Dark Consequences (Club Risque Book 4)

by Poppy Flynn

  Of course, she should have known better than to think there would be any kind of reprieve. Connor continued to tease and tempt her, his tongue light and fluttering against her lower lips while he ignored her needy core. And then…yes! His pointed tongue burrowed into the centre of her sheath and he started to fuck her with his tongue. In and out in a fraudulent mockery of intercourse that wasn't nearly enough. Drat the man! He was going to be the death of her. She was, honest to God, going to die from unfulfilled sexual aggravation.

  She lunged up, as much as she could manage, in an attempt to grind her pussy into Connor's face, which only resulted in him grasping hold of her butt cheeks and harshly digging in his fingers as he sought to keep her immobile. Except, one dangerous digit crept its way to her puckered hole and stroked her there, nearly launching her off the bed with the zing that fired through her body at his stealthy touch.

  Laurel wrenched against her bonds, and Connor fought her down, slipping a blunt finger into her unprepared hole and latching onto her slippery clit with his mouth as she bucked again in response to the dragging burn. Her body was out of control. Intellectually, she knew she couldn't move, so there was no logical point in trying to wriggle, but her body was being buffeted by conflicting sensations and seemed to have developed a mind of its own.

  Connor thrust another thick digit into her sensitive asshole and started pumping them mercilessly in and out and, even as she tried to back away from his brutal touch, while his mouth, stimulating her clit, had her trying to get closer at the same time.

  It was pleasure and pain and all things in between. As he reached up with his free hand, he twisted her nipple harshly, adding yet another layer of maddening sensation into the mix. He squeezed his fingers around the sensitive tip, squeezing harder and harder and never letting up until she cried out once again. Just as the pain reached that point where it morphed into something else entirely, he took her clit between his teeth and worried the sensitive bundle of nerves, which had completely poked out from behind its protective hood, with the rigid tip of his tongue.

  Oh, God! She was going to come. Finally! His fingers pumped and pinched and his mouth nipped and laved, and Laurel felt the amalgamation of all the conflicting sensations merge into one single filament of fulfilment which was about to light her up and burst all around her like fireworks at New Year.

  And then it was all gone. Every single bit.

  "Noooo!" Laurel screamed out on a high, thin wail as she realised his intentions. "Please!" she begged, panting heavily. "Please, Connor…pleeease!"

  Her words fell on deaf ears as Connor instead brought his head up to the nipple, which until now, had been woefully ignored.

  "Oh, but I think I missed a bit," he growled wickedly as he took the bud into his mouth and worried it with his teeth.

  Laurel wanted to sob. She did sob. How could something that felt so damn good be so damn maddening? Her emotions took a backward slide away from the edge of the vortex she'd wanted to hurl herself into, but Connor's continued ministrations meant it was impossible to fall too far back. All over again, he played her body with the precision of a finely tuned instrument, knowing exactly how far to push, right down to the second she thought she could finally take no more; just before she safeworded out of his diabolical torment, he would change tactic and pleasure her in different ways. Right up until the very moment when she thought she might finally explode into that delicious climax of vibrant passion…and then Connor would change it up again.

  Laurel had realised after the first deferred climax that he was heading for the ultimate in orgasm denial, but she had certainly never imagined that he would take it as far as he did.

  Chapter 13

  Holy shitsicles! Surely, he couldn't really mean it! Laurel stared in total disbelief at Connor, her jaw slack, her mouth open, and her face a classic expression of shock until she saw him wince in Domy disapproval. It wasn't until then that she realised she had spoken out loud.

  "Good grief, Fluff! Do you have to be so crude?"

  Crude? They were standing in the middle of a BDSM sex club and he wanted to take issue with her language being crude?

