I stroke again, this time delving deeper between her thighs. Isabelle catches her breath. I tease over the damp silk there, nudging gently.