BeyondAddiction

Desiree
Holt

Sequel to Dangerous Addiction,
from Something Wicked This Way Comes, Volume 1

When Fallon Crowe discovered her
submissive side, she indulged it fully, reveling in her erotic nature—until she
stepped into the brutally possessive world of Brian Willoughby. More than a
year after she was literally dragged away from his abusive clutches, Fallon is
finally building a new life with Cord Jamieson, a Dom who reminds her that
punishment can be loving, pain an aphrodisiac.

But when Fallon unexpectedly runs
into Brian, he reawakens an addiction that never quite died. Now she’s torn
between the caring relationship she’s established with Cord, and Brian’s darkly
mesmerizing lifestyle that goes beyond safe, sane and consensual.

The choice is Fallon’s—the wrong
one might destroy her completely.

Inside Scoop:
This story
features an abusive scene with a power-hungry man who’s perverted the lifestyle
for his own sick pleasure. It may be too intense for some readers.

A Romantica®
BDSM erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave

Acknowledgments

Although writing is a solitary activity, a book cannot be
written in a vacuum. It requires the input of many people to help it flourish
and grow and bring it to a successful conclusion.

I would be remiss without giving huge thanks to Master Mike
and Slave Pattie, who shared their time and their lifestyle with me so
generously and answered hours of questions. They are warm and gracious and have
become my good friends. Thanks also to Master Shack, therapist to those in the
D/s community, who helped me approach the story as a case study and to
understand the psychology of the people involved.

Where would I be without Margie Hager, my fearless beta
reader, who makes sure I turn in a clean manuscript and catches all those plot
holes?

To my wonderful friend and writing partner, Cerise DeLand,
who I’m sure has heard more about this book by now than she ever wanted to but
gave me insightful criticism and ideas.

Many many thanks to Kelli Collins, Senior Editor at Ellora’s
Cave, who urged me to write this story and let me chase her around to bounce
the plot off her.

To Raelene Gorlinsky, Ellora’s Cave publisher, who makes me
toe the mark, accepts nothing less than my best effort and encourages me at all
times.

Thanks also to Ellora’s Cave, for continuing to give me the
opportunity to stretch my wings and my mind.

And last, but far from least, to my friend and bestselling
author Joey Hill, who continues to inspire me.

Fallon Crowe stood naked before the mirror in the bedroom,
fresh from her shower, hair piled atop her head in a messy topknot, skin still
slightly flushed from the hot water. At thirty-three, she considered herself to
be in good shape. Better shape since she’d moved into the ranch with Cord and
he’d had her out riding—and doing other forms of exercise. A tiny thrill
skittered through her as images of certain
exercises
danced in her
brain.

Sometimes she could barely comprehend the changes in her
life. Little more than a year ago, she’d been lost.

She still had moments when flashbacks of
him
tormented her mind, and her reaction was to withdraw into herself. But Cord,
without even knowing all the details, always coaxed her out then treated her to
a loving session. And he never failed to praise the quality of her work, words
that were as much an aphrodisiac as anything else he used to arouse her. With
him, she felt cherished, protected, safe. Adored.

She had thought she’d never be able to trust again
after
him
, not just a man but any Dom. Never again have a healthy D/s
relationship.

Or maybe it was her own judgment she kept calling
into question.

The pleasure she found when she’d discovered she
was a natural sub had become tainted by her weakness for a devil. Fallon had
been very fortunate in the Doms she’d been with, but she’d made a major error
in judgment with
him.
A damaging choice that nearly destroyed her
pleasure in submitting.

Getting to the point where she was now, where she
could be with Cord,had been a painful journey. It had required a lot of
healing and distancing from a bad time in her life, as well as the love and
support of her very closest friend. Some days she barely remembered the details
of the Lost Year, as she called it. They were still so mixed up in her head.
Even the day that Claire dragged her out of
his
house was foggy, so
fuzzy Claire insisted that Fallon must have been drugged.

Not impossible, Fallon had to admit. He was
capable of anything.

But when she met Cord, the electricity that sparked between
them was far more than just sexual awareness. It was right there—the knowledge
of what they each desired, their particular proclivities. She’d been so mired
in the past, Fallon was afraid to move forward. Taking Cord on as a client had
been a big risk. Now she was so grateful for the circumstances that had brought
them together.

One day at a time, they were building something very
special. He was teaching her that possession could enrich, not just destroy.
That her submissive nature was something to be embraced, not feared. That it
made her
more
, not less. That a Master could worship even as he
dominated.

Cord helped her understand there was a big difference
between
dominating
and
domineering
.

