Point of Release

By Remy Landon

Sometimes, getting what you need means letting go.
*The conclusion of Cassandra and Carlo’s story*
In this sequel to Point of Submission, Cassandra is left reeling after learning of her role in Carlo’s sex game. Stunned and hurt, she resists Carlo’s attempts to win her back, vowing to become stronger on her own and face issues in her past that have weakened her. Tension between Carlo and Brock escalates, with Carlo determined to give his former colleague what he deserves--but revenge can become a two-way street. While addressing his tormented past, Carlo works toward a future he hopes will include Cassandra, who is distracted by a new romantic interest. Will she relinquish her doubts and try again with Carlo - or will her newfound strength lead her in another direction?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Remy Landon
• Release date: Nov 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310094217

Remy Landon

Living on a small farm in New England with her husband, Remy Landon does some of her best thinking while mucking stalls. An avid animal lover, she would like to publicly thank her husband for putting up with the pet hair, the dogs on the bed, the things the cats hack up and the repeated requests for goats. It's a wonderful life

Book preview

chapter one ~ Carlo

Brock.

The name shot through Carlo like a missile, tearing into his gut as he sat immobilized with disbelief on the edge of the bed, the alarm clock in his hands and his breath coming in hot, harsh gasps. At this point, there was no solid proof, but the feeling was so strong, so sure, it gave weight to his instinct laying cold, thick, and heavy within him.

He turned the clock over, running his finger along the slot where the SD card would go. Where it should have been.

The intense desire to know how this had happened was overshadowed only by a paralyzing feeling of dread, snaking up his spine and gripping until he almost couldn't breathe.

He was unaccustomed to being shaken like this. He would not allow it. Regroup, he berated himself. Fucking regroup. Maybe his fears were unfounded, and there was some explanation.

Setting the clock on the bed, Carlo leaned forward to look at the nightstand, his eyes scanning its surface in the hopes that somehow, the card had simply become dislodged. Nothing.

Perhaps it had fallen onto the floor. He stood up to shove the nightstand away from the wall, knocking over the lamp, and got on his hands and knees to look on the carpet. Again...nothing.

Sitting back down on the bed, his heart plummeted. The card was gone. But when? And how?

His hunch that it was his colleague flared brightly within him once again, quelled by his penchant for logic. Think rationally, he told himself. Who had been in his house? Cassandra, of course, but she had never been left alone in his bedroom. His housekeeper, Rose, would have been in here to clean yesterday (she came every Friday), but there was nothing out of the ordinary about this clock to cause her to investigate further. Even if she had dusted it, she wouldn't have ever—

And then the connection was made.

Rose also worked for Brock.

The realization reverberated in his brain. Brockton Dall. Betraying him once again.

"Mother fucker," Carlo said in the stillness of the room, marveling at the softness in his voice when he had rage pulsing in his veins. He raked his fingers through his hair, hating that his hands were trembling, hating himself for not destroying the card earlier, hating the feeling of helplessness spreading through him like a malignancy.

He had to get to Cassandra. He had already made the decision to tell her about the game, about his past...he would have preferred to ease into it, of course, but if it meant getting to her before Brock did, he would find a way to tell her everything—now. The thought of Cassandra learning about the contest from his sleazy, traitorous former colleague was almost more than he could bear.

But there was a chance he wasn't too late. There was every reason to believe Brock was simply holding onto the card for evidence, planning to use it for blackmail. That would definitely be his style. If Cassandra hadn't been told, Carlo would then have the chance to tell her himself, as gently as he could, and thwart Dall's blackmail attempt. Then he would be rid of that son of a bitch once and for all.

Carlo clenched and unclenched his fingers and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply for a few seconds to calm himself. Standing up from the bed, he reached his bedroom door in a few quick strides, grabbing his phone from the top of his bureau on the way out. He would make a call to Rose while he drove to Cassandra's apartment, to confirm what he already knew.

A slight breeze ruffled his hair as he climbed into his Mercedes M-Class SUV. It was a beautiful October night, the sun a glorious, burning ball hovering on the edge of the horizon, streaking the sky with orange and pink. Less than an hour before, he would have considered this a perfect evening.

