by Poppy Flynn
It was well past seven that evening when they finally wrapped things up, and then only because Connor's stomach was rumbling so loudly that Laurel couldn't supress a giggle.
"Come on, let's go and grab something to eat. I know a fab little family run Italian place that you'll love. The food is nothing fancy, but it's all homemade and absolutely delicious. We can finish this off tomorrow."
Connor wanted to argue. Despite being absolutely starving, all he really wanted to do was go back to his hotel, grab a shower while he waited for room service, and relax with some good music and a glass of bourbon.
But then his belly grumbled loudly again and there was no way he could deflect without appearing really rude. He had to eat, after all, even if he was feeling slightly unnerved by the way things with Laurel seemed to have taken on a somewhat more intense direction than he was comfortable with. They were thrown together more and more, and it abraded his feeling of control. It didn't help that he was going to have to work very much more closely with her than he was used to. Normally, his PA was a far more distant figure, getting on with the work he doled out, finding the information he needed, but very much within her own space, giving him his. The way things were set up with Laurel meant he was going to be working very closely—almost side by side—with her, since she had more information and a heck of a lot more working knowledge on most of their current projects than he did. It made him chafe slightly, like he wanted to back away but wasn't really able to, and that had alarms bells ringing in his head which didn't help his overall disposition. Still, he knew when he was out manoeuvred, and he accepted it with as much grace as he could muster.
The restaurant really was as good as Laurel had implied. It was old school, hearty fare. Just the sort of thing he liked, homemade and traditional. The kind of place he appreciated for serving really fabulous food, without all the frills and the pomp and ceremony that stopped him from being able to relax and left him feeling that he still needed to go out and get a nice juicy burger afterwards because all he'd been served was an artistic swipe of puree and a couple of sprigs of ornamental greenery with a mouthful of overly pretentious meat.
They chatted about anything and nothing in between bites—recent films each of them had liked, music preferences, the changes that had been made at Club Risqué. It was easy and surprisingly relaxing, but Connor's peace came to an end when he drove Laurel home and realised that he'd driven himself into a corner with no easy way out.
Against his better judgment, Laurel had talked Connor into driving them both to the restaurant and leaving her car back at the office. Her reasoning had been logical, but he had still planned to take her back to get it.
Of course, over the course of such a pleasant evening, that had completely slipped his mind and now they were back at her apartment and her car was not. The upshot was that he felt annoyed and coerced, even though he had no one to blame but himself. And perversely, that just annoyed him all the more.
It would be almost impossible to avoid staying the night, without seeming churlish, now that she was without her car for the morning commute. He barely had any kind of excuse, since he'd stayed and enjoyed her hospitality so many times before. He wondered if Laurel would get the message when she realised his company sucked because of the mood he was now in or maybe when she realised that there was not going to be any sex involved tonight. No how, no way; he needed to pull things back somehow and withholding that intimacy seemed like the best way to do it. Perhaps he should introduce her to some of the other Doms at Club Risqué. Maybe organise some shared scenes. They weren't on her limits and maybe that would give her something—someone—else to focus on.
It wasn't that he was ungrateful for everything Laurel was doing; he was simply uncomfortable, and he really wanted her to back off a little bit but didn't know how to instigate that without being rude.
Connor sighed; as much as he was trying not to be a complete dick, he couldn't shake off the overwhelming feeling that he was being manipulated time after time.
And yet Laurel had a real knack of making him feel like he was making something out of nothing if he ever called her on it, coming up with excuses and justification that made everything appear totally reasonable, so it seemed like he was the one who was over reacting. Maybe it was simply paranoia on his part, but he couldn't help the way he felt. And the way he felt really wasn't good.
Of course, if Laurel felt at all upset about any of Connor's behaviour, then she sure as hell wasn't letting it show.
They climbed into bed that night, and instead of trying anything, she just cuddled up next to him and settled her head on his wide shoulder.
Connor, still in his boxers, lay stoically with his hands behind his head, refusing to encourage any further intimacy and determined not to touch her in case he broke his resolve.
Desire wasn't the issue here. There had never been any question of that. Laurel called to him on a level unlike any other woman had ever done before, no matter how his conscious mind wanted to relegate her as 'unsuitable', his body definitely had different ideas.
The issue was his own warped psyche—the damage that had been done so very long ago and which had insidiously developed into an ongoing neurosis.
He knew it, logically. He just didn't know how to change it. It wasn't as if he hadn't tried. He'd had several years of therapy as soon as he'd been old enough to access it as an adult. Maybe there had just been too long an interval and the damage had already been done.
Certainly, his therapist's insistence that Connor had turned to BDSM as a way to stay in control of his sexual encounters was probably justified. He accepted that, although he firmly believed that a large part was also just his innate alpha makeup, regardless of the trauma he had faced as a young teen. Connor was pretty sure he would always have headed down that particular kink road, just perhaps not with quite the same justification or need.
