by Poppy Flynn
Connor rubbed his thumb across her cheek to dry it. "Maybe it's better this way," he whispered, staring earnestly into her eyes. "It would have happened, sooner or later. Everything was there in a pressurised bottle just waiting to be shaken up before it exploded. It wasn't a matter of 'if', sweetheart, only 'when'."
Laurel tried to curb the ache that skittered through her when he made no acknowledgment of the more personal aspects of her disclosure. She closed her eyes against the inevitable pain, but with it, came a surprisingly peaceful acceptance. It was time to let go.
A moment later, Connor's lips were on hers, gentle and feather light. A bare whisper of pressure that was as tentative as it was poignant. He sipped and traced the seam of her lips, but there was no greedy compulsion. No forceful, probing tongue demanding entry, just a gossamer touch and a tender deliberation. It was different to anything that had ever gone before, and Laurel gave herself into the moment, since it might be the last one she got.
Connor surged to his feet, taking Laurel with him in one smooth move. She clasped her legs around his waist, but Connor held her firm.
In a moment of utter clarity, he knew that right here, right now, he was going to make love to her. No spanking, no bondage, no toys. Just the two of them and all of their most basic needs and emotions.
Connor was unusually gentle as he lay her on the bed. It was unexpected from the big man. His whole, larger than life character, as well as his massive build, simply screamed domination and power, which seemed completely at odds with the tenderness and benevolence that he treated her to as he slowly stripped off her clothes, placing feather light kisses on each new piece of skin he uncovered. No nips, no bites, no bonds, no rush, the most she got was the lightest brush of his tongue, and even then, she might have been mistaken. It was almost surreal, and Laurel wasn't sure she could remember the last time she had been treated with such care and sensitivity.
His big hands softly stroked over every inch of her body, igniting her nerve endings in an entirely different way than she was used to. Of course, it had been a long time since she'd been in this position. Maybe forever. Laurel had never really done sweet and sensitive when it had come to sex. Even her first experience had been with a moody biker who hadn't had much time for gentleness or inexperience. Not that she regretted it at all. It had been wild and thrilling, and it had been her entrance into the world of kink, which she had embraced wholeheartedly.
But this was something altogether different, and the tenderness of it had unexpected tears prickling behind her eyelids, though she couldn't, for the life of her, work out why.
Connor nuzzled at her neck and behind her ear, the novel feelings sending shivers down her spine. His tongue stroked at that sensitive indent at the base of her throat, and somehow, as he treasured and adored her, Laurel felt more submissive than ever. But not in her usual bratty fashion.
She felt cherished and valued in a way that made her all yielding and compliant. It was as if she were slowly melting inside under the liquefying softness of his touch.
He reached her breast and suckled at her like an infant, the long, slow pulls arrowing down through her abdomen and contracting her sex so that she surged and undulated beneath his delicious weight.
After treating the other breast to the same treatment, he dipped his head lower, tracing his tongue around the soft skin of her belly button and dipping inside, migrating off to the side and nuzzling the sensitive area to the right of her mons before brushing his lips across that very swell of recently denuded skin. His clasp on her thighs was easy and undemanding as he pushed them apart and blew a warm breath across her clit, making her shudder before his mouth latched on to the tiny bundle and caressed it with his tongue with long, languid strokes. The slow build up was driving Laurel nuts, but at the same time, she never wanted it to end. Everything was just so sensual and beguiling, stealing her breath with its tenderness. But despite his deliberately lazy ministrations, it didn't take long for her to climb almost to the pinnacle of distraction. It had been almost nine months since she'd last had intercourse—with Connor, before things had all gone to shit.
She'd never indulged with Master X during the time she'd served as his slave. The dynamic there had had a completely different focus, and while Connor had made a point of making sure she orgasmed every night after her evening spanking, he had been slowly weaning her away from those, too.
