Connor stands and moves toward the suitcase. “I think the paddle for running out on me and my hand for not trusting me. Ten of each, but I’ll take off five with my hand for making me laugh earlier.”
“Isn’t it the same offense?” I ask.
“You want me to add those five back on?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. And no, leaving me and not trusting me are two separate behaviors that we need to correct.” Reaching between my legs, Connor unfastens the bodysuit and folds it up to the middle of my back, leaving my lower body clad in only a thong, garters and stockings, nothing that will blunt the hurt he’s about to deliver.
He sits with his back to the bed and tugs me over his lap. Warm hands smooth over my left buttock in a sensual caress. My sex is wet, ready. I wish we could skip this portion of the evening, not because I’m afraid of the pain, but more due to my burning need for him.
The first blow lands sharper than I was prepared for, and I cry out.
“Count,” Connor demands.
“One,” I huff as the sting starts to fade. But my relief is short lived, because his hand comes down again on the other cheek.
“Two.”
Three and four fall lower, right between the curve of my ass and my upper thigh. I squirm, trying to ease the discomfort, but Connor holds me tight.
“Your ass is perfect. So soft, so round. I love to watch it jiggle as I smack you, or fuck you,” he whispers softly before delivering the final strike right in the middle. The fabric of my thong falls deeper into the crease. Beneath my stomach, his cock is fully hard again.
“That’s for not trusting me.” Connor says. “I won’t punish you harshly for that, because as you pointed out, I don’t always trust myself. But leaving me….that’s another story.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, because I truly am.
“No, but you will be.” He sets me off his lap and orders, “Bend over the bed.”
Though it’s a struggle, I manage to do what he says and rest my upper body against the mattress with my feet on the floor. Connor moves behind me, tracing the line of my thong through the crevice, pressing in slightly at my tight hole, before moving on to massage my sex.
“You’re dripping wet, Baily. Soaked through your underwear. Should I take them off?”
I bite my lip and squeeze my eyes shut as he strokes too lightly on my hyperaware flesh.
“Answer me,” he snaps, stretching the material up my body until it presses in tightly against all the sensitive spots.
“Yes,” I gasp, and Connor hooks his thumb in the elastic waistband and pulls. The sound of tearing fabric rends the air and he tosses the ruined thong away.
Everything clenches when his fingers explore my now bare sex. “Please,” I beg.
“So eager,” he murmurs, dipping his thumb into my wet entrance. “But good things come to those who wait.”
I try to force him deeper, but he withdraws completely. There’s a shuffling sound, and I glance over to see him opening the packaging of a small dildo. He tips a bottle of pink liquid over the artificial phallus, lubing it, and then moves back to me. “Here’s something for you to bear down on. Where do you want it?”
“My pussy, please,” I whimper, pride totally gone.
He slides it home in one swift motion, and I clamp down tightly on it, relieved to have something filling my greedy channel.
“Count,” Connor orders as he picks up the paddle and takes aim.
“One,” I cry out, overcome by the strike. I realize that he’s done it this way on purpose. The five strokes with his hand were a warm-up to the intensity of the paddle. His hit is harder and goes deeper with the tool. Had I really believed this wouldn’t hurt, that I could breeze through it?
“Two.” My voice is like a croak as the burn intensifies.
Whack! “Three.” I clench down on the dildo, the lube cool on my hot sex. My clit throbs, envying the attention Connor is giving my ass. I don’t know whether to cry or come.
The air actually whistles over the next several blows, and everything seizes inside me in the aftermath of each hit. He times them perfectly, not delivering them too close together, waiting until the burn starts to fade.
“Eight,” I mutter.
“That’s nine, Baily.” Connor drops the paddle and rolls me onto my back. “What’s your safe-word?”
“Don’t stop,” I beg, unable to bear the thought of starting over again. I’m so close, so close to having it over with.
“Answer the question.” He shakes me slightly.
“Rosasharin,” I whisper, recognizing the fear in his voice. Connor is genuinely worried.
