Breakaway (Stolen Away Series Book 2), page 1
Breakaway
STOLEN AWAY SERIES
BOOK TWO
WILLOW PRESCOTT
Contents
Note from Author
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Epilogue
Note from the Author
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Breakaway Copyright © 2024 Willow Prescott
All rights reserved.
Any unauthorized reprint or use of this content is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This book is protected by international copyright laws.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, and incidents bearing any resemblance to actual persons living or dead or actual events are purely coincidental.
Cover design and formatting by Books and Moods.
To my favorite professor, CHM. Thank you for sharing your infectious love of dead English poets. And I apologize profusely for the following literary sacrilege.
Note from Author
Dear Reader,
This is the second book in the Stolen Away Series. If you haven’t read the first book, please turn back now and give Hideaway a read for the sake of your sanity. Breakaway cannot be read as a standalone unless you’re fond of extensive confusion with a healthy dose of really good smut.
This is a dark romance that contains themes and situations that may not be suited to some readers. The story focuses heavily on the physical and emotional aspects of BDSM. Please don’t expect perfection from these characters—because they’re flawed as hell—but I assure you they are trying their best. The bounds of safe, sane, and consensual won’t always be adhered to, and if that’s something that makes you uncomfortable, I would ask that you reconsider your decision to dive into the deep end. Because this is the dark side of kink. This story contains violence, power play, dubcon, forced proximity, emotional trauma, mention of suicide and murder, and a shopping list of BDSM including: pain play, bondage, knife play, degradation, impact play, and edging. A full disclosure of trigger warnings can be found on my website. For the sake of your own mental health, please read them before turning this page. For those of you who like your MMCs to be morally grey bastards, your fictional relationships to be tortured, and you like a little bit of pain, let’s dance together in the dark.
Happy reading, my loves.
Yours always,
Willow
Love will not be constrain’d by mastery;
When mastery ‘comes, the god of love anon
Beats his fair wings, and farewell! He is gone!
Love is a thing as any spirit free;
Women by nature love their liberty
-Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales
Chapter 1
KARA
Never ask a woman if she’s ready yet. If you have to ask, there’s a good chance she’s not and an even greater chance she’ll spend the next few hours plotting your murder. Tread carefully with stupid questions.
“Are you ready, yet?” Cade asks from behind me as he bends down to kiss my shoulder, the warmth of his breath against my exposed skin causing shivers to dance along my spine. Even after six months, the bastard still inexplicably wreaks havoc on my nervous system. The softest words, the smallest touches, the slightest commands still set the blood in my veins aflame. I am an unwilling captive to his needs and desires in more ways than one. And I still fucking hate it.
Mostly.
I glare up at his too attractive reflection in the mirror, the size difference between us almost laughable as he and his six feet of British deliciousness towers over me while I sit on my plush stool in front of the vanity. “It’s still not perfect,” I reply with a small huff of annoyance as I survey my own reflection in the mirror for perhaps the hundredth time tonight. I reach for the brush, viciously raking it through my pale, blonde hair until it hangs in glossy waves down my shoulders. I’ve let it grow out over the months I’ve been with Cade, the long tresses a testament to the surprising endurance of our relationship.
I scrunch up my nose in irritation as I critically judge every facet of my appearance from my dark brown eyes that stand out even more with the smoky, charcoal shadow to the blood-tinged hue of my lipstick. Something still isn’t quite right.
“I beg to differ,” Cade says with a soft laugh as he bends to place another kiss on the sensitive curve of my neck, the slight stubble of his cheek tickling me until I struggle beneath him. “You are always perfect, no matter how much unnecessary time you spend putting on makeup and doing your hair and whatever the hell else you conjure up in here.”
Cade’s mouth slides down to my shoulder, his lips hot and distracting as he kisses and nips his way along my skin. I can’t help the moan that escapes as his teeth graze my collarbone and bite down. “Cade,” I breathe, the chastisement sounding more like a beg for more. And it is a plea he is more than happy to satisfy. He trails soft, languid kisses down the exposed length of my back before his fingers deftly reach for the zipper that lies slightly above the curve of my ass.
“Cade!” I squeal, this time a little more frantic. As enticing as that sort of diversion sounds at the moment, there is no way I could escape a proper fucking with my makeup still intact. “Stop,” I demand, a note of sternness in my voice. My protests soon turn to giggles as Cade’s fingers find the sensitive spots on my hips, and he proceeds to torture me until I conceded to his demands.
“What was that, love? I couldn’t quite hear you,” Cade taunts. He pulls me against his chest and continues to incite unbecoming squeals and screeches with his damned fingers in my sides. Trapping my flailing arms against my back, Cade once again reaches for the zipper on my dress.