She understood that he was trying to encourage her to be independent and less reliant on the assistance he had been providing. That was all in her own interest. And, in truth, those interludes had been more clinical, somehow, a little distant and removed in her position over his knee while he remained fully dressed and detached. Right now, Laurel was feeling the lack of personal, physical contact, over the past months, quite relentlessly, and her soul ached for this intimacy to Connor. She sifted her fingers through the short strands of his hair and swept her hands across his shoulders and biceps. It was somehow liberating to have free rein to touch and feel where she was usually restrained or forbidden, and she revelled in the freedom, delighting in the feel of his firm muscles and smooth skin beneath her questing fingers.
Before she reached the peak of her climax, Connor drew himself away. A bubble of breathy laughter was wrenched from her lips. Looked like some things never changed, after all. But before she could put the words together to object, he was over her again, his thick cock nudging deliciously at her pussy lips as he eased his way into her tight sheath. There was still no rushing him, even though she arched in silent entreaty and the cords strained at his neck as he gritted his teeth and threw his head back at the torment of his own restraint.
And then his hands were in her hair, gentle and caressing, as he urged her to look at him while he sank, inch by slow inch, into the welcoming clutch of her body. Laurel stared back at Connor, her eyes glued to his, as if tethered by some invisible link.
In those moments, everything around them faded away. There was just the two of them and the tenderness of the moment and his body sinking slowly into hers. Everything that had gone before was just a distant memory, banished from this little bubble of fantasy, which surrounded them.
His lips found hers as he sank to the hilt, her legs instinctively wrapped around his calves, but Connor stilled. When he was seated fully inside her body, he sipped at her lips until a small moan was wrenched from her throat. And, even when he shifted, his movements were measured and unhurried, building, slowly and surely, as pleasure radiated throughout every molecule of her being.
He threaded his fingers through hers and watched the rapture build on her face as she whispered incoherent encouragement until, finally, she had made that long, slow climb to the summit, and just the poignant touch of his lips to hers had her tumbling over the edge.
Connor was with her every step of the way, his climax hitting within seconds of her own, and still, he rode her through it, wringing out every drop of pleasure and fulfilment that was within his power to give, until the two of them lay sated, and silent tears streamed down Laurel's temples at the emotion and the beauty they had created.
Chapter 19
The time had come. Laurel had been trying to deny it to herself, but with every day that passed, she knew she couldn't put it off any longer. Even as it saddened her, she knew it was a necessary part of her journey back to complete wellbeing.
Micah had extrapolated a full evaluation and had finally agreed her return to a limited schedule of club sub duties at Club Risqué. At the moment, for mutual purposes, they only included bar duty, dungeon monitor rotation, and helping out during training sessions. Micah might have approved her for more, but Laurel had no interest in scening at the moment, either with clients or for herself. Not if it wasn't with Connor, anyway, and she was about to send him away, so the time for that had passed.
She had packed his bags, herself. Lovingly folding—and okay, she admitted it, sniffing—each item she placed in his suitcase, burying her face in the folds as she struggled to detect that last l
ittle trace of his distinctive essence beneath the flowery fragrance of the laundry detergent. But trying to hold onto it was as futile as trying to tie down the man, himself. Some things just weren't meant to be.
Finally, she made his favourite meal, pottering around her little kitchen while she waited for him to come home from work. She knew he was needed back at head office. She had intercepted several e-mails that she suspected he had tried to hide because of his promise to be there and support her. But she was strong enough now. Laurel knew it, and so did Micah. Maybe Connor did, in his own way; he was just being stubborn in his need to make good in circumstances, which he felt were his responsibility. But even he must know that this couldn't go on indefinitely, and as much as Laurel wanted to keep him, she knew in her heart that the time had come to set him free. If you love someone, set them free. Wasn't that how the old saying went?
