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  At last, he looked into her eyes and smiled. “Very good girl. Very, very good.”

  Cord pulled on his jeans, ignoring the rest of his clothes. He told Fallon to lean against the wall while he applied salve to the red stripes on her ass and thighs, and then to her stiff peaks. Leaving her clothes with the rest of his, he wrapped her in a blanket he’d brought down earlier then carried her up to the house. In the great room, he eased her into an armchair upholstered in butter-soft leather, planting a light kiss on the tip of her nose.

  “I’m getting us a drink. Bourbon or wine?”

  She surprised him with her answer. “Bourbon, please. With lots of ice.”

  When he brought their drinks back, he sat on the floor in front of her, cross-legged, then touched his glass to hers.

  “To many more nights like tonight.”

  Her eyes widened. “Really?”

  Now or never, buddy. Life’s too short to waste time.

  “I don’t want to scare you away,” he began, “especially after the nightmare you lived through. I just have to say I think we’ve got something special going here for us. Something besides a few play sessions now and then.” He watched her carefully. “What do you think?”

  He had a hard time making himself wait while she took a slow sip of her drink.

  “I think I didn’t ever believe I’d say this again.” Another sip. “I’d like to give this a chance. As long as you don’t expect too much of me in the beginning. Not more than we’ve already done, I mean.”

  “We’ll go at your pace, Fallon. I just want us to see if we can build something together. A life here at the ranch. I can certainly use your expertise with the public part of it.” He took a swallow of his own drink. “I think we’d be good together.”

  “So, what exactly does this mean?”

  He heard the lingering trace of uncertainty in her voice and vowed he’d do whatever it took to wipe it away. Taking her glass from her hands, he placed it on the coffee table beside his and rose to his knees. Cradling her face, he stared directly into her eyes.

  “For starters, it means I want you to stay tonight. And tomorrow. Get a feel for the ranch. I want you to move things into my bedroom so you can stay whenever it suits us. When you’re comfortable with me, with the situation, I want us to discuss something more permanent.”

  She frowned. “You know this already?”

  “I do. I’m perfectly willing to wait for you to catch up, though.” He smoothed his fingers over her cheeks. “As long as you don’t take too long. I’m addicted to you, Fallon Crowe. What do you say?”

  She leaned forward to touch her mouth to his. “Well, cowboy, I’d say let’s start with this weekend. I don’t think you’ll have to wait long for the rest. I’m getting addicted to you too.”

  “I can live with that.”

  Then he kissed her with all the passion he felt for her before pausing to breathe a single word into her mouth. “Mine.”

  He felt as well as saw the momentary hesitation before she nodded and whispered back, “Yours.”

  Beyond Addiction

  By

  Desiree Holt

  © 2017 Blushing Books® and Desiree Holt

  ©2017 by Blushing Books® and Desiree Holt

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Published by Blushing Books®,

  a subsidiary of

  ABCD Graphics and Design

  977 Seminole Trail #233

  Charlottesville, VA 22901

  The trademark Blushing Books®

  is registered in the US Patent and Trademark Office.

  Desiree Holt

  Beyond Addiction

  EBook ISBN: 978-1-61258-388-4

  Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design

  This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual spanking activity or the spanking of minors.

  Chapter 1

  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 the promotion of the ranch to her 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 cle
ar 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 had 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 ready, 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 as 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, bu
t 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—

  Again, she forced the memories away and leaned back against Cord’s solid body. To refocus, she turned her head just enough to give his neck a gentle lick.

  “If you could bottle that you’d make a million,” she told him.

  His laugh was low, pulsating through her. “But then all the other women would want to lick my skin and where would we be?”