Sallinger, Elene - Reflection (The Chrysalis Series)

Reaching once again for his drawer, he pulled out a particular favourite toy. The flogger was soft, meant to cause only the barest amount of pain. At the sight of it, Bridget’s eyes went wide and flew to his.

‘Connor?’ There was no fear, only inquiry in her voice.

‘Trust me?’ he asked, his stomach tense at the possibility of her ending this.

Emerald-green eyes bored into his and he felt his heart melt when she said, ‘Yes, baby. I trust you.’

‘The word is “red” if you want me to stop, OK?’

She nodded and once again bit her lip. This time he leaned over and sucked it into his mouth before moving back.

He ran the flogger along her skin, not striking her at all. He just wanted to get her used to its presence. Goosebumps erupted along her body everywhere he touched.

‘Still OK?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ She was breathing harder, but her face was calm.

He struck her breasts and she cried out. He didn’t hit hard; the flogger was velvet. Designed to sting not harm. Streaks of red bloomed on her pale skin.

He stroked her skin, soothing it before reaching between her legs. She was soaked. He traced her clitoris; it was distended and swollen. She arched and moaned. He thrust his fingers into her pussy and she clenched around him.

He struck again. Her other breast this time. Again she cried out. He took up a rhythm, alternating between striking her breasts and fingering her pussy. Always checking to ensure she was OK and ready for more.

She went wild. Writhing and moaning, she cried out for “more” and “harder”. It was everything he’d ever thought it could be between them.

He struck again, demanding, ‘Come for me baby!’

She did.

Her inner walls rippled around his fingers as she screamed succumbing to her orgasm. She cried his name, whimpered and moaned wordlessly.

He couldn’t wait another moment. Tossing the flogger aside, he threw her legs over his shoulders and plunged into her. She was hot and wet and enveloped him fully. He pounded deep, grunting and hollering as her pussy sucked at him.

His climax rocked him as he cried her name. Holding deep, his body clenched in pained pleasure at the intensity. He’d never experienced satisfaction like it with any other woman. He never wanted to leave her body.

Releasing her wrists, he collapsed beside her and pulled her close. She whimpered and he stroked her back. He kissed her forehead, hoping beyond hope he hadn’t pushed her too far. He had to let her know how he felt. ‘Bridget, I lo –’

Hoooooooooooooooooonk!

The blare of the horn on the street outside yanked Connor from the dream. He fell out of his bed in a tangle of sheets. Sheets that were definitely going to need to be washed.

He hadn’t had a wet dream since he was in his teens. His heart raced and he leaned back against his bed and took some deep breaths to calm down. That dream had been something else. It had been so real. It was exactly what he wanted their sex life to be.

Uninhibited. Raw.

But they weren’t there yet; not even close. They were still tiptoeing around the problem and he had no real idea how to take them where they needed to be.

She had to want it. Want him that way, and so far she didn’t. At least, not enough to take the risk.

With a sinking heart, Connor threw his sheets in the wash and went to take a shower.

Connor walked to Bridget’s townhouse, all the while struggling to find some peace. His mind was full of possibilities and daydreams – erotic fantasies that lingered after that dream of his – and that wasn’t his usual way.

But then he wasn’t used to walking such a fine line with a woman either. Usually, the women he dated were just as eager as he was to jump into bed and explore the sensual aspects of sex outside of the accepted “norms”. And they were just as eager to keep it light.

He was in uncharted territory with Bridget.

Connor was doing his best to be patient. The last thing he wanted was to scare her off, but he was finding it hard to hold back. He wanted no boundaries between them. He wanted to know that she was as committed as he was.

It was early days yet, and he wasn’t the kind to fall so hard so fast. Hell, he wasn’t even willing to use the “L” word at this point, but he already cared. That he could say for sure. He definitely wanted to see if they could make anything out of the chemistry between them. He wanted more than casual with Bridget. It surprised him, but he’d never been more sure of anything in his life.

He couldn’t say the same of Bridget.

If he was a rock, she was like an ocean wave – unable to be pinned down. She flitted on the edges of their relationship; there but not fully present. It was as if there was a piece of the puzzle he just couldn’t see and if he could see it, everything would finally make sense.

Her rape was an obvious obstacle. She had internalised that event in a way that had scarred her deeply and he was walking on eggshells around that. He couldn’t just tie her up and spank her and say, ‘There now do you see?’ She had to want to go there with him. Had to give her consent and understand that anything two mature people consented to during sex was worthwhile in the communion and bond that it forged.

He’d heard all the arguments about “deviant and abnormal”, etc., yawn, freaking etc. He wasn’t a religious guy, but he honestly didn’t believe that God set people up to fail. There were entirely too many people who had these urges and who had healthy relationships exploring them for it to be wrong. Consent was the key to everything. So long as you found someone who wanted to do it too, then it was all good in his book.

Bridget hadn’t consented to what Trent had done to her. The fact that she’d experienced pleasure at any level had done a real number on her head. It was no different than children who were molested and found themselves unable to reconcile their natural sexual response with the betrayal of their innocence. They internalised and judged themselves just like Bridget was doing.

But that understanding did nothing to illuminate what he could do to get Bridget to face that fact. She had to want to understand it.

And therein lay the rub. He wasn’t at all sure she wanted to. Oftentimes, it was much safer to stay in a box even if it was an uncomfortable or painful one. That she’d given him her address was a huge step, but it wasn’t her physical safety that was at issue. She was smart enough to know it too.

No, it was her emotional safety that she had to be willing both to risk and to take responsibility for. So far, she’d done neither. She shared with him only to a point. She revealed nothing beyond the superficial. And she resisted all his efforts to take their sexual relationship beyond the traditional. The closest they’d come to “dark” was doggie style the last time they’d made love.

Connor was no psychotherapist and he damn sure wasn’t in the business of saving people who didn’t want to be saved. That was futile.

Bridget was different. She made him want more. Inspired him to reach farther, push harder than he ever had, and he wanted her to do the same. He didn’t want to be in this alone.

That was what people who cared for one another did: pushed each other to reach outside themselves and be more. Together they could be synergistic; the sum more than the individual parts.

Connor snorted. Enough existentialism. It was going to be what it was.

Period.

Bridget stared at her reflection and wondered for the millionth time if she was doing the right thing. So far, everything with Connor had been going great. He’d lived up to everything he’d promised. He wasn’t rushing her. He wasn’t pressuring her in any way. In all things, he’d been a man of his word. So much so, that she’d called him up and volunteered her address.