Obsessive Surrender Read online

  “For those readers longing for the next novel in the tradition of Fifty Shades of Grey,

  Bobbi Cole Meyer will surely delight!”

  —Candy Caine, bestselling author of Forever Yours

  Bobbi Cole Meyer

  OBSESSIVE

  SURRENDER

  Arrow Publications, LLC

  Copyright © 2013 Bobbi Cole Meyer. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, no portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the express written permission of Arrow Publications.

  Arrow Publications, LLC

  20411 Sawgrass Drive

  Montgomery Village, MD 20886

  USA

  [email protected]

  www.arrowpub.com

  www.myromancestory.com

  ISBN: 978-1-934675-51-9

  All names, characters and incidents featured in this publication are imaginary. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is coincidental. They are not inspired even distantly by any individual or incident known or unknown to the author.

  Author recognizes that all trademarked items mentioned in the book belong to the trademark holders of said items.

  Dedicated to my fantasy lover extraordinaire.

  He knows who he is!

  Epigraph

  “Love received is the reward for love freely given, without hesitation, apology or reservation, from one heart to another, both seeking that infinite and avid connection.

  “Only when love plumbs the fiery depths of a woman’s soul, transforming ordinary desire to an extraordinary compulsion to please the man of her innermost dreams in whatever manner he wishes, does that love become an Obsessive Surrender.”

  Prologue

  Andrea Parker’s venture into the sensual world of erotic sex began the day she wed the infamous and mysterious Ivan Littlefield, fourteen years her senior and one of the wealthiest and most notorious men in Las Vegas.

  After the wedding, Ivan carried her over the threshold of his bedroom, scooping her up as though she weighed nothing and Andrea yielded to the strength she felt in his muscled arms as he cradled her against him. He did not put her down until they were standing before what she believed was a curtained wall. He drew that curtain aside to reveal a hidden door.

  “Ivan, what is behind the door?”

  Ivan watched her face intently as he explained.

  “I call it the indoctrination room. It is a prerequisite to our life as one. It’s where you will come to understand and live by my rules. There must be an initial time of ‘erotic teaching discipline’ and that might be a bit uncomfortable for you. But it’s necessary to secure our future. You see, I had this room specially constructed with you in mind, Andrea.”

  “Ivan, I still don’t understand.”

  “I know you don’t now, but you will. Everything will become crystal clear once you come to know and accept the depth of your true sexual complexity. In other words, I intend to mold you into the most erotically sensual woman in Vegas, and the beauty of it is you will be totally and completely mine.”

  Suddenly he unlocked the door and swung it wide, giving her a full view of the room’s interior. It was a sparsely furnished room, about half as large as the immense master bedroom. It had a king-sized bed, as well, and a bedside table, a chest of drawers, a dressing table with a chair, a walk-in mirrored closet and an elaborate en suite bath, almost as large as the bedroom itself, off to the right.

  But it was what lined the wall to the left of the bed that drew Andrea’s rapt attention; that set her heart to pounding and sent shock waves of apprehension skittering through her senses.

  Attached to the wall was a wooden bench with a selection of extended, life-like rubber phalluses of varying sizes jutting up and angled slightly forward. Above, them, hanging on metal hooks, were an assortment of paddles, several leather straps, strange clamps and other devices, the use of which Andrea couldn’t even begin to imagine.

  Paling, she would have fled but Ivan was quick to block her way.

  “Don’t fight me, Andrea. You’re mine now. My wife. My intimate possession, and those,” he indicated the paraphernalia with a sweep of his hand, “are all for your pleasure, or discomfort, depending upon how quickly you learn to obey and how badly you disobey.

  “But first things first, Andrea. Take off your clothes. While you remain in this room you will not wear clothes.”

  Chapter 1

  One Month Earlier—The Germ of an Idea

  Thirty-three-year-old billionaire Ivan Littlefield didn’t miss much that went on in his Las Vegas casino, The Royale Flush. Moving with easy stealth in spite of his solid six-foot-four frame, his demeanor and steely gray eyes had garnered him the respected title among his colleagues and employees, albeit behind his back, of ‘the wolf’.

  In the five years since he’d arrived on the Vegas scene, Ivan had built a reputation for having the sharpest eye of any casino owner when it came to catching those who thought to cheat or slackers who did not do their job properly. His gray glare seemed to cut through any con artist’s scheme, pinning him with an intensity that brooked no argument. But given his austerity when the occasion called for it, he had the reputation of always being fair, yet definitely not someone you wanted to cross.

  No one who really knew him, dared to try and pull a fast one, knowing they’d not only have to deal with his three formidable personal bodyguards, but Ivan himself, who was a worthy opponent in his own right when angered. It was common knowledge that he held a black belt in Karate and could personally handle any situation if the need arose.

  That truth was confirmed the night one of his employees thought to fight him after Ivan had caught him cheating. Ivan had won that fight expeditiously, without the assistance of the bodyguards, all of whom he had waved off when the skirmish began.