“Okay. That’s enough.” He pulls me up the bed and tucks me under the covers.
“No, no,” I whimper. “I need you to finish.”
“You’ve had enough. It was too much. I should have reversed it, ten with my hand, five with the paddle.” He’s pacing the room, stark naked, his eyes wild.
I hate that he doubts himself, hate that I’m not strong enough to take what he needs to give me. “I want you to forgive me.”
Setting the suitcase on the floor, he climbs on the bed next to me and settles me against his chest. “Baby, I do. It was my misjudgment, okay? Not your fault.”
“I didn’t know….” I’m not sure what I’m even trying to tell him, but he strokes my hair, soothing me. My ass is on fire and the dildo is still lodged in my pussy. I shift restlessly against him.
Connor tilts my chin up so I’m facing him, studies my features, and then sighs. “I’ll make you come, so you can sleep, all right? But I’m not fucking you. That’s my punishment for pushing you too hard.”
Rolling me onto my back, he slithers down my body, hefting my breasts from the bodysuit. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, manipulating my nipples between his fingers. The sharp little tugs make me clench the dildo and whimper. “Connor, please.”
“Okay, love, it’s okay.” He moves down, pushing my legs apart, and sucks my clit between his lips.
I cry out, back bowing up off the bed. He grips the phallus and pulls it back, before shoving it deep again, fucking me with the faux cock while tonguing my clit.
I splinter, coming in a rush, hard and fast, clamping down on the dildo, wiggling under the onslaught of his mouth. It’s perfect and exhausting. I sag back onto the bed.
Connor removes the sex toy and laps at my opening until I whimper again. He rolls away.
I want to thank him, for coming after me, for forgiving me, for granting me this boon of perfect pleasure, but my brain is shutting down fast. I don’t like that he’s punishing himself. He does that too much. “You can’t always blame yourself,” I whisper as he settles back in next to me.
As I drift off, I hear him say, “I can when it’s my fault.”
8
I awake from the best sleep I can remember with a huge grin on my face. Memories from the night before make my blood pump until my skin flushes and my sex is ready for another round. I roll back, reaching for Connor, and sigh with contentment when I see he’s already awake.
“Good morning,” he says a bit stiffly.
Seeing the confusion in his eyes, I ask, “Do you remember?”
“How we got here? No.”
Closing my eyes so he doesn’t see my disappointment, I ask, “What’s the last thing you do remember?”
“Dancing with you, then being called away to the phone.”
“Shit,” I say, my heart sinking. I really didn’t want to have to explain it all to him, how I thought he’d abandoned me, his reaction, and then his perceived failure the night before.
“Did we…?”
I open my eyes at his hesitation. No matter how uncomfortable this is for me, Connor has it so much worse. Reaching out, I run my hand down his arm and try not to react when he flinches slightly at my touch. “Did we what?”
He clears his throat. “Have sex?”
“Depends on how you define sex.”
He appears relieved until his gaze lands on the suitcase and all the color drains from his face. “I didn’t restrain you, did I?”
“No, Connor. I promised you yesterday that I wouldn’t let you tie me up.” All my joy is gone, replaced by weariness that this man, who I’ve given myself to completely, can’t remember any of the times we’ve been intimate. Throwing back the covers, I grouse, “I need coffee.”
A strong hand on my arm stops me, and I turn back toward him. His eyes are glued on my ass, which I’m sure is still red from his attention. “Baily—”
I wait patiently while he struggles for words, but eventually my tolerance is exhausted. “Just give me a minute, okay? This isn’t easy for either of us.” Scooting into the bathroom, I shut the door, turn on the hot water, and pull a towel off the rack to stifle my sobs.
Why? Why does it have to be like this? I was prepared to fight the good fight this morning, to prove to him that he hadn’t pushed me too far. That I could have handled his punishment, actually wanted to if it wiped the slate clean. But instead someone pressed the reset button and I woke in bed with a man who not only didn’t remember the way he’d pursued me the night before, but actually seemed relieved to find out we hadn’t had sex.
