by Poppy Flynn
Laurel felt as if she was going to dissolve into a liquefied puddle of pure hormones. She, a five-year enthusiast of a kink lifestyle where she truly believed she had encountered everything that there was to experience, reduced to a quivering puddle of pure, heady sensation at the simple touch of this man's lips.
No! Scrap that. There was nothing at all simple about what Connor was doing to her mouth. It was hungry, carnal, and demanding—more like a brand than a kiss. It didn't take anything else for the unsettling realisation to register with Laurel that, where Connor was concerned, she had precious little free will. She only had to step slightly too close to his compelling influence and the man owned her.
After what seemed like eons, Connor lifted his head, but Laurel still felt bereft. For long seconds, she couldn't seem to unglue her eyelids. Connor continued holding her immobile with his hands in her hair and on her face and, when her senses finally obeyed and they flickered open, he stared relentlessly into her eyes as if he could stare right down into the depths of her soul. It was unnerving, and Laurel couldn't find any of the breath that was already too shallow after that kiss. It made her light headed. What the heck was happening to her? Even her thought process was jumbled and hazy.
"Take off your clothes, Laurel," Connor growled out, stepping back from her.
Laurel swayed as the deprivation of the solidity of his body and his firm hold left her unsteady. Her eyebrows beetled together. Did they negotiate already? Was she so far under Connor's spell that she couldn't remember what they'd discussed. Damn!
A sweep of chilly air displaced the searing heat of his big body, invigorating her attention slightly.
"Fluff," she whispered as her hands went to the fastening of her skirt entirely of their own accord, even while her brain was trying to make sense of the senseless.
Connor just looked at her with that inscrutable gaze and lifted a single eyebrow in query.
"My club name is Fluff," Laurel stated with a bit more clarity.
He still didn't say anything, just nodded and waited.
Laurel felt her hands tremble as her fingers fumbled with the skirt's concealed zip. There was no way she'd be able to manage the corset. Wriggling out of the garment, without her usual grace, Laurel thought she heard Connor's indrawn breath when it dropped to the floor, but when she looked at him, his expression was as unreadable as always.
"I'll need your help with the corset, Sir." The honorific slipped out unconsciously, though she would have used it deliberately if she'd had her wits about her.
Connor stalked around her in a wide arc, his gaze intent on her body every step of the way. She felt him stop behind her, but he did nothing, and the silence and anticipation lengthened. She was about to give in to the temptation to look over her shoulder when he second guessed her actions and rumbled huskily, "Don't move!"
Laurel dropped her head straight back down and stood statue still, the air sizzling around them with the same kind of atmosphere as in those eerie, electrified seconds after lightning struck.
She felt the heat of his big body as he drew closer, even though he still didn't touch her. It was as if her senses were heightened where Connor was concerned, and her psyche was tuned in to his every tiny shift. She closed her eyes to try and eradicate the uncomfortably intimate sensation, but that only made it worse.
Finally, Laurel dragged in a faltering breath when he eventually whispered light fingers, so at odds with his big body and larger than life personality, down the centre of her spine as he gently unzipped the corset.
A second later, she was naked except for her one of a kind, bespoke thong with its non-existent wisp of gossamer covering. The pearls that embellished it fell in saucy drapes just below the rise of her butt cheeks and in a little tail that rode along the shadowed crease of her ass. Front and centre were a matching string of pearls, each one increasing in size until the final bead settled against her throbbing clit, barely there but, in her current state of arousal, seeming to have gathered the heavy weight of her need.
In a swift move, which belied his previous indolence, Connor's big hands grasped her breasts. She watched, an unreal sense of detachment fogging her lucid mind. His long fingers, tanned against her paler skin, dug into the soft globes and dragged along her flesh until he reached the tips then pinched her nipples hard, finishing with a fierce twist that had her crying out, bucking her backside against the rigid length of his erection as she thrust out her chest, desperate for more of the same.