His stomach roiled as he slid the gear shift into drive and sped out of his driveway. It was incredible, really, how quickly one's perspective could change. All day, he'd envisioned a leisurely drive to Cassandra's place, filled with nothing but eager expectation. But now...there was only anxiety, and dread.

Picking up his phone, he commanded Siri to call his housekeeper. She picked up on the fourth ring.

Mr. Leone...hello.

Hello, Rose. He forced his voice to be smooth, pleasant. I'm calling to ask you about the alarm clock in my bedroom.

A hesitation. Fuck.

Yes?

This particular model has a memory card, but it seems to be missing from the slot. He paused. Would you happen to know anything about this?

Oh! I, um... Rose's voice trailed off. She cleared her throat. I hope I'm not ruining anything by telling you.

Ruining anything?

A sigh. Yes. Mr. Dall called me yesterday morning and said he wanted to surprise you. He asked me to get the card out of the back of the clock for him...said it was some sort of private joke he was planning, and that you'd get a big kick out of it. Where you two are friends, I just figured it would be okay. She paused, her tone anxious. It was an awkward position for me to be in, since I work for both of you. Ordinarily, I never would have done something like this, but Mr. Dall knew all about the clock, and he reminded me he has one just like it. So I figured this was something between the two of you, and it would be all right if I went along with him.

Carlo gripped the steering wheel with his left hand, his knuckles whitening. He could barely ask the question. So you took the card yesterday, Rose?

Yes.

And Mr. Dall has it now?

Yes. Her voice was strained. Mr. Leone, please forgive me if I did anything wrong. I know that you and Mr. Dall are good friends, so I honestly didn't see the harm.

Good friends. You never should have given my personal property to anyone. You've violated my trust, Rose. I'm going to need to think about whether your services will still be needed.

She gasped. Mr. Leone, please don't be angry with me. Please.

Carlo ended the call and threw the phone into the passenger seat. He stepped on the gas pedal, and the car surged forward. Now, his only hope was getting to Cassandra before Brock did. For a fleeting moment, he considered calling her, but what would he have said? Have you talked to Brock? It would be an odd question to ask her, and he didn't want to bring up that bastard's name if he didn't have to. He would know whether or not Brock had gotten to her the second he saw her face.

You've violated my trust, Rose. On one level, he understood why Rose had done what she did. But the trust was broken, most likely irreparably. He laughed bitterly, shaking his head at the hypocrisy. He was considering firing his housekeeper for her transgression, yet he expected Cassandra to forgive him for his major betrayal?

God, please don't let it be too late. Don't let it be too late for the two of us.

He guided the Mercedes around a bend, not caring that he was driving too fast, not caring about anything except finding Cassandra and making things right. He would fight against this loss of control threatening to weaken him yet again, and he would do everything in his power to halt his world from its slow unraveling.

chapter two ~ Cassandra

Willpower regarding Carlo, Cassandra decided, had packed its bags and gone on an indefinite vacation. Ever since she had truly acknowledged her intense feelings and allowed herself to consider the possibility of Carlo as more reality than fantasy, there was a lightness, a wide-open-meadow kind of perspective that had overtaken her, bringing with it a sense of abandon. Scary as hell, but invigorating at the same time. The idea that she now felt willing to give in to him, not only physically but emotionally, was arousing and liberating. She wasn't going to be stupid and adolescent about it, but God, she wanted to tell him, show him—in many different ways. She couldn't wait to see him tonight, and it was for that reason, and that reason only, that she pushed her burning curiosity aside and shoved Brock's envelope in her jeans pocket for the time being, since she needed to hurry and finish her barn chores so she could get home. To Carlo.

She would read Brock's note in the car, since there was no way in hell she could wait until she got home. And since she strongly suspected Carlo had put Brock up to this, it only made sense to be informed, before she saw Carlo.