  As Ivan walked through the casino this night, he witnessed the interchange between the girl and the man he believed was her father. He had noticed her hanging around outside the casino many times, playing her guitar and accepting donations while she waited for her father to emerge. Every so often he had seen her stepping inside, searching for her father before going back outside to wait for him to come staggering out.

  Ivan’s keen eye evaluated her now. She was small, maybe five feet three, little more than a waif, wearing what he believed were thrift store clothes. But what held his interest was an indefinable quality that appealed to him and the fact that, through his sources he had come to know she was not a child at all but eighteen and could have struck out on her own already, so it baffled him as to why she would choose to remain and be her father’s puppet. The more he thought about that, the more Ivan was convinced she had a submissive personality. That thought intrigued him. And he liked the way she carried herself with a determined kind of dignity as she implored her father to leave.

  Ivan stepped closer to them, wanting to hear their conversation.

  “Please Dad. Come on. Don’t spend it all. Save enough for a burger at least.”

  “Leave me the hell alone, girl.”

  “Please.”

  “Get out there and sing some of your songs. Get us more dough.”

  Ivan followed the girl to the door of the casino, catching her eye as she turned for a last look back at her father. For that moment in time their gazes held fast; she seeming transfixed by his gray glare.

  He saw her swipe at a tear. Those large, soulful, emerald green eyes impressed him as they wavered from his and then came back to hold in one last steady gaze before she exited the hotel. Once outside she stooped, unhooked the tattered guitar case and withdrew the guitar. She began strumming it and then sang a haunting tune in a sultry, mournful voice that he found fasc
inating.

  “I wish I could be the me of my dreams.

  Wish I could wake up over that rainbow

  And reach to touch the stars all around me

  In my bright, new world of fantasy.

  “I know that somewhere, someday I will find

  A taste of contentment like a rare wine

  And when I lay me down the last time

  I’ll know the meaning of peace of mind.”

  Ivan watched the way others stopped to listen to her; saw their appreciation as they tossed coins in her guitar case. When she sang, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back and let her voice drift out in a lazy, melodic way that was almost mesmerizing.

  When she finished the song, Ivan watched her scoop up the change then lean dejectedly against the building to count the money. As he stepped outside for a closer observation, he met her defiant gaze and imagined her challenging him to tell her she couldn’t wait there.

  Even in the frantic crush of tourists and hardcore party revelers, all determined to stretch the limits of “What’s done in Vegas stays in Vegas”, the girl stood out in a unique way Ivan would have been hard put to explain. She just did. And he knew at that moment that he had to have her.

  With her quiet and determined demeanor, seemingly wise beyond her years, and those captivating green eyes, she reminded Ivan of a little beacon in the midst of that raucous wave of unrestrained humanity lapping onto the strip. Then he thought about her mentioning a burger to her father and wondered if she was hungry.

  The more Ivan studied her, the more convinced he became of her potential.

  She has a classical look about her and if she were dressed properly and that untamed mane of honey blonde hair was groomed, she’d be a real looker.

  Ivan pictured her as she could be and smiled. He was impressed by her innocent manner and the fact that she still had a girl’s body on the verge of blossoming into fullness, although it was hard to see, disguised in the folds of her two-big shirt and baggy jeans.

  She obviously lacks that self-satisfied, womanly possessive air of one who knows and is comfortable with her sexuality. If she’s not still a virgin, I would bet she’s certainly a novice in the art of lovemaking.

  That thought piqued Ivan’s interest to the degree that he re-entered the casino and sought out her father. When he located him, Ivan stood behind him, making mental note of the man’s demeanor.

  Disheveled and bleary-eyed, just barely this side of being drunk, the man reeked of alcohol and needed a shave and a bath.

  Ivan judged him to be in his late forties but obviously fast edging toward a ravaged fifty mark. His wispy gray hair stuck to the sweat beading on his forehead. His breathing was shallow and Ivan noted the way his hand trembled as he placed the last of his chips on the table and rolled the dice. He pegged him as a double loser, both an alcoholic and a gambling addict, and wondered where he had even gotten the money to gamble.

  No doubt he had the girl beg for it and instead of buying food, and here he is, drinking the free booze and gambling away his last cent.

  Ivan watched the man fail to make his point, losing the last of his chips. When he cursed and turned away, Ivan had to step back to avoid a collision as he asked, “A streak of bad luck, friend?”

  “Yeah, the worst. Dammit, I can’t seem to catch a break.”

  “Sorry to hear that. What’s your name?”

  “Benton Parker.”

  Ivan held out his hand. “Ivan Littlefield. Is that girl who is standing outside with the guitar waiting for you, your daughter?”

  “Yeah, that’s Andrea. Why? What’s she done? It ain’t against the law to sing in public, is it?” Benton snarled as he reluctantly shook Ivan’s hand.

  “No, and she’s done nothing wrong. I just saw she was a little upset.”

  “Hell, she’s always upset about something,” Benton grumbled. “You know how teenagers are. Can’t please them. Always wanting something.”

  Ivan tempered his tone, thinking, yeah, like a burger because she’s hungry.

