Reflection (The Chrysalis Series)

by Sallinger, Elene

  ‘Watch!’ he demanded and nipped her shoulder.

  She gasped and did as ordered. She watched as he cupped and massaged her breasts. She absorbed the sight of him pinching and tugging her nipples even as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm her. She took in the image of the two of them together, building in a crescendo of ecstasy as her sex swelled and pulsed with the need to be filled.

  She pushed back against him, pressing her ass into his groin.

  ‘Tell me what you want, sweetheart,’ he demanded as he ripped her thong from her and kissed each cheek. Kneeling behind her, he tugged on one ankle and spread her legs.

  Rising up behind her, he gripped her hips and growled, ‘Look at you. You’re so fucking gorgeous. You look like a woman waiting to be good and thoroughly fucked, Bridget. Your pretty breasts with your nipples so hard –’ he plucked them as he spoke ‘– and your pussy, swollen and dripping, just waiting for me to fuck you.’

  She flushed with embarrassment even as she felt her clitoris pulse with each graphic word he uttered. He groaned as she pushed against him again. Moving quickly, he snatched up his pants and grabbed a condom out of his wallet. After efficiently rolling it on, he repositioned himself behind her. His cock was rubbing along her slit and she wanted more, but she didn’t think she could say the words.

  Leaning into her, he whispered, ‘Say it, Bridget. Say the words.’

  ‘I want you, Connor.’ She pushed against him again.

  ‘Where, baby? Tell me where.’ He stroked her slit with his shaft, parting the slick folds and teasing her with the lightest of pressure.

  ‘In me, Connor. Please.’ She all but growled at him; the tension in her belly was growing. Her skin felt tight and a light sheen of perspiration broke out along her skin.

  ‘Tell me what I want to hear, Bridget. Tell me to fuck your sweet pussy. I want you to say it. Let your inhibitions go, baby.’ His voice was rough, guttural, and she quivered at the urgency she heard in it.

  She mewled in frustration. She wanted him inside her in a way she’d never experienced with any man. Especially since her rape. She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, but he stopped her.

  ‘Uh-uh.’ He pressed forward, the tip of his cock teasing her entrance. ‘Look at me and give me the words. You have to own this, Bridget. Trust me.’

  Understanding broke over her in that moment. He was right. She did have to own this act, this moment, these words. It was her body, it was her choice. She had to do more than hint and imply.

  Meeting those beloved grey eyes in the mirror, she said, ‘Fuck me, Connor. Fuck my pussy. Now.’

  He pulled back and gently, oh-so-gently, he began to slide into her. Rocking in short, even strokes until finally he was fully seated. He gave her time to adjust to the light burn and stretch of him inside her.

  She watched him in the mirror. The flex of his hips and the play of his stomach muscles was fascinating and seeing him moving inside her while feeling him pulse and ripple along her vaginal walls was almost surreal. She needed more though. She needed him to move. To possess her. To bring her to the completion she could feel hovering just outside her reach.

  As if reading her mind, he began to move. His hands gripped her hips and he set up a slow, easy rhythm, pulling out almost completely and plunging back in.

  Bridget stopped trying to catalogue her feelings and simply went where they took her, demanding, ‘Harder. I won’t break!’

  He gave her no resistance and fucked her harder, deeper. Cupping her breasts and tweaking her nipples until her own moans verged on screams. Every time she closed her eyes, he said, ‘Watch!’

  She marvelled at the sight they made. Her lips were swollen, as were her breasts. Her nipples were hard and berry-red from his play. They jutted proudly from her body even as her full breasts swung and jiggled with each impalement of Connor’s cock.

  Her hair tumbled down around her face and her eyes were sleepy with sex and lust. She looked like a woman in the throes of passion. Connor had the intent look of a man on a mission. His face was hard with lust and pleasure. He towered over her, making her feel both dominated and yet safer than she’d ever felt. Together they looked sexy and uninhibited.

