Wild Submission(19)

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.





ELEVEN: ISABELLE


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.