She swept the floor vigorously, her last job of the evening. Ingrid, being the anal taskmaster that she was, always insisted on a spotless stable aisle. It almost looked like you could eat off it. Almost. Windswept Stable was impeccable and held to Ingrid's high standards: saddles polished with a rag and saddle soap at least once per week and protected by stretchy cloth covers in the tack room, bits wiped clean after every use, water and grain buckets scrubbed daily, grooming essentials stored in individual brush boxes for each horse...and of course, the horses were all kept in a constant state of polished perfection. Sonya, Ingrid's stepsister who also worked at Windswept but would be leaving after the holidays to study abroad, used to joke with Cassandra that Ingrid would make them buff the wings of horse flies if she could.

It was because of Ingrid and her lofty expectations that Cassandra always made sure to do a quick scan of the stable before leaving, because everything needed to be in its proper place—including the dressage whip she spied on the bench near the cross-ties.

Oh, God—the whip. A rush of heat to her face then, remembering the last night with Carlo. The feel of the riding crop as he had dragged it over her bare ass, her skin erupting in goosebumps as she fought the urge to quiver, because he had commanded her to remain absolutely still.

Are you ready?

She had whispered, yes. And then the crop had struck her. Even though she knew it was coming, it had still surprised her and hurt like hell. She had never been with a man who had been into spanking, honestly would never have dreamed she would want to participate, but with Carlo...she had found herself wanting to please him, make him proud of her. She had told him she was ready—really, really wanted to believe it—but she'd been overwhelmed. Cried, even. And that reaction had effed everything up.

But now that Carlo had agreed to see her tonight, there was hope. Both of them needed to step out from behind their barriers and talk—really talk, without her hiding behind spunky protests and without him distracting her with those incredible smoldering eyes. Although that really wasn't his fault. They needed to get everything out in the open, and then they could—hopefully—move forward. She wanted to share her past with him. And she would ask him to do the same.

So there would be conversation to bring them closer together, and after that, there would be sex—steamy, passionate, rough, tender, deep sighs, soft moans, take me right now/can't get enough of you kind of sex. The very best kind.

Cassandra felt an ache in her lower abdomen and a fullness in her heart. This was the effect he had on her: making her feel empty and ready to burst at the same time. There were contrasts with Carlo, always.

Picking up the wayward dressage whip, she walked briskly to the tack room and opened the door, greeted by the pungent scents of leather, saddle soap and Neatsfoot oil. She clicked the whip into the holder on the wall, swept her gaze across the rows of saddles and decided that everything was in its place.

Everything except for her, she thought, smiling wryly. She was not where she needed to be right now. But soon, she would be—in Carlo's strong arms.

British Drummer, a/k/a Brownie, lifted his head from his hay and nickered to her as she came out of the tack room. He was the only horse here who would actually take a break from eating to acknowledge her. She loved all of the inhabitants here, but Brownie—he was undeniably her favorite.

She went to his stall to stroke the white blaze on his face. See you tomorrow, buddy, she told him. Big plans tonight...wish me luck.

He snorted at her and she jumped back, grinning, remembering how he had done the same to Carlo the first time he and Cassandra had met at Windswept. Good thing she'd be showering before Carlo arrived.

She went into the stable office for her jacket and took her keys from the pocket. Locking the barn door behind her, she hurried into the parking lot, the sun's rays low and feeble. Now, to see what Brock had given her.

She fished the envelope out of her jeans pocket as she climbed into her Chevy Malibu. Unfolding the note inside, she smoothed the creases of the paper and began to read the typewritten words.

Cassandra: You already know that Carlo and I are colleagues, but what you don't know about is our connection beyond the company. The two of us have enjoyed an ongoing, spirited competition—Carlo will be able to tell you more.

Enclosed is an SD card which can be played in virtually any computer or TV. Watch this as soon as possible...it will give you more insight into the man that is Carlo Leone. There have been many participants I've had the pleasure of seeing, but I have to say, you are the best by far. The game is no longer, but the memories—those will last forever. Happy viewing!

Cassandra's brow wrinkled in confusion. Participants? A spirited competition? What the hell did Brock mean? Now she was even more intrigued.

