Wild Submission (7 page)

“Believe me, I would.” Cam gives me a
wolfish look. “Now, my order still stands. You have my permission
to let yourself go.”

I look at the food regretfully. “Great, the
one night I get a pass, and you order Chinese.”

He frowns. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s not my favorite,” I shrug.

“So what would you eat, if you could have
anything in the world?”

I pause. “I’d get a thick, juicy
cheeseburger and fries. The works. With an icy cold beer to wash it
all down.”

Cam looks surprised. “I would have figured
you for more a caviar kind of girl.”

I snort. “That fancy stuff isn’t really my
style. It’s easy to keep to a diet when you’re only served haute
cuisine.” It took a couple of years after joining the Ashcrofts for
my tastes to improve, to learn the difference between Velveeta and
gruyere. The first time they served me a salad made by their
personal chef, I didn’t recognize anything but the lettuce.

My stomach rumbles so loudly that Cam
notices. He laughs. “Grab your coat. I know just the place to
satisfy that craving of yours.”

I glance down at my jeans. “I should change
first.”

“Don’t worry,” Cam grins. “None of your
girlfriends is ever going to see you where we’re going.”

I’m breaking my number one rule here—and I
don’t care. I never go out in public with my subs: our relationship
is always hidden, contained in the safety of The Underground club
or my apartment. But here I am, strolling down the street with
Isabelle for anyone to see.

“Should we grab a taxi?” Isabelle looks
around.

“No,” I tell her. “It’s just down the
block.”

As we walk along the sidewalk, I can see her
glance over at me, nervous. “What’s on your mind?” I ask.

“This is our first time out together
since…you know. The contract,” she whispers. “How is this supposed
to go? Do I have to do whatever you tell me, even if people are
watching?”

“Relax,” I reassure her. “I’m not going to
order you around tonight, but in general, the same rules still
apply. You should still obey me, we’ll just be discreet.” I take
her hand, and give it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll take care of
everything. You relax.”

Isabelle exhales, relaxing. “OK, I can
try.”

It’s cold out, but the streets are busy in
my fashionable neighborhood: full of couples out for dinner, and
people heading home after work.

None of them would ever guess the real
relationship between Isabelle and me. To them, dominance and
submission are the things of kinky sex clubs, whips and chains.
They could never guess that I can show as much power walking down
the street; that my dominance of Isabelle continues in every look,
every touch, every word.

“Here we are.” I nod to the bar at the end
of the block. It’s a little hole in the wall place, dim and grungy,
but I know they serve the best burgers in the city. Isabelle
wrinkles her nose, but she follows me down the steps and
inside.

She looks around. “Why is everyone looking
at us?” she whispers, drawing closer to me.

I smile. “They’re looking at you.” Even in
jeans, she’s still the most beautiful girl in any room.

Isabelle flushes, looking embarrassed, so I
lead her to a table in a dark corner. “Two pints please, Greg,” I
call over to the burly British bartender. “And a couple of burgers,
fries, the works.”

“Alright, boss.”

Isabelle looks interested. “This is your
usual hangout? You could scrape the grease off the ceiling with a
knife.”

I laugh. “Don’t let Greg hear you say that.
He takes pride in his grease.”

She smiles and takes off her coat. “It’s
strange to see you here,” she remarks. “I was beginning to think
you lived at the office, or home. Or the club.” She blushes.

“I guess I deserve that,” I nod. “There
hasn’t been much time in my life for anything but work.”

If you want to make it in the corporate
world without a fancy Harvard MBA or Daddy on the board, you have
to work harder than anyone. And me, a kid from the Scottish
Highlands, I was determined to work harder than everyone.

Greg brings over our beers and food.
Isabelle gapes at the spread: huge double decker slabs of ground
sirloin with bacon, onions and cheddar, and a basket of crispy,
thick fries.

“There’s enough here to feed an army! I can
get through maybe half of that.”

“I’ll allow it,” I say, with a smile to let
her know I’m joking. “But I bet you’ll finish the lot.”

We start eating, and soon she relaxes. “Oh
my God,” she murmurs, taking a bite. “This is worth the hours on
the treadmill I’m going to need tomorrow.”