  Sure, she knew a lot of Doms had a thing about cursing, but she wasn't sure anything she might have said really counted. Or maybe it did. She couldn't quite remember, and even if she had, it was utterly and completely irrelevant in light of the bomb Connor had just dropped as he carefully undid all the cuffs and chains, gently massaged all of her extremities to make sure the circulation was good, and ever so casually told her that they were done for the night before unequivocally forbidding her from seeking any relief in any which way, shape, or form, personally administered or otherwise, from the raging need to climax that was thrumming through her body—until tomorrow evening.

  Seriously? He wanted her to toddle off home for the night and refrain from touching and bringing herself to climax for an entire twenty-four hours?

  Never mind Master X; this was the most sadistic thing Laurel had ever heard. Of course, she might not be in quite her right mind at this precise moment, having been driven half out of it by Connor's continued persistence in bringing her to the very cusp of orgasm and then leaving her hanging by the barest possible thread while she slowly crawled back down. Only to have him haul her up to the brink all over again…and again and again. In her book, that was definite grounds to consider the man a sadist!

  And maybe a masochist, too—was it possible to be both—since he was standing in front of her with a raging hard on and a clear case of blue balls and yet still contemplated her entire naked form with a nonchalance that he could not possibly be feeling. Even if his eyes did keep wandering over her body, from head to foot, with an appreciative and somewhat satisfied gaze that made her wonder exactly what he was seeing. Then the curiosity was banished from her mind as another thought occurred to her.

  Laurel narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. Why, she'd bet anything, he was going to put himself out of his own blue-balled misery as soon as her back was turned.

  As if he were tuned in directly to her thought processes, Connor grinned and said, "I guess turnabout is fair play. How about if I promise the same thing?"

  How did he do that? She knew damn well she hadn't spoken her thoughts aloud that time.

  Laurel was trying to think logically and give what she hoped would be a rational reply, but, in truth, her mind was still rioting at the denial and making it hard for her to concentrate on anything except the overwhelming need she was experiencing that was begging for some form of fulfilment.

  In the end, it was petulance born of frustration that won out. Probably unwisely, since Connor's answer was to take her little outburst out on her ass.

  "But, Connor, that's not fair!" she whined. She almost cringed at her own words, aware that she sounded peevish and needy. But damn it all, she was! It wasn't enough to stop her, though, even when she should have known better. "You can't just expect me to stay like this!"

  Connor's expression went from vaguely amused to flinty, and Laurel knew that was never going to bode well for her.

  "I can, and I do, Fluff," Connor proclaimed in no uncertain terms. "Or are you telling me that you are not capable of following a Dom's specific demands and behaving like a good girl?"

  She wanted to be a good girl. She wanted to be his good girl, Laurel thought a little wildly. But she was just so highly strung.

  "I can so be a good girl," Laurel declared querulously. "You're just being mean!"

  "And you're just being a brat," Connor retorted. "But don't worry, I know just how to deal with your brattiness and how to provide you with a compelling reminder at exactly the same time."

  Laurel's eyes widened, and she took an instinctive step backward at the same time as her hands moved, entirely of their own volition, to make a vain attempt at covering her bare backside.

  "Oh no, pet," Connor promised darkly. "That really isn't going to help."

  In a flash of movement that shouldn't have been possib
le for such a big man, Connor had managed to seat himself on the bed, grasp Laurel securely around the waist and settle her across his knee.

  "Connor, no!" Laurel squealed, vainly attempting to reach back and save herself.

  "Too late for that, pet," he growled. "You should have thought about the consequences before you decided it would be a good idea to get all mouthy with me."

  He didn't hang around. Before Laurel could utter one more protest, his huge hand had delivered the first sharp spank to her upturned behind. He managed to cover both of her ample buttocks with a single swat. And it was hard!

  And he didn't stop there, either. Connor liberally peppered her butt with a plethora of solid, stinging swats. And there was nothing fun or sexy about the way they were being delivered. Laurel wriggled and bucked, but Connor held her firmly, anchoring her legs with his own and clasping her arm to the base of her spine in an iron grip that both secured her and stopped her from flailing.