She slid her hand into the other coat pocket, finding her phone. Maybe she should call Carlo, ask him point blank what this was all about. She hesitated, then shook her head and turned on the ignition. No—she would wait...follow Brock's instructions and see whatever it was he wanted her to see when she got home. If Carlo was involved in this and there was some sort of surprise, she didn't want to ruin things by asking him about it.

The drive from the stable in Manheim to her home in Elizabethtown was twenty minutes, but Cassandra was so preoccupied it felt like no time had passed when she pulled into the apartment complex. Her head and heart were packed with questions and scenarios, and rivers of emotions ranging from aching want to shuddery uneasiness surged through her. Brock's note was distracting her a bit from her bright, fierce desire to see Carlo. But soon, after she watched whatever it was on the SD card, that little mystery would be revealed.

Cassandra unlocked her apartment and stepped in, hanging her coat on the rack just inside the door and kicking off her Dansko clogs. Better put them in the closet; she didn't need the entryway smelling like equine. Or what came out of equines, although Carlo probably wouldn't mind, seeing as he had grown up with horses.

Glancing in the full-length mirror, she flashed back to when she had leaned against Carlo and studied their reflections, the night of his sister's engagement party. We look good together, she had said. They contrasted each other in appearance as well as personality: Carlo, tall and rugged with his tousled black hair and blue-gray eyes, and she with her petite build, auburn hair and what Carlo called her seaglass-colored eyes. When she was being nice to herself, she could admit she was attractive, but Carlo made her feel beautiful and sexy—as if he had never seen a more gorgeous woman.

Enough daydreaming; she had to get ready. She would take a quick shower, and she could view whatever it was on Brock's card while her hair dried. Carlo preferred her hair down, anyway—she could let it air dry and style it in long waves.

Cassandra checked her phone for the time as she hurried to the bathroom. 5:40. Carlo would be here in less than an hour. Shivers danced up her spine as she reached in her pocket for the envelope, put it on the counter and undressed.

The hot water cascaded over her, and she sleeked it away from her face and hair, imagining Carlo's hands on her skin, caressing, teasing, tweaking—a perfect concoction of pleasure fringed with a hint of pain. Soon, this would be more than just a fantasy.

Stepping out of the shower, Cassandra wrapped a towel around her head, turban-style. She'd already decided what to wear: her silky, jade green blouse, a snug pair of faded jeans, and her ivory-colored lace bra and panties. She dressed quickly, put a handful of mousse in her towel-dried hair and scrunched, smiling. Two could play the tousled game. Light makeup, a quick application of clear lip gloss, and earrings—her big silver hoops. What was it her friend Teal always said? The bigger the hoop, the bigger the ho. She grinned. Given the way she was feeling right now, this seemed quite appropriate.

So now, she was ready. Ready for Carlo, obviously, and ready to discover what Brock wanted to share with her. Excitement level kicked into high gear, she went to the bedroom for her laptop, the envelope in hand. As always, her bed was neatly made, and she felt a warmth spreading through her at the thought of Carlo lying in it with her.

Cassandra propped up a few of the blue and green throw pillows against her headboard, settling back with the computer in her lap. Now, for the card. She removed it from the envelope and inserted it carefully into her laptop, her chest fluttery with anticipation. Scanning the desktop, she found the SD card folder and opened it. There was one file...a video. A still shot—of her, and Carlo.

Eyes widening, she drew in her breath. Her heart began to thud wildly. What was this? When did this take...

And then she knew. They were entering Carlo's bedroom. The last night they were together.

She clicked the play button and began to watch.

"Vanilla?"

It was surreal, watching herself look up at Carlo as she asked him about the scent in his bedroom. Hearing his voice on the video made her heart clutch.

"Yes. The candles. Vanilla is known to increase sexual stimulation in both men and women."

"That's an interesting bit of trivia. You seem to have thought of everything..."

Cassandra put her hands on either side of the laptop, gripping hard. The sexual tension between them was almost palpable, even viewing it on screen. She felt detached, as if she was watching two strangers dancing the tango for the first time, her thoughts splintering into a thousand different directions trying to make sense of all of this.

"I want to be able to hear every sound you make."

A sigh from her in the video.