  As the image of them joined in passion seared itself onto her brain, he reached down and stroked her swollen clitoris, sending her into an orgasm the likes of which she’d never experienced. Pleasure pounded through her veins, burning through her, causing her to scream in agonised ecstasy. She felt Connor pound into her before finally holding deep, spilling himself inside her.

  Her last thought before losing herself completely to the vortex of ecstasy he’d wrought upon her was that, just maybe, she was no longer broken.

  Chapter Twenty

  Bridget woke to the tantalizing aromas of breakfast and felt her heart squeeze. She couldn’t remember any of her former boyfriends cooking for her.

  Boyfriend! That thought drove the last vestiges of sleep right out of her mind. Is that how she was thinking of Connor now? It was definitely further along than she’d been intending so early in their association, but after last night, she couldn’t deny her feelings went deeper than mere physical chemistry.

  She rolled onto her back and stretched languidly. Her body still tingled and was luxuriously sore in all the right places. Connor had been perfect.

  They had been perfect.

  It had been so intense and rough, but she’d never crossed the line. She giggled in excitement at the realisation that she could actually have it all. A man with whom she could let down her guard enough to experience more than physical copulation and who didn’t ask for more than she was willing to give.

  But what was she giving him? She hadn’t even told him about Whittier.

  Doubt threatened to crush her glow and she shoved it away. She may have deepening feelings for Connor, but they’d made no promises or commitments to each other. She was entitled to her privacy.

  Flipping onto her side, Bridget snuggled into the covers and inhaled Connor’s scent from the sheets. Just the smell of him excited her. So much of this was new to her. Or at the very least, if it had been like this with Doug, she didn’t remember.

  Connor was fast becoming a human aphrodisiac. Seeing him, touching him, smelling him all made her want to take him straight to bed. Yes, she still slipped perilously close to the edge with him as well. He made her feel so secure. As if everything was acceptable, and she had to catch herself in those moments. It just wasn’t worth the risk in her opinion.

  Especially not now, when last night had proven they could have fantastic sex without delving into any of the areas that she was ashamed of.

  She bit her lip and smiled as she remembered his reaction to Victor’ creation. He’d definitely loved it, just as Claire had predicted. And if she remembered correctly, there was a sweet little purple teddy with matching panties hanging in her closet.

  Connor would love that.

  With a grin, she scrambled out of bed and went to dress for her man.

  Connor grimaced as he scraped the burnt pancake off the griddle and into the trash. His mind wasn’t where it should be. Rather than concentrating on cooking breakfast, his thoughts strayed back to last night.

  He had no right to be frustrated. No right to be dissatisfied. But, damn it, her walls were still firmly in place. Sure, she was making an effort, but it was like getting a drop of water when you really needed a full cup. Rather than slaking your thirst, that drop only made you crave more.

  His thirst had grown exponentially after last night.

  They’d been right there. He could feel her desire for more. To go further. Deeper. Then, he’d felt her shut it down. He’d wanted to scream his frustration last night, but how fair would that have been when she’d already given more than she had before?

  Every time they were together, it was like making love to her through a barrier of shrink wrap. He could feel her, see her, but not truly connect with her. It frustrated him beyond belief, especially because i
t was good between them. Real good. He should be content. But he wanted more. He wanted all of her. Not the neatly packaged Bridget she was giving him. He wanted her wild, down and dirty, and screaming his name as she demanded even more.

  He took a deep, shuddering breath and willed himself to relax. It was too soon for that, but he was finding it harder and harder to refrain both from acting and from confronting her on it.

  When he’d woken in bed next to her, he’d had an overwhelming need to fuck her blind. To do all the things he’d dreamed and fantasised about. His hands had literally itched to spank the creamy skin of her ass. He’d imagined putting clamps on her nipples and making her come while he tugged on them.

  When temptation had morphed into desire, he’d gotten out of bed, determined to cook breakfast on the erroneous notion that the mundanity of the chore would dampen his lust while also serving as a nice surprise for Bridget. And it would have worked if he could have kept his mind off his fantasies.