“Caden Ashford, if you get me naked again, we are not leaving this manor tonight,” I admonish, my chest heaving from the painful exertion of forced fits of giggles.
“That sounds almost like a command, Miss Caine,” Cade chides, his tone sharpening. “Only one person gives the commands in this house, and it certainly isn’t you.” I feel a quick sting of teeth against my neck. It is the subtlest of warnings that such behavior will not be tolerated where we are going.
Well, he can shove the warning up his ass because we won’t be going anywhere if he keeps trying to slip his cock inside me. “Someone needs to stop thinking with their dick if we are ever going to make it to Pandemonium.”
Pandemonium is the kink club owned by Cade’s friend, Finnian Holt, the gorgeous bastard who saw me half naked and on my knees while I served the two of them for the night. It was, without a doubt, the most awkward experience of my life and the most sadistically creative punishment Cade has ever contrived. Yet.
I’ve seen Finn quite a few times since that night—fully clothed, thankfully—and I’ll admit he’s beginning to grow on me. When we’re together, the three of us get into a fair amount of mischief. And as Cade’s closest friend, he and I have formed a tenuous friendship of our own. One that will undoubtedly be tested when I experience Cade and Finnian in their element for the first time tonight.
It was my idea to go to Pandemonium. I have been begging Cade to take me for months, and, after much pleading and a fair amount of cock sucking sorcery, he finally caved.
“You sound quite eager to be paraded around a filthy sex club, tonight.” Cade’s smile is teasing, but I know he’s proud of me for being willing to step out of my comfort zone. “I fear I’ve thoroughly corrupted you.”
“Don’t give yourself so much credit, Lord Ashford,” I snark, swatting away his lingering hands from my hips. “I’m merely interested in scoping out your competition. Think there are any available Doms who are a little less endowed in the assholery department?”
“If there are, I’ll make sure they’re unavailable by any means necessary before the night is over,” Cade threatens with a surge of venom in his voice. His fingers twist in my hair and jerk my head to the side, forcing me to look into his melded green and gold eyes. The sparks of fury in his molten gaze twist and warm my insides in unusual ways. “And you had better watch that mouth before it earns you a punishment tha
t you definitely won’t consider worth the amusement of provoking me.”
“Yes, sir,” I respond, my eyes still sparkling with machinations in spite of Cade’s threats. He gives one last, firm tug against my tender scalp before releasing me, his beautiful features contorting with discontent. There is nothing I enjoy as much as getting under his thick skin. And I will enjoy it even more when he leaves his marks on my skin later as payback.
I frown when I look at my reflection in the mirror once more. The damned man mussed up my hair. Rolling my eyes, I reach for the brush again.
“Kara, if you touch that fucking brush one more time, I will put you over my knee and use it to redden your arse.”
I blanch, my hands quickly falling to my lap for fear that he might mistake any movement as an invitation to make good on his threat. “You’re a bastard,” I retort with a pout.
“And you’re gorgeous,” Cade responds in a serious tone as he captures my chin in his grasp. “You could show up tonight in a bloody burlap sack, and you would still outshine every single person in the room. In fact, I haven’t quite decided if I’ll allow everyone to leave with their eyes intact after being allowed to look at you the entire evening.”
“That’s a little dramatic,” I answer with a nervous laugh. I’m terrible at accepting compliments as it is, so I have an even more difficult time finding an appropriate response to the you’re so beautiful I could kill anyone who looks at you sort of compliments Cade likes to regularly throw at me.
“I never claimed to be anything but,” Cade says with a smirk, tracing a single finger along my bare throat. “I think something is missing,” he comments with a cryptic insinuation.
Those few words incite panic, morphing the butterflies in my stomach into carnivorous creatures with pointed teeth and claws aimed to draw blood from my insides. “I knew it,” I agree in distress. “Is the makeup too much? Should I put my hair up? Maybe wear the red dress instead of the black?”
“Your dress is lovely,” Cade answers with a smirk as he reaches into his coat to pull out a large, black velvet, square box. “Though I would like to see you in red.” He hands me the unexpectedly heavy box, his features marked by an indiscernible mixture of emotions.
With trembling fingers, I open the top, gasping when I discover what lies within. It’s a necklace fit for gracing the neck of a queen—a choker composed entirely of large, oval rubies, the deep red stones haloed with diamonds that glimmer strikingly in the light. It’s without a doubt the prettiest piece of jewelry I’ve ever seen. And I’m terrified to even touch it.
“Cade—I can’t wear this,” I respond as anxiety creeps up my throat at the thought of holding something so precious and valuable. Something that doesn’t belong anywhere near the neck of a simple librarian. “It’s too much.” I try to hand the box back to him.