With Cord, she understood that pain can be provided out of
love, rather than inflicted out of malice or a hunger for power and control. He
was so patient with her, especially on the days when the demon reared up in her
mind and she wanted to flee and hide. Every single day, she gave thanks that
she had met him, and that Claire had encouraged her to enter a relationship.

Cord was the ultimate alpha male, but so comfortable in his
own skin that he took pleasure in her successes and achievements. He respected
her abilities, her intelligence, her talents. He’d handed over the promotion of
the ranch because he respected her, considered her a professional in her field.
She was a sub whose talent he believed in.

How did I get so lucky?

Comanche Pass Ranch was the realization of a dream for Cord,
part working cattle operation, part public event destination. The massive party
they were planning for the grand opening—with a guest list that read like a
Who’s Who in the state of Texas—was her baby. And he had trusted it all to her.
What a change from…
before.

She blinked to clear the sudden intrusion of hazy
images from her brain.

Behind her, reflected in the mirror, was the massive bed
where Cord taught her daily what an exchange of power
really
meant—that
said power wasn’t all in his hands. How her submission gave him such pleasure
that she had as much control as he did. But most importantly, that their
relationship developed through ongoing negotiation, so both of them were happy.

It was such a novel concept to Fallon. A couple years ago,
as a rather naïve sub, she’d learned a very different lesson. She worked hard
every day to keep those destructive memories from haunting her and affecting
her growing relationship with Cord.

And it was working. As long as she never saw
him
, she
could keep herself balanced. That was one of the main reasons she limited
herself to the Hill Country area. The city of San Antonio was a yawning pit of
danger. As long as Cord didn’t push it, didn’t try to delve deeper into her
nightmare experience, everything was okay. One of these days she’d have to step
out of that comfort zone, she knew, but she wasn’t quite ready yet.

As she stared at herself now in the mirror, Fallon lifted
her hands and cupped her breasts, imagining Cord’s hands kneading her flesh,
sending spears of electricity through her body. The familiar quaking gripped
her muscles. If only Cord would stride into the room, graceful as a panther,
and command her to fall to her knees, take his cock in her mouth. She loved the
feeling of belonging to him but total possession still frightened her.

Baby steps, he kept saying.

She turned slightly so her brand new nipple rings glinted in
the light from the lamp on the dresser. The sight of them made the walls of her
pussy throb. Heat curled low inside her, as the jewelry called up the memory of
their most recent erotic adventure. The previous Saturday, on the two-month
anniversary of the day she’d moved in with him, Cord had called a recess in
their frenetic preparations for the event center’s grand opening party and
insisted on a day off.

“We need to take a break,” he had claimed. “A day off and
some surprises.”

Surprises indeed. Warmth flushed through her at the
memories.

He had taken her to an exclusive shop where, in a private
room, she sipped champagne before a tiny woman pierced her nipples and threaded
the thin gold hoops through her flesh. The initials CJ—for Cord Jamieson—were
delicately engraved at the bottom curve of each ring, the thickest part.

“Too soon to discuss an appropriate collar,” he told her,
giving her a hot kiss. “I sense that you still need more time. But make no
mistake about it—you’re mine, and this puts my stamp on you. We’ll both know my
initials are there.”

He sat beside the padded table watching the procedure
with that hooded look she’d come to know so well, his gaze burning into her.
The process was painful, but one thing she’d learned from the past was that she
had a high tolerance for pain. She still wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
When the woman finished, Cord bent and very lightly licked the area around each
nipple.

His touch made her instantly wet. The bulge in Cord’s fly
was evidence of how affected he was by the procedure. When she was finished, he
helped her dress.

“Lunch,” he said. “To celebrate.” He touched his mouth
lightly to hers. “An intimate meal.”

At the restaurant he chose, the maître d’ showed them to
a corner booth where they were out of most lines of sight.

Fallon slid in first, stopped by a wall to her right. As
soon Cord sat beside her, effectively blocking her in, he adjusted the
tablecloth to cover her lap and hiked up her skirt so her thighs and cunt were
open to his touch. No panties, he’d ordered before they left the house, so she
was just bare skin beneath the white linen, the thrill of anticipation curling
low in her belly. As Cord smiled at the waiter, thanked him for the ice water
and ordered a bottle of wine, he trailed his fingertips along the skin of her
inner thigh, just barely touching the lips she kept waxed at his request. When
the tip of his little finger lightly brushed her bare cunt, she had to swallow
her gasp.