The following morning, Connor awoke with a startled jolt, followed by a debilitating shockwave of dread. The sound that ripped from his throat was the high, keening noise of a wounded animal, and in an entirely knee-jerk reaction, Connor jack-knifed up from the bed, his knee smacking Laurel solidly on her chin as he lurched, almost drunkenly, across the room in his sleep induced panic, swaying as he fought to keep his feet under him, his arms still thrashing away at the unseen threat while his fogged brain only barely acknowledged the sharp cry of pain torn from Laurel's lips as she lost her balance and fell onto the floor in a jumbled tangle of bed sheets.
He heard her voice as if from a distance as she freed herself belligerently. "What the hell, Connor?"
A quick glance, after which he had to scrunch his eyes closed, blink, and refocus, showed her sitting in an undignified heap, her mop of messy bed hair flung across her face as she rubbed at the reddened patch on her chin while she glowered up at him indignantly.
"I'm s-sorry!" Connor stuttered, but it just came out as a husky wheeze, even though his logical, lucid mind was slowly making sense of the facts; this was just Laurel, in the bedroom of her own home, and he had hurt her in his panic, much to his own genuine horror.
Still, he couldn't cope with the terrifying feelings the lack of control brought up or the nausea that plagued him. Even though his subconscious was screaming at him that he was safe, that he needed to check on the woman whose bed he'd shared, all he could think of was getting away.
His first instinct was to run for the door and get out of the building. Only his iron fisted control over his adrenaline fuelled flight response stopped him from doing so. Little slivers of logic that prickled his muddled brain, telling him he wasn't dressed, telling him that he wasn't in a fit enough state to drive, telling him he needed to calm down, telling him he needed to not freak out, telling him he really needed to make sure Laurel was okay.
But not yet. Nausea churned in his stomach once again and his gag reflex automatically kicked in. It spurred him enough to make a dive for the bathroom, away from the startled scrutiny of those troubled
blue eyes that were starting to frown and speculate.
Connor swallowed convulsively. "Sit still a moment," he managed to rasp out. "I'll be back in just a…" His words trailed off as his legs finally found momentum and he dived into the blessed sanctuary of the bathroom.
Laurel remained right where she'd fallen onto the floor and watched Connor run out of the bedroom, like the hounds of hell were right on his tail, with a somewhat bemused look on her face.
What in the name of God had just happened?
One minute, she'd had her head under the sheets giving Connor a surreptitious naughty blowjob, to make use of his morning woody and maybe see a little bit of the action he was so diligent to avoid last night, and the next minute, she'd been on the floor, dazed, with her ears ringing and the coppery taste of blood in her mouth where her teeth had caught her tender inner lip when her jaw had been forcefully snapped shut from the blow to her chin. Even in her dazed state, she wondered if she'd done any damage to his dick with her teeth since it had been buried down her throat when he'd dragged it forcibly from her mouth after he woke. In her initial fit of pique, she might have thought it served him right, except that it was blatantly obvious that whatever had overcome the big man had not been at all intentional but was part of some kind of panic attack that seemed to have been induced.
Had he been having a bad dream or something? Hmm…well, that was as direct a hit to her ego as the blow from his knee on her chin!
Prodding the tender area with her fingers, Laurel gave her jaw an experimental wiggle from side to side and winced at the ache it produced. Sighing, she slumped back and pushed the hair out of her eyes as she tried to extract herself from the muddle of sheets that were knotted around her. In her current predicament, trussed up naked on the floor was so not sexy!
It seemed like eons before Connor made it back out of the bathroom, although, in reality, it had probably not been all that long. Only enough time for Laurel to get her head together, take stock of any aches and pains she'd sustained and unravel herself from the wreck on the floor. Then she'd grabbed an oversize tee shirt to cover herself with, stripped off the bed covers and dumped them in the laundry basket. She had collected another set of bed linens and had yet to finish putting them on by the time Connor made his entrance. He was carrying a damp flannel in his hand and Laurel was just a little startled when he stalked out of her en-suite and into the kitchen with nothing more than a scowl and a stare that had her plonking down on the bed to wait for him instead of trying to battle with the king-sized duvet cover she had just shaken out.
He re-emerged moments later, and it was clear that he had dug around in her freezer compartment for some ice cubes as he sat down next to her on the bed, cupping her chin carefully in his big hand and inspecting the reddened area with a frown. Still, for all of his silence and his glare, he was exquisitely gentle as he manipulated the area and pulled down her bottom lip with the tip of his thumb so he could see the damage before he tenderly placed the poultice of ice cubes on her aching jaw and held it there while he scooted her toward him and tucked her tenderly under his arm.
Laurel made the most of the surprising act and allowed her head to relax on his broad shoulder, closing her eyes and deciding that if she could get this kind of unexpected affection from him, then she could almost put up with a weirded-out situation like this more often.