  “How old is she?”

  “Eighteen, going on thirty. Thinks she knows everything.”

  Ivan recognized the way Benton Parker was suddenly staring at him, taking in the expensive cut of his clothes, his spit-polished shoes, his Rolex watch. He could almost hear the man calculating the odds of hitting him up for a loan before the words came out of his mouth.

  “Say, are you the Ivan Littlefield? The owner of the casino?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Ah, you couldn’t spare a few bucks, could you? Or better yet, how about fronting me a marker?”

  Ivan kept his expression impassive as he asked, “Are you asking money for food or for gambling?”

  “Both,” Benton said with a shrug, opting for the wiser course of telling the truth.

  “As to the marker, the answer is no. But tell you what, you go get your daughter and I’ll treat you both to a good meal. She looks like she could use one.”

  Ivan could see Benton bristle and silently gave the man kudos for having that much pride left at least.

  “I can take care of my own daughter.”

  “Can you now? It doesn’t seem that way.”

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” Benton growled, his voice much louder than he realized as he took what could have been construed as a fighting stance, drawing attention from those around them.

  Suddenly, three large men separated themselves from the crowd and Benton looked from one to the other, frowning as they moved to each side of Ivan, the black one stepping closer to him.

  When Ivan waved them away, Benton realized they were his bodyguards and paled, thinking, damn, I may be about to have my head handed to me on a platter.

  Answering his question in a calm, authoritative tone, Ivan said, “I didn’t mean to insult you. In fact, I have a proposition for you, Benton, which we could discuss over dinner, if you’re interested.”

  Benton’s eyes narrowed, his foggy mind suddenly remembering all he’d heard and read about Ivan Littlefield.

  “A proposition? What kind of proposition?”

  “One I believe you’ll find interesting.”

  “I—ah—I guess it wouldn’t hurt to listen.”

  “Good. While you get your daughter, I’ll call and get our dinner started. Is prime rib okay?”

  “That would be great.”

  “Any preference as to how it’s cooked?”

  “Medium well.”

  “Fine. I’ll wait by the private elevator at the back for you and Andrea.”

  “By the private elevator?”

  “Yes. It’s the farthestone by the emergency exit door. We’ll have dinner in my penthouse so we can discuss things privately.”

  A subdued Benton mumbled, “Sure. Ah—okay. I’ll go get Andrea.”

  Ivan leaned against the wall by the elevator and waited, watching Benton Parker maneuver his way through the crowd then scurry outside.

  When he returned with the girl, Ivan watched them walk toward him, seeing the girl’s wide-eyed, questioning expression as they came to stand before him.

  Up close, Ivan realized she was even more promising than he had earlier assessed her to be. He smiled as he introduced himself. “Andrea, I’m Ivan Littlefield.”

  “Hello,” she said.

  Her voice was hardly more than a whisper as she extended a small hand and laid it in his much larger one. “Nice to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is mine. I’ve invited you and your father to have dinner with me.”

  Obviously nonplused, Ivan saw the way Andrea glanced at the bodyguards, all impressively large and intimidating as they lounged against the wall, silently appraising her and her father.

  Recognizing her flash of fear, Ivan instructed them, “Guys, we’ll go up alone.”

  He keyed in the elevator’s special code and indicated Benton and Andrea were to precede him into the enclosure.

  When they exited at the penthouse level,
Ivan took mental note of the way Andrea gasped and her eyes seemed to light up as she crossed the threshold and took in the opulent surroundings.

  He suddenly saw his 2,500 square foot apartment, which he took for granted as one of the perks of the business, through the girl’s impressionable eyes—the hardwood and Brazilian marble flooring—the luxurious grouping of Klaus Executive sofa and chairs positioned over the Anatolia-style, Hereke silk Turkish rug; the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city, the gourmet kitchen island with a two-way fireplace, and the Monet original with a special accentuating spotlight on the opposite living room wall, next to the full wet bar.

  Ivan imagined what her response might be to the master bedroom with its sleek platform king size bed, the LCD flat screen TV and the en suite bathroom featuring a canoe tub.

  He reeled in his thoughts as he said, “Make yourself comfortable while I check on our dinner. I’m sure it will be arriving shortly.”

  Speaking on his cell phone, first to the kitchen and then to his bodyguard Ned, instructing him to allow the waiter to come up, Ivan continued to watch Andrea, noticing the way she settled on the edge of the sofa carefully, as though she was afraid she might dirty it.

  For the first time he felt a compassionate stirring for a woman, or a girl in this case, and he weighed what he would say to her father.

  It had begun as a germ of an idea when he’d spotted Andrea earlier, and now it had come to fruition within Ivan’s mind as he continued to silently evaluate her.

  Always one to act on his hunches, knowing his intuitive ability had served him well in the past, Ivan suddenly knew what he wanted.

  After a disappointing sexual encounter the night before, when he had shared his bed with yet another in the long line of women who continued to run after him but left him mentally dissatisfied, Ivan had decided it was time to make a drastic change in his life.