Connor let himself into Laurel's little apartment and immediately tried to put his finger on what it was that was different. It was nothing tangible, just a feeling that things were not quite as they should be. Or maybe he was just getting a touch fanciful in his old age. Everything around him looked the same. Laurel was smiling sweetly at him as she offered to get him a drink before dinner, which was obviously pretty much ready to serve. And for some reason, Connor had a disturbing premonition that he was going to need that drink.
Easing himself down onto one of the stools at her breakfast bar, Connor eyed the table settings that she had put out while Laurel busied herself getting him a sparse finger of scotch on the rocks.
He sipped at it, his mind racing at a hundred miles an hour as he tried to process what it was that had him suddenly on edge.
Dinner was pleasant; Laurel had made all his favourites. Should that be making him suspicious? The conversation was banal but congenial, and still, Connor couldn't shake the feeling that they were skirting around an issue that he wasn't even aware of. It made him unaccountably nervous.
Finally, Laurel cleared away the dishes, and a pall of expectation seemed to settle throughout the room between them, which almost had Connor holding his breath and waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She said nothing as she fixed him another small drink and made her way into the living room, clearly expecting him to follow. Some perverted part of him wanted to do something completely different, so he wouldn't have to face whatever foreboding it was that was trying to suck all of the air out of the room.
Connor sighed and followed her, anyway. Jesus, what was wrong with him? It wasn't part of his nature to be this fanciful and full of antipathy. He usually just met everything head on, even if the result meant he was unusually aggressive as he had been during those weeks when he and Laurel had reached tipping point. He wasn't one to shirk away from things that were difficult, but right now, his overwhelming instinct was to run away and bury his head in the sand, so he didn't have to hear whatever it was that Laurel was clearly building up to say.
A shiver of dread skittered through his body, and Connor had to give himself a mental slap and tell himself to man the hell up. After all, what could really be so bad? Thirty minutes later, he would ask himself that question again, and this time, he'd know the answer.
Turning her body to face him as they settled themselves down on the couch, Laurel took Connor's hand in her own and studied their entwined fingers for a moment. Involuntarily, Connor found himself tightening his hand around her own as if he needed to hold on.
"Connor, I can't put into words how grateful I am that you bothered to take the time to try and sort me out…"
Connor settled back in the seat, pulling her with him slightly and wondering where this was headed.
"…because it's worked. Against the odds—or at least what I thought were the odds. I had thought I would be like that forever, that I was in an endless tunnel with no end in sight and just darkness and melancholy all around me. I had sunk so low, I didn't think it would ever change, not unless I just put an end to things myself…" She trailed off, and Connor sucked in a breath as he instinctively knew she was alluding to ending her life. Even in his own blackest moments, that had never been a consideration for him, so to hear her speak that way shocked him to the core, despite the fact that Micah had hinted at the same. Somehow hearing the reality from her own lips put everything into a different kind of perspective.
He pulled her into his side, needing to feel her solid and real while his mind shuddered away from the thought of a world without her.
"It was the least I could do," Connor responded inadequately. The statement sounded so inane, far from a true reflection of how he really felt, but there didn't seem to be a way of putting those feelings into a more meaningful expression, so he just said, "I was to blame, after all, for the way things turned out." He winced at the meagre inadequacy of the words even as he said them. Is this what everything between them had boiled down to? Gratitude and responsibility?
"You saved my life, Connor. You and Master X." Connor balked at the mention of the sadist, the thought of Laurel contracted as a slave to the other Dom vexing him just as much as her sentiment.
"I don't believe you wouldn't have made it through to the other side, Laurel. You always had a whole load of support, even if you couldn't see it. Micah wouldn't have allowed the situation to go on indefinitely."
"No." Laurel smiled ruefully. "In hindsight, you're probably right. But I fought Micah's intervention a lot of the time. He tried to do more, but to be honest, I was happy wallowing in my own misery, and what he could do was limited without my consent. I'm sure he was relieved when you came and took control of the situation and pushed it into something more proactive."