  They could be so good together if she would just –

  Ah hell, Connor. You need to slow your roll, he told himself. You two are still getting to know each other. Relax.

  With a deep sigh, he rolled his head on his neck to dispel the tension growing there and focused on cooking. Pancakes were his personal favourite and his gran’s secret ingredient never failed to please.

  A competent cook, Connor wrangled breakfast in no time and had just finished pouring coffee and assembling it all on a tray when Bridget entered the kitchen.

  ‘Hey, back to bed,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘There’s a reason it’s called breakfast in b –’

  He lost all thought as he turned and took in the sight of her. Quickly, lest he drop the tray, he thrust it back on the counter top.

  Like last night, gone was the ugly cotton. Frankly, he hoped she’d burned it all. She wore a small, silk teddy in a purple so deep it could have been black. The neckline plunged, displaying a mouthwatering amount of cleavage. A wide satin ribbon wrapped around her ribs and tied tantalizingly between her breasts. Some sort of gauzy fabric in the same deep purple draped around her midriff and showed off her taut belly. Matching panties finished off the ensemble.

  He was thunderstruck. His cock had no such issues, however, and rose to the occasion with no problems.

  ‘Mornin’, sugar.’ She smiled wickedly. ‘You’re up early.’ She giggled.

  He had no idea if she was referring to him or his dick and he didn’t care. She was standing there in invitation looking sexy as hell and all for him.

  ‘It is now,’ he growled as he stalked her. She made as if to run, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the table where he lifted her onto it.

  Despite his raging desire to push her limits, he reached deep for self-control and gently untied the bow. As the silk fell away, he licked and sucked on her nipples until she was moaning and arching into his mouth. The little sighs she made were all the encouragement he needed. He removed her panties and delved between her sensitive thighs, feasting on her.

  Breakfast, and his darker fantasies, were forgotten as they lost themselves in the pure pleasure of one another.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Skyler didn’t know how much longer she could go on this way. She’d promised the professor she would not do anything rash, but she felt stained. Nothing she did removed the sense of tarnish crawling across her spirit.

  It numbed her.

  She peered through the grey light of dawn at Dale. He looked so innocent in sleep. The optical illusion was disorienting. To see him now, sprawled across his bed, one arm thrown carelessly over his head, snoring softly, you’d never suspect the evil depravity lurking behind those pale blue eyes. His brown sugar hair was tousled and he had a slight smile. He was stunning.

  She’d gladly kill him as he lay there.

  It wouldn’t be hard. Snob that he was, all of his expensive kitchen knives were razor-sharp. She could easily grab that large one he was always using to chop vegetables.

  It would slide easily between his ribs. She’d read that it only took two-and-a-half inches of blade to kill someone. That would more than do the job.

  Or maybe just pick up that heavy iron lamp on the table next to the bed and beat him over the head with it. She bet it would be very satisfying to hear the crunch of that despicable brain crushing under its weight.

  She wished she had a gun. She’d enjoy watching him cower as she pointed it at him. She wanted him to understand the nature of being helpless. Powerless. No longer in control of your fate. She wanted to see fear in his eyes and taste it on her tongue before she ended his evil once and for all.

  Oh yes, Skyler understood the nature of murder now. It was about control; taking it back in a way that was permanent and undeniable. Killing Dale would ensure he never harmed her or anyone else again.

  It would be messy, though. Lots of blood. Too much evidence. Her fingerprints were everywhere. She’d be caught. Her baby would be taken from her.

  He wasn’t worth that. She sighed as the cloying feeling of desolation settled in her chest. Knowing she wouldn’t act didn’t stop her from fantasising. It was the only thing getting her through the nights with him.

  He continued to use her. Continued to hold her scholarship over her head. She had told him she’d gotten the abortion but that had only bought her two weeks to “heal”. He hadn’t wanted to touch her when she’d said she was bleeding.

  Fortunately, she wasn’t showing yet. But she only had about a month before she would be and she didn’t trust what he would do to her when he found out.