Instead, Connor's touch gentled. He soothed his thumbs teasingly across stiff peaks that ached for his dominance and feathered whisper light kisses along the slope from her nape to her ear. She'd just managed to readjust and relax into him when he bit down hard on the fleshy area where her neck met her shoulder, startling her again and making her scream gutturally as a deep, throbbing arousal pooled in her abdomen.
As if he knew, Conner brushed caressing circles across the taut skin of her stomach then blew her mind a moment later by nipping sharply on her earlobe.
Every time she thought she'd got his measure, he did something contrary, keeping her constantly off balance, never knowing what was coming next. He shook her up, then eased her down, like a bottle of fizz being shaken about. And just like the bubbly, the pressure was mounting, building, expanding until she thought she might explode.
Just when she was ready to beg, Connor stepped away from her completely, shrugged nonchalantly and took a seat on the metal chair, which looked like a dollhouse toy under his big frame.
"Kneel please," Connor commanded, sounding almost formal.
Laurel slid to her knees on the uncomfortable stainless-steel floor, adopting a neutral pose with her knees together and her hands folded into her lap since he hadn't specified anything different and since they still had to negotiate a scene.
Connor's hot gaze raked over her. "What sort of scenes do you usually participate in?" he demanded.
"I'm open to suggestion, Sir. My limits only really include the truly hard-core stuff, like Scat or water sports, knife play, blood-letting and needle play. I'm not into severe masochism, although I do enjoy reasonable impact play, and I don't do extreme forms of fire play, but I don't mind candles…" Laurel took a breath and considered her answer. "Basically, just rule out anything that breaks the skin or leaves permanent marks. Otherwise, I'm good."
"Exhibitionism, penetration…" Connor speared her with an intense stare. "…all kinds, humiliation, bondage, anal?"
Laurel was still stuck on 'all kinds of penetration', but a tiny corner of her mind was alert enough for her to respond.
"I'm not fussed about humiliation," she murmured huskily, running her hands up and down her arms where goose bumps had broken out at the very idea of what he might like to penetrate her with and where. "I don't see why it should be necessary when any scene should be mutually fulfilling, not a cause for embarrassment. It's not on my hard limits, but if a Dom doesn't make me feel good, and that includes making me feel bad about myself, not just not having a fulfilling scene, then I don't see any point in playing with him."
Connor nodded, his gaze still piercing her in a way that made her aware of her entire being, from the rapid pulse that beat like a hummingbird in her throat, to the slick moisture that was now coating her thighs and her tight, aching nipples which were peaking under his scrutiny alone.
Laurel shivered. There was something supremely erotic about kneeling naked, but for a wisp of gossamer and a pearl adornment, in front of a fully clothed man who, even sitting nonchalantly with one ankle across his knee and his elbow on the arm of the chair as his fist supported his chin, exuded a definitive aura of power. It made her tummy flip-flop as if she was a complete neophyte without any experience of this kind of scenario.
He didn't speak for a long time, just looked at her with those enigmatic grey-green eyes that gave nothing away. The silence stretched to breaking point, and just when Laurel felt like she couldn't take any more, Connor finally spoke, his voice a l
ow, sexy rumble which set off vibrations across her bare skin.
"There are so many ways I'd like to play this," he murmured almost to himself. "With your limits in mind, how do you feel about an unstructured scene? Nothing specific, we just see where it leads us?"
Laurel considered his proposal. It was unusual to have no idea at all what a scene might entail, one more thing to keep her on edge.
"I will absolutely respect the limits we've discussed," Connor promised. "And of course, you always have your safeword; you can stop things at any time if you feel I'm going too far."
Laurel dropped her eyes to the floor in front of her, trying to think. Just looking at Connor, being caught in that powerful gaze of his, made it difficult for her to channel her normally cautious and sensible judgement. The man simply scrambled her brain without even having to try.
"What is your safeword, pet?" Connor rumbled, even though she had yet to reply. In that, at least, she was able to give him an easy answer.