  Her other arm was wrapped around his leg as she held on for dear life, hugging his calf to her cheek and burying her head as she howled out her pain and humiliation. She wasn't going to safeword; she wouldn't give Connor any reason to doubt that she could be everything he wanted her to be. Okay, so she'd gotten a bit carried away in the heat of the moment when she realised that the orgasm denial experience was going way further than she had expected, but surely, he couldn't really hold that against her. He'd worked her over good, after all—better than good. He surely knew her better than to imagine she was just going to prostrate herself to his will without the smallest peep of resistance, didn't he, when he was being such a big meany?

  The answer, of course, was currently being tattooed on her poor, defenceless tush and it wasn't until Laurel slumped and finally gave in to the sobs that had been expanding in her chest that Connor finally dialled it back. He still didn't stop. Oh, no. He just became a little more specific about it all, making sure that every single inch of her ass was thoroughly chastised and glowed a healthy red colour until he was satisfied that she was going to feel this reminder, every time she sat down, until at least this time tomorrow.

  And it worked. The whole of the following day, it was impossible for Laurel to do anything without experiencing that memento. Even when she'd lain in bed that night contemplating whether or not Connor would actually be able to tell if she'd brought herself to climax or not and availed herself of the relief he'd forbidden, her stinging butt cheeks would rub against something and she would get a tangible reminder of his wishes. But then that had been the point.

  Unfortunately, the punishment had not done anything to cool her ardour, despite its severity. Instead, it made her remember just how loving and gentle he'd been with her after he'd finished her spanking, sitting her up and washing her face then snuggling her on his knee until her sobs had subsided and she had ended up feeling safe and coddled and content and very aware that she wanted this from Connor for the rest of her life.

  Saturday evening couldn't come fast enough. Laurel almost wished it had been a workday. At least then, she would have had something to occupy her time. Instead, she kept reliving every second of their scene—how he had lifted her to the heights of ecstasy, only to snatch them away at the very last second, until she was a blubbering mess of pure need, how he'd exerted his delicious control over her so that she'd had no choice but to obey and how that had made her feel not only hot and excited but also pampered and cherished.

  Even his punishment showed that he cared how she reacted and that he was willing to take the time to correct her rather than write her off and walk away. It all just cemented her feelings for him and made her love him more. He was ready to commit to her; she just knew it. All of her machinations had proved worthwhile, after all. She had been right all along. Connor had just needed a little push in the right direction to show him exactly which direction he needed to head in, and if Laurel had ever felt the slightest little bit of guilt at the way she had manipulated things, then it disintegrated under the smugness of victory. Connor was hers, she just needed that final admittance from him, but she was pretty sure she could get that from him tonight.

  She took extra care with her pampering ritual that afternoon, getting an early start in her excitement at getting to Connor and the club.

  It was when she stripped off, so she could immerse herself into the deep, soothing bubble bath that she finally got a good look at her naked body in the wide, full-length bathroom mirror.

  "Oh. Dear. God! Laurel exclaimed, stepping closer to the mirror and peering at her reflection so she could get a better look. She twisted and turned, scrutinising the front and back, but it was the same all over. Her entire body was covered in small, red marks. Hickies! Everywhere! Not just the odd one here or there, and she couldn't deny that she had noticed a couple and been aware that he was leaving his mark…but not to this extent! She was covered—literally—from head to foot, up and down both her arms and legs, front and back, across her chest and breasts and abdomen, over her shoulders and down her back, around her neck and even along the side of her jaw. The only place they didn't show up quite so badly was on her butt, and that was only because she was still sporting a rosy hue from the spanking Connor had given her which served to tone down the evidence of the bites.

  At a complete loss, Laurel finally stepped into the bath, racking her brains to decide on an outfit. For whatever reason, she simply wasn't comfortable turning up at Club Risqué this evening flaunting the evidence of Connor's possession. Possibly it would have been different if they were going as a couple or if they had some kind of contract.