I’m falling in love with a man who only exists part time.
Steam fills the air in the bathroom, and as tempting as it might be to hide in here until the other Connor—my Connor—comes back, I know I can’t do it.
This Connor may not want me with the same fervor, but he did admit he’s drawn to me. He chased me into the woods and bought me a dress. He called me Cinderella and danced with me and gave me a great deal of money for my own safety. He’s a good man with a problem and deserves the truth from my lips.
I take a long shower, trying to ease the tension in my muscles, and then take time to blow dry my hair. Wrapping myself in a towel, I emerge from the bathroom. Connor and the sex toy suitcase are gone, but there is a shopping bag on the bed. A periwinkle blue two piece bathing suit and a midnight blue sundress are in the bag, along with a pair of silver sandals.
I put on the bathing suit, afraid to look in the mirror. My belly is not something that should ever be put on display, but with no real underwear, I’m left with little choice. The dress is incredibly comfortable and falls to mid-thigh in a flattering style.
The smell of freshly brewed coffee greets me when I step out into the main room. True to my prediction, the view out the glass wall is magnificent. I step closer to get a better look.
“Do you like it?” He’s leaning against the counter, sipping from his own mug. I realize his hair is damp and he is also fresh from the shower. He’s wearing beige cargo shorts and a black polo shirt and his feet are bare. Seeing his toes is so intimate. Weird, because I’ve started to think of this version— the amnesiac version— as Mr. Edge. He’s stuffier, a little more proper, and goes to great lengths to maintain distance between us.
“Yes, it’s amazing. I’ve never seen the ocean before.”
He doesn’t comment on my lack of sophistication, but simply says, “Then I’m glad I brought you here.”
“Are you?”
Setting down his mug, he moves closer to me, though doesn’t touch. “Baily, from what I know about these episodes, I’m still me. The decisions I make during the blackout periods have always been sound. So whenever you’re with me, you can believe I’ll always mean what I say, even if I don’t remember saying it, okay?”
“Then why are you so afraid you’re going to hurt me? You aren’t a rapist, Connor.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated. Come on; let’s get you down to the water. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”
Gripping a travel mug of coffee in one hand, he takes mine in his other and leads me down the back steps to the shore.
The sea breeze lifts my hair away from my face and I kick off my shoes as we head down to the water’s edge. Connor sips from the mug as I burrow my toes in the sand and then yelp as cool saltwater washes over them. Too cold to immerse myself in yet, but in a couple of hours when the sun is high in the sky, I’ll love it.
It’s an incredible sensation, the briny air, the roar of the waves, the pull of the tide going out. So different from the small lakefront beaches I’m used to, so much grander. Under other circumstances, I’d park myself in a chair and stare out at the horizon all day long. Connor doesn’t try to hurry me. He seems as caught up in the moment as I am.
“Do you come here a lot?” I ask.
“No. This is the first time this summer.” He frowns slightly, and I know he’s thinking, that he remembers. I hate seeing him so bogged down with guilt and worry.
Looking out at the shimmering sea, I say, “I’d live here if I could.”
He smiles at me then, a genuine gesture of happiness. “Reason enough to make the trip.”
We walk down the beach, hand in hand. He passes me the coffee mug and I take a big swig, drinking it down, enjoying the intimacy of the moment.
“Hungry?” he asks when the coffee is gone.
“Ravenous,” I reply.
We head back to the house, the wind at our backs and the unknown spread out before us as far as the eye can see.
Connor refuses my offer to help make breakfast. Instead, I sit out on the deck while he prepares a feast of brie and dill omelets, bacon, English muffins, and fresh-squeezed orange juice.
“This is incredible,” I remark as he sets the plate in front of me.
“Cooking is a hobby of mine.”
“That’s convenient, because eating is a hobby of mine,” I say between mouthfuls of the scrumptious meal.