  The professor had promised they’d expose him before then, but so far Skyler didn’t see a plan coming together and she didn’t know if she could continue to play this role with him.

  She cringed at his touch. Something he seemed to enjoy. The bastard. He’d grown rougher too and she feared for the baby if he truly hurt her. Last night had been particularly bad. She was still sore and it was painful to sit.

  Oh, to turn the tables on him and give him a taste of his own medicine. She smiled at the thought.

  ‘What are you doing over there?’ Dale’s voice, rough with sleep, startled her out of her fantasies.

  ‘Just thinking,’ she said, gripping the arms of the easy chair she sat in as her belly cramped and twisted.

  ‘About what?’ He sat up and turned on the light, blinding her momentarily.

  Squinting into the light, she told him, ‘You.’ She figured honesty was easier than lying.

  He grunted and threw back the covers before walking naked into the bathroom. She stayed where she was and contemplated the feasibility of making a run for it as the sounds of the toilet flushing and water running filtered out of the bathroom.

  She wanted to run. To throw on her clothes and get the hell out of there, but she knew better.

  He stepped back into the room, his dick already semi-hard. A crawling sensation erupted over her skin but she suppressed a shudder.

  She bit her lip to fight the tears welling behind her eyes. She couldn’t keep doing this.

  ‘Come here, Skyler.’ Dale patted the bed before gripping his dick and squeezing. ‘Put that smart little mouth of yours to use.’

  Nausea rolled over her, but she fought it. Kneeling between his legs, she took his dick in her mouth, being careful to remember everything he’d taught her.

  Only the fantasy of his downfall sustained her though this now familiar violation.

  ‘Professor, I’m going to lose it if we don’t figure out something soon.’

  Bridget heard the desperation in Skyler’s voice and her stomach clenched. She’d been wracking her brain for a solution, but she remained stumped.

  The end of the semester was next week and her tenure review would come the following week. They needed a plan. Now.

  ‘What about tape? Do you think you could get him on tape?’ She was spit-balling here but she needed to keep Skyler engaged.

  Skyler snorted.

  ‘I
’m no longer allowed to visit his office. He won’t “risk a scene”.’ Bridget could hear the air quotes as Skyler’s tone changed. She sighed and continued in a strained voice. ‘And, frankly, he has me naked within minutes when I get to his house. He takes my purse. I don’t see how I could manage that.’

  Bridget had to forcibly relax her grip on her phone. The rage that flooded her at the cruelty Whittier was committing sickened her.

  ‘Skyler.’ She plunged forward, not really thinking, just knowing she had to get her away from the man. ‘You’re going to come and stay with me. I’ll get your work and arrange with your other professors to proctor your finals, but you’re not spending one more moment where he can get to you.’

  She paused, waiting for a response, but all she heard were sobs.

  ‘Skyler?’

  More weeping.

  ‘Sugar, talk to me.’ Tears welled in her own eyes.

  Skyler just continued to sob for several minutes, eventually subsiding into sniffles.

  ‘Thank you, Professor.’ She practically wailed the words.

  ‘Skyler, I promise you we’ll solve this.’ Bridget forced herself to relax and project confidence despite the doubt twisting her gut.

  ‘I know, Professor.’ She didn’t sound confident.

  ‘Listen, pack your clothes and whatever you need. OK?’ Bridget checked her watch. ‘What time do you think you’ll be ready?’

  They quickly agreed on a time to meet and Bridget gave her the address.

  Ending the call, she took several deep breaths and considered praying.

  ‘What was that about?’

  Connor’s voice rang out in the stillness of his loft, startling her so that she dropped her phone.

  She slid to her knees as much to avoid looking at him as to get the phone.

  ‘One of my students is being harassed.’ She decided that the truth, even if partial, was better than lying. ‘I’m having her stay with me for a while.’

  She wasn’t telling him everything. He could feel it in his gut. See it in the way that she wouldn’t truly meet his eyes.