"Like that sound, for example." And then Carlo took her in his arms, his mouth kissing up and down her neck. Cassandra found herself quivering with the memory, just as she had trembled that night, filled with incredible want for him.

"Cassandra," he was saying. You need to trust me.

She began to shake, her mouth cottony with the dread that was mounting inside her.

Brock had given her this SD card. He knew about this night.

Her mind traveled back to his note, stumbling over the phrases that appeared in front of her like concrete blocks.

The two of us have enjoyed an ongoing, spirited competition.

There have been many participants I've had the pleasure of seeing, but I have to say, you are the best by far.

You are the best by far.

What had Brock seen? Her stomach lurched as she used the cursor to advance the video.

She was lying naked across Carlo's lap on the loveseat. I want you to stay completely still, he was telling her. And completely silent. You are not permitted to make any sound whatsoever, or there will be additional consequences. Do you understand?

No, Cassandra said, her voice a choked cry. No. She watched, agonized, as he began to spank her, the sound of each slap making her jump. She hadn't moved then; she had wanted so desperately to please him.

Although the video was not finished, she could not bear to see any more. The safe word she was to use with Carlo that night came to mind: enough.

Closing her laptop, Cassandra shoved it away from her as she began to shake harder. Drawing knees to chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging herself. She had been more exposed, more vulnerable than she had ever been in her life, and she had been videoed. And Brock had seen it.

The ugly realization that Carlo had shared their intimate night with his colleague pierced her to the very core. Why had Carlo done this? She had given herself to him! Totally and completely, despite all of her reservations and misgivings. And he had betrayed her trust, leaving her feeling shattered, violated. Dirty.

"How could you? she whispered into the cold silence of her room. How could you do this to me?"

The doorbell rang. She would have her answer soon.

chapter three ~ Carlo

By the time he had arrived at Cassandra's doorstep, Carlo was feeling almost hopeful. There was every chance, he had managed to convince himself on the drive over, that he was going to be in time—that Brock hadn't gotten to her yet. He had brought himself to the very edge of despair agonizing over the possibility of losing her, but he was feeling much more confident and relaxed as he rang her doorbell.

Had it not been for this turn of events, he would have brought her flowers. He wanted to do things like this for her—give her jewelry, buy her designer clothes, take her on a shopping spree. Anything to make her feel special, appreciated and wanted—although even as he considered this, he knew she was not like other women. She liked simple and sensible and had proven herself refreshingly easy to please. Christ, the woman preferred Pop-Tarts over Prada. A slight grin flickered on his lips. Cassandra was one of a kind. Hopefully, there would be many instances in the future where he could show her he understood this.

A rotund maintenance worker with a receding hairline and large eyeglasses was walking toward him, carrying a toolkit. He stopped, smiling congenially. You here to see Cassandra?

Carlo nodded, giving the man a terse smile and rang the doorbell again, his uneasiness intensifying with each second that passed.

The man thrust out his hand at Carlo. I'm Norman.

Carlo shook his hand and introduced himself.

Cassandra's the best, isn't she? Norman was beaming as if he had something to do with it.

None better, Carlo said, with total sincerity. Norman seemed pleased with Carlo's response and continued on his way, whistling.

Carlo took his phone out of his jacket pocket to check the time. 6:23. Seven minutes early, but she had been expecting him. And then the doorknob turned. His heart leapt in his chest, a smile beginning to spread across his face at the thought of seeing her again, holding her...

Cassandra stood in front of him in a green blouse and jeans, her auburn hair framing her face in loose curls. His throat closed at the sight of her. She was ashen and unsmiling, her aquamarine eyes locking with his in a cold, steely gaze.

She knew.

The pleasure he had felt just seconds ago from seeing her was obliterated by her stare. He flinched as he realized how challenging eye contact had been for her when he would command it, but the tables had been turned. Now, it was he who could not bear to look at her.

Her voice was barely audible when she spoke, but even so, he startled. I thought of sending you away, but I want to hear it.

And I want to talk to you, Cassandra.

She looked so small and lost, but there was also fierce anger emanating from her. She was trembling, wrapping her arms around herself. God, how he wanted to fix this