Total Submission (2 page)

“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
her 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.

Running into Cam at Nobu leaves me so
shaken, I don’t say a word for the rest of the night. Thankfully,
Brent and his friends decide to hit a strip club, so he doesn’t
object when I get a cab and head home early.

At last, I’m alone.

I lay in bed, unable to sleep a wink until
the dawn light filters through the curtains. God, every time I
think I’ve finally gotten in control, everything fall to
pieces.

When Cam rescued me from that ugly scene
with Brent at the Underground, I finally felt free. I pursued Cam
until he agreed to let me be his sub: for the first time, I was
going after what
I
wanted. I suddenly found myself in a
whole new world of pleasure, but just when I allowed myself to
believe in a better future, Brent’s blackmail brought it all
crashing down.

Now, I’m right where I started again.
Trapped in a life that makes me empty inside. Doomed to deny my
desires as a price for past sins.

But you’re not the same.

I feel a flare of determination. Seeing Cam
again was painful and terrible, but being with him reminded me of
everything that’s missing in my life. I never imagined I could have
such intense feelings—just those few moments in the bathroom
shattered my numb detachment and brought me screaming to life
again.

Even if I can’t have him, I won’t go back to
the way it used to be.

I hurry to the bedroom and drag my suitcases
out of the closet. I can’t spend another day trapped like this, a
prisoner to Brent’s evil threats. Tearing through my things, I heap
them in the suitcases. Brent might think he’s beaten me, but I’ve
gotten myself out of worse scrapes. Experience has shown me just
how easy it is to wipe the slate clean, and start over again. It’s
not easy, but I have no other way out.

* * *

I pack up everything I can’t bear to leave
behind, then get dressed and take a cab straight to the bank where
my family does all its business.

Even though I don’t have an appointment,
just the Ashcroft name is enough to bring my financial advisor, Mr.
Grant, running. He ushers me into his private office.

“Isabelle, how nice to see you again.” Mr.
Grant gestures to a chair. “Sit down. Can I offer you anything?
Coffee, tea?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” My heart is beating like
crazy, as if I’m about to pull a robbery, instead of simply
withdraw what’s mine.

And flee the country.

“So what can I do for you?” Mr. Grant smiles
at me. “What’s it been, a year or more since we met last? How have
you been?”

“Oh, you know.” I fake a grin. “Busy, busy,
busy! I’ve been involved in a lot of charity work and organizing a
few fundraising events.”

“Excellent!” Mr. Grant beams approval. “Your
father would be proud. He was such a devoted philanthropist. Now,
how can I help?”

I take a breath, knowing what’s at stake—my
future.

“I was wondering about my trust fund. How
much can I access right now?”

Mr. Grant looks curious, but he clicks at
his computer and jots a few numbers down on a pad of paper.
Glancing at his notes, he says, “Your trust fund is pretty securely
tied up in investments and property holdings that your father set
up for you, but you have around two million dollars in liquid
assets.”

Two million? I hide my relief. It’s a huge
amount of money, more than enough to start a new life somewhere –
and cover the tracks to this old one so well that Brent will never
be able to find me.

“How quickly can you wire it to me?” I ask,
keeping casual. “I’m thinking of making an offer on an apartment,”
I add as an explanation. “I’ll need it for the down payment.”

Mr. Grant’s frown clears. “Ah, perfect. Are
you sure you wouldn’t want to make the deal through the family
trust? It would serve you well in capital gains tax—”

“No, no,” I interrupt quickly. “I’d prefer
to do this on my own. A project,” I give him a dumb blonde grin.
“Like, be a grown up.”

He gives a doting smile. “Just send me the
account number you need it wired to, and you’ll be all set.”

“Thank you, Mr. Grant. I’ll get the details
to you soon.”

He nods and we shake hands, and just like
that, I’m walking out of the bank with my new life one step closer
to reality.

My cellphone rings just as I’m stepping onto
the sidewalk. I check the caller ID, bracing myself to ignore Brent
or Cam, but instead, it’s Olivia.

“Hey?” I answer.