"Don't underestimate yourself, Laurel. While what you say about Micah's intervention is true, he would also have understood, better than anyone, that you had to be willing to engage with the possibility of rehabilitation in order for it to be successful."
Laurel was quiet for a while, contemplative, and Connor hugged her closer, needing her warmth to counteract the ice he could feel slowly creeping through his veins as his subconscious fear of whatever she was going to say, in conclusion, drew ever closer, like a tide that he was powerless to stop.
Finally, Laurel sighed and looked up at him, cupping his evening-stubbled jaw in her warm hand.
"Well, let's agree that it was fortuitous, whatever the circumstances," she said earnestly, looking him directly in the eye. Was she searching for something there, he wondered? Did she find it?
Heaving out a resigned breath, Laurel dropped her hand and leaned back again. "It's time for you to go home, Connor."
Her words were like gunshots in the quiet room, and Connor felt the direct hit of her aim almost as if the bullets were real. He opened his mouth to argue, but Laurel hushed him with a finger on his lips.
"You know I'm right, Connor. I'm well enough to manage on my own now, and I know you're needed back at head office."
Connor closed his eyes. He certainly couldn't deny her reasoning. It was true that he had been stalling head office for over a week now, in their increasing insistence for him to go back to the south coast, and he knew he wasn't going to be able to fob them off indefinitely.
He also couldn't deny that Laurel was mostly recovered. That would only undermine the effort that both of them had put into her rehabilitation. It still didn't mean he was any happier with the idea nonetheless, although, for the life of him, Connor couldn't work out the reason for his reticence. He should be glad that Laurel was recovered and that his obligation was fulfilled. And truthfully, he was pleased and relieved at the positive outcome. So why was he so reluctant to end their time together?
"Besides," Laurel stated with a certain finality. "I need to do this now. This is the final step for me. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet and stop being dependant on anyone else for my own wellbeing."
Connor knew she was right, but it didn't stop an overwhelming feeling of loss from seeping through his veins.
That had been six
weeks ago. Connor stood in front of the floor to ceiling windows in his plush, steel and glass, high-rise office building, looking at the stunning vista of the cityscape sprawled out below him, but the only thing he saw was Laurel's face.
God, he missed her. Sometimes, he almost felt as if he'd had one of his limbs amputated, he felt the loss so keenly.
In his weaker moments, Connor wondered if the same was true of Laurel. He made a point of keeping up with her progress through both Desi and Micah, but both of them said she was doing well and was almost back to her old self. Was that really true? Or was Laurel feeling the bite of separation as fiercely as he was?
Regardless, Connor had deliberately kept his distance. If nothing else, he understood the importance of allowing Laurel to heal fully and for her to be certain that she could stand on her own two feet. It was a necessary part of her journey, despite his own remorse at not being able to share it with her, to watch over her and ensure that she was doing all right. And to be there if she ever needed somebody to lean on.
That wasn't to say that he hadn't been in touch; he messaged her occasionally, a detour from their previous relationship where he had kept deliberately silent during the times he was away from her. He understood now, how that had simply been a defence mechanism as he tried to prove to himself that she didn't mean as much to him as he feared.
He didn't fear it now. Distance was a great facilitator, and Connor had come to accept many of the things that he had been guilty of hiding from himself. The biggest of those being that he was in love with Laurel. The idea didn't scare him anymore, which, he supposed, meant that he, too, was rehabilitated. Of course, the realisation had come too late, and now they were both heading down different paths instead of walking along together side by side.
Laurel smiled at the personal message from Connor that had been tagged onto the attached file he had sent for her to work on. She had recently been promoted from Desi's personal assistant to Junior Financial Officer in her own right. It was a big coup and a direct and pleasant acknowledgement of the work she had put in. Laurel couldn't help but be touched, since she knew her recent mental instability could easily have been used against her. It warmed her to know that she had not only the support but, also, the belief of her peers.