My breath sticks. Fuck, she’s sexy, savoring
every bite. Away from her snooty socialite crowd, she’s relaxed and
carefree, gulping beer and wiping the foam from her lip with the
back of her sleeve.

“So, tell me about yourself,” Isabelle asks
hesitantly. “I hardly know much at all.”

I pause. “Like what?” I ask, dunking a fry
in ketchup. Although, to me, they’ll always be chips.

“Well, the whole club thing.” Isabelle
glances around, but we’re secluded in the corner here, with nobody
to hear. “Have you always been into it? What happened to make you,
you know…?”

“A Dom?” I finish. “Nothing happened. I’m
not one of those guys working through some troubled past,” I add.
“I just discovered that this was my particular preference, that’s
all.”

Isabelle looks disappointed with my answer,
so I expand. “Several years ago, I dated a woman who told me about
working as a Dominatrix. She told me how she felt when she had a
whip in her hand. Powerful. In charge. Something about it
fascinated me, so I researched it more. I discovered pretty quickly
that I had no interest in being dominated myself,” I add, “but it
was the other side that drew me in. The balance of power, the
psychological side of sex. It turned me on in a way I’d never felt
before.”

Isabelle watches me, and bites her lip. “Why
do you think you like so much? I mean, it’s pretty weird, isn’t
it?” She flushes, and I can tell she’s trying to wrap her head
around not just my tastes, but her own reaction earlier
tonight.

“It’s not weird at all,” I say calmly. “Sex
is about trust, intimacy. And giving up power to someone—or taking
control of that power—is a natural extension of that trust. Our
sexuality is more interesting and complex than we often give it
credit for,” I add. “Why settle for something boring and rote, when
you can discover who you really are?”

She toys with her beer for a second,
thinking hard.

“It surprised me,” she admits. “Feeling the
way I do. Not just tonight, but when Brent took me to the club. I
was curious, I felt excited. At least, before…” she stops, then
shakes her head, as if shaking the memory away. “I never expected
to feel this way. Sex was never…” she stops again.

“Never what you needed,” I finish for
her.

She nods, looking embarrassed.

“There’s no need to be ashamed,” I reassure
her. “We’re all wired differently. Some people can spend their
whole lives and be perfectly fulfilled by vanilla missionary every
night. And others...we require something more particular to satisfy
our needs.”

She takes a gulp of beer, looking away, then
changes the subject. “What about my father?”

“I don’t think he shared my tastes,” I
joke.

She laughs, breaking the tension. “Eww, no!
I just meant, how did you guys get along? From the way you’ve
talked about him, it seems like you were pretty close.”

I nod, smiling at the memory of my mentor.
“He was a good man. Everyone respected him. He really made a point
of showing people that he was listening, that he heard them. He
gave you his full attention when you were with him, and that’s a
rare quality.”

Isabelle gives a small smile. “I remember.
Not that I got to see it very much,” she adds, sounding wistful.
“You probably spent more time with him than I ever did.”

She’s joking but there’s an edge of sorrow
behind her remark.

“You were family,” I reassure her. “He may
have worked hard, but you were always his number one priority.”

She shakes her head. “It didn’t feel that
way. After our mom died, he just buried himself in work. I guess it
was his way of coping with the pain of losing her. But I was pretty
much on my own again after that.” She pauses, years of sadness
behind her eyes. “Except for Brent. He was all I had in the world.
That’s why…” She looks away. “That’s why I let him treat me like
this. I didn’t want to lose him too.”

I take her hand, full of compassion for her.
Just when she thought she’d found a family, she lost it. No wonder
she always acts so icy and self-sufficient. It’s the only way she
can cope with her life.

Which makes her request to submit to me so
much more intriguing—and precious.

“You have me now,” I tell her firmly. “And
no one’s ever going to treat you that way again. You may not feel
very strong right now, but you’re stronger than you’ll ever
know.”

Isabelle gives a weak smile. “I don’t feel
strong. I feel like a total mess most of the time.”

“You’re not,” I insist. “It takes a strong
woman to admit that she wants to submit. To give up control of her
body and her emotions and trust that they’ll be handled with
care.”

She swallows. “Thank you, Cam. Not just for
this, but for everything.”