“I’m so hungry,” Olivia groans. “I’m on day
two of a sugar detox, and I swear, visions of cake are dancing in
front of me.”

I laugh, despite myself. Olivia is the one
sweet friend in my clique of society bitches – the only person I’ll
miss, besides Cam, I realize with a pang.

“Meet me for brunch?” she asks hopefully.
“You can eat dessert for me, I’ll have salad and live vicariously
through you.”

I pause. I should get out of town as soon as
possible, before Brent realizes what’s going on, but I haven’t
gotten everything figured out yet and I’d like to see a friendly
face, one last time.

“OK,” I agree. “I’ll see you in twenty.”

As I cab over to meet her, I try to think of
what I’ll say. There’s no way I can tell her the truth about what’s
going on with me, but I need an excuse, something to cover why I
need to pull a disappearing act. Maybe a fight with Brent—it
wouldn’t be so far from the truth, after all.

Olivia is waiting in a booth at the back,
mournfully eyeing a woman eating waffles at the next table.

“Hey sweetie.” She gets up to kiss me on the
cheek, then pauses. “Is everything OK?”

I take a seat. “Not so much,” I reluctantly
admit. Her brow creases with worry, and as I’m debating exactly
what to tell Olivia, I realize: she might be the only person who
can help me. If there’s ever been a time to let my guard down, it’s
now. “Listen, I need to get out of town for a while. I’ll need to
open a new bank account, maybe overseas? Somewhere that no one will
ask questions or be able to trace the account back to me. But I
have no clue where to start.”

“Wow,” Olivia exhales. “Isabelle, what’s
going on? I mean, this is the kind of thing people do when they’re
hiding from the mafia. Or in trouble with the IRS.” She sits up
straight and stares at me intently. “Oh my God! Are you in trouble
with the IRS?”

“Nothing like that. Don’t worry,” I reassure
her, thinking fast. “It’s just Brent, you know?” The lie rolls
easily off my tongue. “He’s going to spend every penny of our trust
if I don’t squirrel some away.” Well, that part’s true at least.
Olivia was at my apartment when UPS delivered Brent’s five thousand
dollar, vibrating leather massage chair.

I feel a stab of guilt as Olivia’s anxious
expression fades, replaced by a sympathetic smile.

“Hmm.” She gets out her cellphone and
scrolls through her contacts. “OK, I think I’ve got someone. He’s
very discreet. Just tell him I referred you and he’ll talk you
through everything.”

I exhale. “You’re the best. Thanks.” I reach
across the table and squeeze her hand. “Now, how about we get you
some food before you pass out?”

The waiter brings our salads, and we chat a
little about charity events and gossip, but Olivia can clearly tell
my mind is elsewhere.

She pauses, like she’s trying to figure what
to say. “I know you don’t open up,” she says quietly, “And that’s
OK. But just know, if you ever need anything, I’m here.”

I feel a tide of emotion. “Thanks,” I say,
trying to keep it together. “But I’ll be fine. I’m just going out
of town for a little while. I need a vacation,” I smile, trying to
lighten the mood. “Some time to recharge. And maybe a little
poolboy action to distract me.”

Olivia gives me a look like she’s not buying
it – especially after my asking about foreign bank accounts. But
she doesn’t argue. Instead, she brightens. “You can use my beach
house in St. Lucia. It’s on a private beach, totally remote. We
have a staff there year-round, they’ll take care of everything you
need. Including the poolboy.”

I blink, stunned. Is she serious?

“Take all the time you need,” Olivia adds.
“I won’t tell anyone that you’re there—especially Brent.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, overwhelmed. I feel
guilty that I never fully appreciated her friendship – now I
realize just what a great person she is, how giving, generous, and
loyal. “But what will you tell everyone? People will notice I’m
gone.”

“I’ve got it!” Olivia suddenly laughs. “I’ll
say that you’ve gone to a spa to have plastic surgery. They’ll have
a field day with that!”

I laugh. “Oh my God, can you imagine
Nicole’s face when you tell her? I wish I could be there to see
it.”