"I use the standard traffic-light system. Red for stop—"
Connor interrupted. "Amber, orange or yellow to slow down?"
Laurel was aware there were discrepancies in the colour code between clubs. "Yellow," she whispered.
The way he spoke almost seemed to circumvent her giving any kind of answer to his previous question. His next words as good as confirmed it when he rose and offered her his hand.
"Why don't we try it, then?"
He hadn't exactly precluded her response but, somehow, he seemed to have manoeuvred her into a position where it wasn't necessary for her to give it any further consideration. She could still say no, of course, he just made it seem that…heck, what did he make it seem like? Her head was scrambled. Connor was right, if she didn't like what was going on, she could safeword out. There was no risk here, even if he did overstep the mark and take her outside her comfort zone.
But he had given his word that he would respect her boundaries and, God help her, she believed him. Did it really matter if they didn't have a blow by blow evaluation of every move that would be made? If she was completely honest, the idea of going in blind, of not knowing exactly what was going to happen next, spoke to the barely hidden defiance bubbling inside of her and had her panting and desperate for the experience.
Laurel stared at the hand Connor continued to hold out in front of her, somehow knowing that to take it would be tantamount to agreeing to his terms. Did she really have anything to lose except for the possibility—no, the certainty—of the most phenomenal scene of her life? She had a feeling that Connor wasn't one for second chances; if she walked away from this, Laurel was pretty sure she wouldn't be getting another invitation.
It was that thought, and the gaping void the alternative left, which determined her choice, and Laurel slowly allowed her eyes to travel appreciatively up his superb body, allowing herself the lingering appraisal that she'd deprived herself of during their hasty exit, silent drive, and uneasy tour.
From the butter-soft leather which moulded his long, well-developed legs like a second skin, to the hard contours of his abdomen and that delicious 'V' of sculpted muscle which dipped from his six pack abs down into the waistband of his trousers up to his powerfully built shoulders and the taut, tanned skin which stretched delectably over defined pecs and biceps, show-cased by his black leather waistcoat, and the smattering of coarse sandy chest hair that pointed like an arrow in a succulent happy trail down towards the jackpot—Laurel almost couldn't bear to look at the way the supple leather cupped the enormous bulge at his groin. Was it possible to be jealous of an item of clothing?
Tearing her eyes away and fisting fingers that itched to explore, Laurel tipped her head way back to where he towered over her, his height even more evident as she knelt at his boot clad feet. There was a spark in the depth of his eyes as they bored into her, which made her tremble slightly, and she dragged her gaze to the rest of his face in defiance. Or was it fear of the depth of passion he stirred up inside her? She took in each feature of his handsome face—the strong, square, clean-shaven jaw, his perfectly proportioned features, the sharply cut sandy hair…those full, firm lips that she wanted to feel on every inch of her body.
Dropping her gaze back to the floor, Laurel closed her eyes momentarily, dragged in a shuddering breath, and placed her safekeeping into his hands as she grasped his fingers with her own, somehow knowing, without a doubt, that this decision would have an impact that would resound indefinitely.
Connor tightened his fingers around Laurel's as she finally placed her hand into his. For a while there, it certainly hadn't been a sure thing and Connor was irritated with himself at how invested he had become in wanting to play with this saucy little sub.
The knowledge had made him contrary, caused him to push subtly at her boundaries, to take gambles that would normally be beyond his own comfort zone, like scening with a blank page. He'd felt himself getting in too deep and had forced himself to mentally back off, withdrawing his usual playful banter and carefree style in place of something far harsher and more austere. It was almost as if he were goading Laurel into turning him down, even while his subconscious willed her to agree. What the hell was that about? That wasn't him, not by any stretch of the imagination. Though Connor might appear light-hearted and liberal, he was the type to insist that all the i's were dotted and the t's crossed so that there were no misunderstandings. He did not leave anything to chance. But if his aim had been to scare Laurel away with his cavalier attitude to scening and his moody seriousness, then he had failed miserably.