“Always,” I say simply. And it’s true. This
woman has gotten under my skin and wrapped herself around my heart.
Whatever she needs from me, I’ll provide.

No matter what the cost.

We stroll back to his apartment, holding
hands on the dark street. I feel a strange sense of security wrap
around me, like as long as Cam is near, nothing bad can happen.

I glance over at him, his broad shoulders
and chiseled jaw. There’s a comfort to his physical presence—and a
danger, too. I already know the chemistry between us, and how he
can affect me. Strip down my defenses, see past all my acting and
pretense. Even just chatting in the bar tonight, I revealed more of
myself than I have to anyone, confiding about my life as an
Ashcroft, and how much it changed for me.

I want to open up to him. I want to let him
in. But still, I’m scared. Out of my depth. This isn’t an ordinary
relationship, and even though Cam reassured me it wasn’t strange to
want the things that I do, I’m still trying to wrap my head around
it myself.

How good it felt when he was spanking me.
How much I want to submit and obey.

It thrills me and scares me at the same
time, but something tells me that Cam won’t push me further than
I’m ready to go.

When we get back to the apartment, Cam locks
the front door behind us. “Goodnight, my sweet,” he murmurs,
kissing me softly on the lips. “Sleep well. You’ll need your energy
tomorrow.”

He winks, but I still feel a wave of
disappointment. And when he leaves me to go to his bedroom, I wish
he wouldn’t. That he’d stay.

I try to snap out of it, and go get ready
for bed. I love the peace of my evening routine, and even when I
was living with Brent, I liked to lock the bathroom door and take a
moment, losing myself in the ritual of cleansing off my makeup and
preparing for sleep. I brush out my hair, and smooth moisturizer
over my skin, then gingerly check my ass in the mirror.

Cam’s handprints have faded. There’s no sign
of our evening spanking—except the ripple of excitement that rolls
through me every time I remember it.

I dress in a sheer lacy nightgown, then
stop, looking at the big bed. Soft. Luxurious.

Empty.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I pad
barefoot down the dark hallway and stop outside Cam’s door.

I knock, tentative. A moment later, Cam
throws it open. “Yes?” he barks, looking annoyed.

I catch my breath. He’s shirtless, wearing
nothing but black silk pajama bottoms. His body is so muscular, I
can see the ridge of his abs, and the way his shoulders and biceps
bulge with definition.

“I… I’m sorry,” I murmur, embarrassed. “I
just…can I sleep with you tonight?”

I lift my eyes to his. They’re dark with an
unreadable expression. Right away, I know I’ve made a mistake.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, turning to go.

“Wait.”

Cam’s hand shoots out and catches me by the
arm. I go still from the heat of the contact. I turn. “Come in,” he
says, dropping my arm and standing aside.

I take a deep breath, and follow his
command.

The room is dim, lit only by a lamp beside
the huge bed. I’ve been here before, but somehow, it feels more
intimate with the drapes drawn and just the two of us in the
dark.

Cam pulls back the covers, and slides into
bed. He pats the space beside him. “I warn you,” he says with a
dark look. “I’ve been known to snore.”

I burst out laughing, and just like that,
the huge bed doesn’t seem so ominous. I go around the other side,
and slide in. The sheets are cool and soft, and I can feel the heat
from his body burning even from the other side of the king
mattress.

“You’re lucky, I don’t.” I smile, but the
teasing fades from my lips as Cam turns off the light and rolls
over on his side towards me.

He reaches out and strokes gently down my
jaw. I shiver. “Come here,” he murmurs, and pulls me to him, so I’m
spooned against his body. His front to my back. His hard cock
nestled against my ass.

Suddenly, sleep is the last thing on my
mind.

“What’s the scent you’re wearing?” Cam asks,
his voice a low whisper against my ear.

I relax back into his arms. “My body lotion,
I guess. Roses.”

“Mmm,” Cam sweeps my hair aside and drops a
kiss on the back of my neck. “You smell good enough to eat.”

Heat rushes between my thighs. Oh God. His
hands slide around to my waist, teasing against the silky fabric. I
sink deeper into the soft pillows, deeper against him. Cam groans
softly, gripping my hips. I rub back against his cock, and feel his
whole body tense.