Connor grins. “You are the most unpredictable woman I’ve ever met.”
I blink, completely shocked by his words. “Seriously?’
He nods. “Most women, it’s easy for me to pin down exactly what they’re looking for, but you…you’re different, Baily.”
I set down my fork. “What are most women looking for?”
“Money, fame, marriage.” He ticks each item off on his fingers. “Connections, sex.”
I blush furiously when he licks his lips on that last item. “Don’t you think I’m after all those things?”
His gaze turns assessing. “To some extent, perhaps. Money, in that you want me to pay you for someone else’s job. You aren’t greedy or conniving about it though, it’s an even exchange. Fame and connections, I don’t think at all.”
“Oh?”
“There were several celebrities at my house, but you didn’t once ask me to introduce you to anyone in particular. You’re aware of my notoriety, yet haven’t probed for information.”
“That leaves marriage and sex,” I say, feeling a little hot under the collar just bringing those topics up.
His blue eyes rove my face and he leans back, steepling his fingers. “Again, it’s different. I don’t think you’re compelled by either of those things.”
I blush because it’s clear he doesn’t recall my abandon during our interludes. Anyone who saw that would know I am most definitely compelled by sex. “You sound almost irritated that I’m not.”
He shakes his head. “Not irritated. Mystified. How can I give you what you want when I don’t know what it is?”
“That’s easy Connor,” I say. “All I want is you.”
He stares at me for an endless moment, clearly stunned by my admission. His lips part and he visibly swallows before croaking, “Why?”
I can tell he’s completely serious. He’s not looking for an ego boost or vague platitudes; he genuinely wants to know what I see in him. Instead of blurting out some generic answer, I mull the question over. “I like how I feel when I’m with you.”
Those navy irises reflect his skepticism. “And it’s worth all the trouble, for a feeling?”
Instead on answering him, I ask my own question. “How often do these blackouts happen?”
Wiping his mouth on his linen napkin, Connor stares out at th
e ocean. “I’ve had more instances since I met you than in last five years combined.”
Is he saying I help trigger them? I want to reach for his hand again, but don’t think he’ll accept my touch. “Okay. Do you know why you have them?”
“Yes,” he says, still not looking at me.
The phrase “like pulling teeth” runs through my mind and my irritation builds. “I think I deserve to know why the man I’m sleeping with has trouble remembering that he’s slept with me.”
He whips around to face me. “Where’s your grandfather, Baily?”
I scowl at his abrupt topic shift. “What has he got to do with any of this?”
Connor just stares at me, waiting. My heart pounds as though I just finished a race. Problem is, I don’t know whether I’m about to win a trophy or have a heart attack.
Pushing back his chair, he mutters, “I’ll be right back.”
I wish I hadn’t indulged in the heavy breakfast, because my stomach is lurching as though I were bobbing around on a boat on the sea.
Staring out at the waves, I feel something slipping away. I don’t know what it is or why I can’t hang on to it, but I know it’s precious.
Connor returns carrying a red and a blue file folder. He places them down on the table in front of me. The blue one is labeled Thomas Sinclair, the red one has my name on it.
“What are these?” I stare at them but don’t pick them up.
“Employee files. Background check, previous employment history, and a few other tidbits.”
Our eyes meet. “Tidbits?”
“I employ a private investigator. His job is to let me know if any of my new hires have anything….unsavory…. in their backgrounds.”
My mouth goes dry and I shiver. “And?”
“I’ve read your grandfather’s. That was compiled shortly before I purchased the Rosemont.”
Drawing a deep breath is a struggle. “And mine?”
“That’s what was in the package that arrived yesterday morning.”
With a shaking hand, I reach for the red file, pick it up, and open it. The first page does indeed look like a standard employee file - name, date of birth, social security number, a copy of my driver’s license. The next page is my collage transcript, including the incomplete courses. It’s the third page that’s a knife to my gut.
Caught Up In You: Edgeplay The Complete Serial: A Billionaire and BBW BDSM romance Page 7