Of course, she could still feel the tension running through his body and the stiffness of his muscles underneath the mask of calm he'd attempted to pull across his features. And, instinctively, Laurel knew it was a mask. In reality, he was all but humming with the tightly supressed strain that was vibrating through his muscles. For all the care he was showing, Laurel knew that was the innate Dom in him and she couldn't help feeling that all Connor, the man, really wanted to do was run. Hard and fast and as far away as possible. The thought made tears prickle behind her eyes far more than any of the physical trauma of the past half hour.
With that in mind, Laurel forced herself to be a lot calmer than she really felt. She wanted Connor and she wanted him to be with her, but she also wanted him to want to be there, himself. Her heart ached because she could almost feel the profound depth of the love she had for this big, closed off man trying to beat its way out of her chest, impatient to be let out and allowed to run free. She was desperate to come clean about her feelings for him, but she kept them chained up because, despite Connor's often exuberant and fun-loving persona, she'd come to know him well enough over the past year to recognise that he was closed off in exactly the matters that counted the most.
So, she settled for pushing and prodding and being there for him and trying her best to get him to see exactly what they could have together if he just relaxed enough of the fierce grip he always insisted on holding over his emotions. That, and trying to get him to accept that it really wasn't true that she was reckless or irresponsible, she simply believed in living life to the fullest and was willing to embrace all of the different experiences which came her way. There was a difference, although she realised that there were a lot of people who couldn't—or wouldn't—see the distinction. It was frustrating, sometimes disheartening, and often infuriating, but she couldn't stop, and she couldn't pull back because she was too invested in her feelings for him and she sure as hell didn't want to end up like Trinity. So, she just did the best she could to be what he wanted, while at the same time trying to manoeuvre their relationship into what she wanted as well.
It was a fine balance and Laurel often felt like she was walking a metaphorical tightrope. But Connor was worth it. And so was the relationship they could eventually have together once she had gotten him to open his eyes to the possibilities. Failure wasn't an option. It wasn't even a word that existed in Laurel's vocabulary. There was only success as a destination and the sometimes-difficult road she had to travel to get there. Sometimes she might come to a dead end or a roadblock or even to a complete standstill until the way ahead cleared. The solution was not to give up but to be patient or find an alternative route. And so, she applied that allegory to her journey with Connor and their relationship, and the true price of failure never even entered her mind.
Connor silently sighed and swallowed as he sat himself down on the stripped bed next to Laurel and carefully placed the ice pack on the reddened area at the left side of her chin. He cursed himself inwardly but did his level best to force a composure that he was very far from feeling into his outward façade.
Whilst all he really wanted to do was to retreat and lick his wounds and work out why the hell he'd had the kind of reaction unlike any he'd experienced in the past decade, he knew his first responsibility was to Laurel. While, technically, she might not be his submissive in the strictest sense and there was no contract or even as much as a verbal agreement binding them, that was, nevertheless, the relationship they had fallen into in its loosest sense. And besides, it didn't take a rocket scientist—or even a psychologist—to work out that his thoughts the previous night, right before he'd fallen asleep, had played heavily on his mind and manifested themselves into his half-sleep, semi-conscious state this morning, with devastating effects.
It had been years since he'd thought about Rayleen. He'd made a deliberate effort to lock her and everything about her away, but somehow, Laurel managed to bring her into his mind. It was the similarities in their character, he knew, which wasn't really fair to Laurel because they were purely superficial things—her exuberance and joie de vivre, the go-getter attitude, and that never-give-up spirit. But they still left a bad taste in his mouth and it was one of the foremost reasons why he held himself back from her. Perversely, it was also one of the things that drew him to her and he damn well hated that. He didn't want to have any recollections of Rayleen and the way he had adored and relied on her or of the destructive devastation her actions had propagated. Neither did he want a reminder of the horrible, enduring consequences that her actions had wrought on the last tattered threads that were left of his family life in the a
ftermath. Some things there were simply no getting away from, but it still didn't mean that he wanted it shoved in his face on a regular basis.
But right now, he was accountable, whether he liked it or not, and he had never been one to shirk his duties no matter how uncomfortable they might make him. Being a Dom brought with it certain obligations and those he was always prepared to accept; today was no different.
Laurel curled into his side and rested her head on his shoulder and Connor tried desperately to keep himself relaxed, even though the tension running through him was making him rigid with the strain. In this moment, she seemed meek and fragile and snuggly, and even though he knew that to be an illusion, he didn't want the responsibility which seemed to loom large right over the top of him like some ominous thundercloud waiting to strike and take him to his knees when he least expected it. Just the thought alone made him uneasy.
Chapter 9
Laurel went into work that day slightly out of sorts. She wanted to do something nice for Connor to try to settle him. It had been obvious when they finally left the house—together, even though he was clearly trying to distance himself—that, mentally, he really wanted to be somewhere else, and Laurel was trying to think of ways to bring him back to her, back to normalcy.
As the day progressed, Connor was distant. She wasn't really surprised. She'd seen it coming from the moment they had awoken that morning, but it still hurt her heart that she was failing to connect with him. Instead of doing what was scheduled, Connor told her he had other plans for the day and left her to her own devices in her own office while he shut himself away doing who knew what.