  But they didn't, and he hadn't even offered to pick her up, so they could travel there together. That meant Laurel was going to have to enter the club, alone, looking like she was second hand goods.

  It probably wasn't really fair to put it quite like that and she doubted that had been Connor's intention, but that was kind of how she felt. Yes, she'd become desperate for Connor to exert some kind of obvious, outward demonstration of possession, but this was so not what she'd had in mind.

  Laurel smacked her hand against her knee in frustration and the action sent the bath water splashing and sloshing along the surfaces. Laurel couldn't bring herself to care about the extra clean up she'd just caused herself; she was too busy trying to control the unexpected tears that were currently stinging at the back of her eyes. She couldn't even explain why she was quite so upset, apart from the obvious mess he'd made of her skin. That was something she would usually have taken in her stride just like the evidence of a caning or cuffing. This was deeper somehow, maybe because Connor never displayed the commitment to back it up.

  No, God, she was stupid! She was looking at this completely the wrong way! This was Connor's way of staking his claim. Not big on flowery words, this was how he had chosen to finally proclaim his possession to cement their relationship.

  She forced her disquiet to one side and finally sighed in relief and screwed her eyes up until she had herself mostly under control. Then she took a deep breath and climbed out of the bath which had not quite provided the pamper session she had promised herself and instead wrapped herself in a giant bath sheet and went to scrutinise her wardrobe for something suitable to wear which would downplay the sorry state of her skin. Once she had Connor alone, she'd make sure she left him with absolutely no uncertainty about how she expected him to behave toward her.

  Laurel had more than her fair share of ballsy behaviour, but strutting around the club looking like one huge bruise wasn't her idea of a good time.

  Well, at least current circumstances conspired to take the edge off her desire, she thought irritably as she slowly discounted various outfits in her wardrobe.

  It was over an hour later that Laurel was finally surveying herself critically in the mirror once again. She was dressed this time.

  So much for getting to the club early. It had taken forever—and several outfit changes—before she had found anything she was remotely comfortable with. Even now,
she certainly wouldn't describe herself as satisfied with her choices, more resigned.

  Twisting this way and that, she tried to see herself as someone else at the club would see her. She'd donned dark stockings. She was happy enough with those, since they still served as normal fet-wear. Her skirt was a little bit longer than she would normally have worn. Usually, Laurel would have revelled in flaunting a little saucy glimpse of those stocking tops to whet the appetite, but not today. Still, the PVC skirt was skin-tight and moulded her ass to perfection. Plus, there was no chance of it riding up and showing the bites that she was trying to hide on her butt and thighs, so that was all good.

  It was the top half that left a little more to be desired. Laurel had opted to leave her hair falling down around her shoulders in order to cover as much of her nape as she possibly could, which was unusual for her, and she had also elected to wear a wide, velvet choker around her neck. It was after that she had gotten stuck. There was no way she could wear a corset. Even if her hair did a little to shield her back, her collarbones and chest and the swell of her breasts were still unsightly. After trying and discarding a whole slew of different options, Laurel finally settled, somewhat grudgingly, on a bralette topped with a floaty, long sleeved chemise to minimise the obvious bruising to her skin. It was far from perfect, but Laurel decided it was the best she could do. It wasn't as if it was completely unacceptable for club wear. Lots of subs went for the sweet, ethereal look. Laurel just wasn't one of them. It simply wasn't her style, and although gauzy and transparent, the top really did look a little uncoordinated with the skirt and stockings she was wearing, but beggars couldn't be choosers, so she just had to make the best of a bad situation.

  Connor was most certainly going to be on the receiving end of her annoyance, no matter what, club protocol be damned. And no threat of another punishment was going to distract her from telling him what she thought. She was not some toy for him to use and abuse at his whim and Laurel was going to make sure he knew it. Once he accepted their relationship, she was going to let him know exactly who was the boss. She might be submissive, but she was nobody's doormat.