She sat as quietly as possible while Cord read the wine
list and made his selection. When she tried to squeeze her legs together to
still the ache in her core, he used his hand to keep her thighs open, his
finger now brushing rhythmically against her tender clit. His fingers were
slick on her inner thighs as he gathered her juice and spread it with a gentle
touch. She caught the scent of her own musk and her pussy clenched.

They drank expensive wine and savored escargot in garlic
butter, and all the while Cord continued to tease and stimulate her. Her
nipples were sore from the piercing and the dual assault on her senses was
almost more than she could stand. It was all she could do to contain herself
each time the waiter brought food to the table or removed empty plates.

Fallon didn’t know how Cord could sit there and eat his
food so calmly when she was a bundle of nerves next to him. She was so on edge,
eating took all her concentration just so she could swallow her food without
choking.

“You should eat slowly,” he cautioned, his voice tinged
with humor, his fingers still busy at her clit.

When a drop of melted butter clung to her lip, he bent
his head to lick it away.

“Do you know why I do this?” he asked, leaning closer so
his mouth was at her ear, his breath tickling her. “Because I can.”

Her hands shaking, she somehow managed to finish the
meal. When the waiter removed the last of their plates and refilled their
wineglasses, Cord slid two fingers inside her, his thumb pressing on the hard
knot of nerves, and gave her the release her body needed.

“Be still,” he reminded her. “Remember. It’s all a matter
of control.”

His control.

Obediently she gripped the edge of the table as tremors
gripped her body and the muscles of her cunt spasmed. When the orgasm subsided
she was as limp as a dishrag. Sitting back in the booth, she closed her eyes
and dragged in a breath.

Cord removed his hand and slowly licked her juice from
his fingers, his eyes burning with lust.

“I want you to remember at all times who your Master is.
Whatever I demand of you is what you will give me.”

She’d been a little frightened in the beginning of their
relationship, haunted by bad memories she tried to keep locked away in her
mind. But Cord was…he was a loving and caring Master. One who understood the
dynamics of a D/s relationship. He’d coaxed her one step at a time, taking things
slowly to ensure she was comfortable with every aspect of their relationship. A
negotiation, he repeatedly explained, a concept totally absent in her last
relationship.

Smiling, she remembered the first time he said she could
trust him.

“I can get you letters of reference.”

He’d said it jokingly but she knew how serious he really
was. So determined to make her feel secure. Not trapped.

“You’re mine to do with as I wish.” It was a common
mantra of his. “But it’s your willingness to give me gratification that
enhances any pleasure I might get from it. The power is really all yours,
Fallon. I want you to know that.”

Fallon smiled now at the memory. In the two months she’d
been living with Cord, submitting to him, she’d discovered just how trustworthy
he was.

So different from before. Not like—

She gave herself a mental shake.

Do not go there. Not now. Not ever.

She’d buried that desperate need, that unhealthy craving, as
deep as it would go and she prayed it would stay there. Now it was all about
Cord, a man she’d been damn fucking lucky to meet. A man who treasured her. A
man who seemed to know when the past reared up to grab her and eased her back
to the present.

She’d told him a little about her time with Brian. God, she
could hardly call it a relationship. Bad didn’t even begin to describe it. And
yet—

No!

She had to keep reminding herself that the past needed to remain
behind her. That meeting Cord was the best thing that had ever happened to her.
He never pushed, never demanded beyond a certain point. She knew her immediate
past angered him, but that rage was directed at Brian, not Fallon. There were
still things that lurked in the dark shadows of her mind that she couldn’t bear
to drag out into the light of day. She hoped she’d never have to.

Fallon was still staring into the mirror, still holding her
breasts, when Cord walked into the room and approached to stand behind her. His
solid physical presence always reassured her. Gave her a sense of safety.

Aroused her.

His thick dark hair sported a ridge from the Stetson he wore
all day. She wanted to run her fingers through it and twist the strands around
them. It was obvious he’d been working hard in the heat. Sweat stained the
t-shirt stretched across his broad chest and shoulders and the ends of his hair
curled slightly. The stubble on his chin had a familiar scratchy feel when he
brushed against her cheek.

Her senses were overwhelmed by his scent. She inhaled his
fragrance, a sensual blend of aftershave mixed with the smells of horseflesh,
leather and just good old-fashioned dirt that made her instantly wet.

Oh god, this man invented the word masculine.

He slid his hands over hers, his tanned skin an erotic
contrast to her paler coloring. With gentle squeezes, he molded her flesh the
way it pleased him to. Just his touch reminded her that he was in charge at all
times. Not manipulating, but nevertheless in command. Not like—