Ignoring my protests, Cade snatches the outrageously expensive necklace from the box and drapes it across my neck. “You will wear it because it pleases me beyond words to see you claimed as mine.” Cade’s fingers expertly fasten the clasp at my nape, leaving me with an almost uncomfortable weight against my throat.
“What exactly is that supposed to mean?” I ask in confusion. The choker is tight, loose enough for me to breathe, but constricting enough for me to be reminded of its presence with every intake of breath.
“This is more than just a pretty piece of jewelry, love. This is your collar,” Cade says, slipping a single finger beneath the choker and tugging me toward him. The pressure of the jewels against my throat is tighter now, and I struggle to breathe steadily. “It serves as my mark of ownership, and you will wear it anytime we go to Pandemonium. The other submissives and slaves will be wearing collars as well. It is a sort of code to establish who is taken and who is free game.”
I gape at Cade, waiting for the punchline of his ridiculous joke. As usual, there isn’t one. I’m left rolling my eyes as he stands there expectantly as though he didn’t just normalize his Dom shit for the sake of seeing me squirm beneath the literal weight of the submission he demands. Because why give a girl a necklace and call it a necklace when you could call it a fucking collar of ownership?
Damn kinky bastard.
Cade uses his hold on the choker, or collar, to pull me to my feet. Catching me by surprise, he steals the last of my breath with his mouth, his warm tongue coaxing my surrender in a way only he can as he kisses me into light-headed bliss. He pulls harder, the pressure of the necklace against my throat causing my vision to tinge with darkness, and I moan into his mouth, more desperate for the taste of him than actual air in my lungs. Just as I start to sway in his arms, Cade releases his hold, his lips unlatching from mine as I gasp for oxygen, my blood singing with an indescribable high from having its life-source momentarily deprived. Cade runs his thumb over my now swollen bottom lip, seeming to enjoy smearing my red lipstick against my skin. “There,” he says in a soft rumble, his voice filled with warmth mingled with a strange sort of awe. “Perfect.”
Chapter 2
CADEN
The drive to Pandemonium is about thirty minutes from Ashford Manor along dark country roads lit only by the faintest hint of moonlight. We are so far outside the city that you can see the stars glimmer against the blackness of the night sky on a clear night, and tonight the summer air is dry and warm.
I look over at the beautiful girl that I get to call mine, her small hand intertwined with my own. Kidnapping an archivist from a library and holding her prisoner in my home was hardly the makings of a match made in heaven, but fate decided to have a little irony. Now, my little librarian lets me take her to the hideaway beneath my library and fuck the propriety out of her in deliciously filthy ways. Turns out, my good girl has quite a taste for being a bad girl.
Unfortunately, she’s expected a few changes out of me as well. Namely—no more stealing. I’m not going to lie, it hurt to retire from black market acquisitions. Not because of the money; God knows I inherited more than enough wealth from my grandfather along with the title of Lord. But robbing museums and private collections of their treasures gave me a challenge—something to do with my time. Now, I’m left with nothing to do other than Kara. So if her delightful cunt ever gets tired of being stuffed with my cum, the blame is entirely hers.
The mouth-watering thought of her bare pussy has me staring down at the slit in Kara’s black dress. I move our joined hands up her thigh, forcing her to spread the inky silk of her dress until both of her full, creamy thighs are showing. I stroke my thumb over her skin, watching as goose flesh erupts under my touch. She shivers, biting down on her perfect red lip as she looks over at me. Her dark eyes are wide and pleading.
“Are you nervous?” I ask, continuing to caress her while her legs jostle against the leather seat.
Kara stills, her knees no longer bouncing up and down. “Yes,” she answers, her voice soft and hesitant.
“Why are you nervous, love?”
“I don’t want to do it wrong.” The words tumble rapidly out of her mouth, like she’s been holding them in the whole night.
I give her a knowing smile. How very typical that her anxiety is about wanting to be perfect. “There’s no wrong way to do kink, Kara. As long as it’s safe and consensual, anything goes. You know that.”
“I know.” She bites down on her lip, and I’m worried she might break the skin.
“Hey,” I chide, using my thumb to tug her bottom lip from the prison of her teeth. “The only person who’s allowed to make this pretty skin bleed is me. Understood?”
She nods. “Yes, sir.”
“You’re perfect,” I remind her, chucking her under the chin. “When have you ever been anything less, Dr. Caine?”
That gets a begrudging smile to tug at her lips. I never call her by her formal title. In spite of her having earned more than one Doctorate of Philosophy, I tend to demote her just for the sake of annoyance. Few things get under my little librarian’s skin more than calling her Miss Caine when she wants to be taken seriously. And it’s one of my many joys in life to get under her skin as well as inside her.