And yet his pulse raced at the idea of having free reign—well, within reason—of an entire scene with this lusciously curvy submissive; to be able to ad-lib and do whatever took his fancy for the entire duration of the time they spent together.
God! He was hard just thinking about it.
And he'd been telling the truth. There were so many things he wanted to do to her, to experience with her, that he really didn't know where to start. So, the idea of just acting on a whim and seeing where the muse took him was obscenely erotic.
Now that Laurel had finally acquiesced, loosely as it may be, Connor pulled her firmly into his arms and crushed her to his body. His big arm circled around her waist like a vice. Her plump breasts flattened against his chest, skin against skin, her diamond hard nipples searing his flesh and making his mouth water to taste them. Reigning in his libido with every ounce of his control, Connor still couldn't resist grinding his aching erection into the softness of her naked body. Dipping his head, he nipped sharply at her shoulder before soothing the small hurt with his tongue. Then he finally found it within himself to push her away while he settled himself back on the playroom's only seat.
"Open the door and the blinds, pet," Connor commanded with a laziness that he had to force into both his voice and his demeanour, since, in reality, he was itching to get his hands on this beguiling new sub. It had been a damn long time since any woman, kinky, vanilla, or anything in between had held his interest quite as much as Laurel Stanton. The knowledge unsettled him as much as it excited him.
"Then come over here and place yourself over my knee."
So, he wanted her on display and he intended to spank her. Laurel could scarcely be called dainty by any stretch of the imagination. She had curves and she was damn proud of them, but she couldn't help the sidelong glance she threw at Connor's hands as she adjusted the blinds to allow the voyeurs to watch. They were huge!
At the thought of having them rain down a volley of smacks on her bare behind, she felt a frisson of something indefinable skitter down her spine, and she wasn't quite sure if it was anticipation or trepidation. Connor was in an entirely different league from any of the other Doms she had ever played with. Her stomach clenched so hard, it almost ached, and her breathing had become shallow.
Though his boyish humour often belied his sheer size, there was still an aura of barely leashed intensity surrounding Connor, and neither her body nor her mind could decide wh
ether to be excited or intimidated by it.
She wondered very briefly if she was biting off more than she could chew. Someone like Connor could eat her up and spit her out before she'd even had time to realise that she had been bitten.
That fleeting idea burst before it ever had a chance to develop. Heck, no! Why would that even cross her mind? Laurel's whole life revolved around taking chances and embracing the consequences, and she could not imagine any consequences that weren't worth embracing the gorgeous Connor Griffin in his entirety.
What's the worst that could happen? There was no way Universal was ever going to agree to the takeover, so she wasn't going to end up working with him, and, even if things went into hostile negotiations, he wasn't local, so he wouldn't be around for too long. He wasn't a member of Perversions, so there was no way things could get awkward there. Not that they ever would. The kink world was nothing if not respectful. Both Dominants and submissives took their ideology extremely seriously. Everyone knew the score, people played together on a casual basis, both of them got what they wanted out of the scene, then they moved on. Sometimes, they might reconnect on a regular basis if things went well, and if not, they chalked it up to experience. No harm, no foul, and everyone walked away happy. It was what she'd been doing for the past five years. She was damn near a veteran now.
And she was experienced enough to know, on a purely instinctive level, that scening with Connor was going to be one heck of an experience and one that no sub in her right mind would pass up. If there was a danger in that, it didn't even occur to her.
He watched her intently as she walked back over to him, confidence in her stride and mischief in her eyes. She would be a brat; Connor could already tell. The type of sub who tried to manipulate things to get her own way, but he was up for the challenge. There was nothing he liked better than a feisty sub. It made the submission he would demand so much the sweeter…and lent itself to all manner of delicious punishment scenarios. The BDSM lifestyle would be a boring place without the odd brat, far too staid and serious if all the little subs played by the rules. Where was the fun in that?