Reflection (The Chrysalis Series)

by Sallinger, Elene

  ‘No, sorry.’ She smiled. ‘My mind wandered.’

  ‘I asked why you won’t go out with me.’ He leaned closer and put his hand on her knee, caressing her leg with light strokes.

  She pulled her legs a little closer together, but that did nothing to deter him.

  ‘I told you before. I don’t have time for dating. My classes are really tough. This is my senior year and I have a lot riding on my grades.’

  ‘So you said, but I still think you could go out on a date or two with me. It doesn’t have to be anything serious.’ He began to lean into her. ‘You know you like me. Especially the way you danced with me and let me kiss you.’

  She leaned back, trying to put some more distance between them, but it was like her body didn’t want to cooperate. She was beginning to feel lethargic and exhausted. A sense of danger began to squeeze her chest.

  When she spoke, her words sounded distant and slurred. It was as if she were no longer fully present inside her body. ‘I was tipsy that night or I would never have kissed you. I’m no tease.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ he said, right before he gripped her neck and pushed her down roughly and began kissing her.

  His lips ground against hers in painful demand for entry. She opened her mouth to protest and he took that opportunity to shove his tongue in deep.

  She tried to fight him off, but her body wasn’t listening to her. The room spun and she was lost to blackness.

  She surfaced briefly to Trent kneeling between her legs; he’d opened the bodice of her dress and was playing with her breasts. Tweaking and pulling at her nipples before sucking them into his mouth. Her body responded to the stimulation, filling her with a horrified pleasure. Some distant speck in her mind told her she should be fighting. She willed her arms, her legs, anything to move but nothing connected. Even as she railed internally, the blackness sucked her back in.

  When she surfaced again, her hands were tied over her head and something was inside her mouth. She was naked. Trent was standing over her a belt in his hands. He lashed out with the belt, striking the sensitive skin of her breasts and inner thighs with each lash. The initial blows hurt and she wanted to scream through the gag, but they faded into a sting that flooded her body and reminded her of when Doug, her first boyfriend, had tied her up and spanked her. She felt her body responding to this abuse and cried out against this betrayal. Surely she couldn’t enjoy this assault? That thought sent her again into darkness.

  The next and final time she came to awareness, Trent was inside her. He was grunting and pumping himself roughly inside her while slapping at her breasts. She felt the sensations take her even as her shocked brain screamed out against this final betrayal. Her body clenched and tightened convulsively and Trent became savage in his invasion before finally moaning as he spilled his seed into her core and collapsed on top of her.

  She went completely numb. This time, when the blackness took her, she hoped she didn’t wake up.

  Hot tears streamed down her face, soaking into Connor’s shirt. Somewhere during her tale, he’d pulled her into his arms. She’d been so caught up in the memories, she hadn’t even noticed. His hand was warm where he stroked her back and he was murmuring nonsense words of comfort to her. Embarrassed by her loss of control, Bridget pushed up and swiped at her face.

  ‘I need to clean up.’ Without waiting for his acknowledgment, she escaped to the bathroom. She rinsed her burning eyes with cool water, continuing to splash her face until she felt able to face him.

  This was the true reckoning. Now, he’d see how she’d allowed herself to give in to depravity and it was brought back on her to show her that she should never have allowed it to happen to begin with.

  ‘You’re a big girl, Bridget,’ she said to her reflection. ‘You can handle whatever he has to say.’

  In truth, she wasn’t so sure who she was trying to convince. She’d never told anyone the full story of her rape. Sometimes, she wasn’t even sure she could call it rape, since she’d responded to him. The bastard had made her come. Remembered horror flooded her, making her light-headed, and she had to steady herself against the sink.

  ‘Pull it together,’ she admonished her reflection. ‘You’ve been above reproach since then. You never give into your weakness. Don’t start now.’

  Feeling like she was about to face the firing squad, she turned the knob and went to confront Connor.

  He didn’t know what pissed him off more. That the bastard who’d raped her had obviously used some kind of drug to lower her inhibitions, thereby robbing her of her very real right to anger. Or the fact that a woman as intelligent as Bridget was letting him get away with it.

  He comprehended the association she’d drawn, but she was wrong. Plain and simple.

  He still hadn’t quite formulated how to tell her what he was thinking when she came back from the bathroom. She looked like a drowned kitten. Her hair was damp around the edges and curling, her make-up gone from the obvious washing she’d given her face. She was adorable and it made him all the madder at her for letting herself believe something so incredibly asinine.

  She sat as far from him as the couch would allow and that pissed him off too. Did she think he was going to attack her or rail at her or something? No, that wasn’t it. She thought he was going to judge her. His anger lessened but didn’t completely die out at that realisation.

  ‘Let me get this straight.’ His tone was sharper than he’d have liked and she flinched in response. ‘You think that because you enjoyed being tied up and spanked, you were punished for it because your rapist tied you up and whipped you and your body responded to the stimulation. And – I’m guessing here – you think that because those acts were committed in an act of violation there is a correlation with your relationship with your first boyfriend.’

  She didn’t answer, only nodded. He blew out an exasperated sigh. People really did over-complicate their lives. Especially when it came to sex.

  ‘That’s bullshit. You’re being incredibly stupid to buy into the idea.’

  Shock replaced trepidation in her face and she flushed angrily.

  ‘How can you say that?’

  ‘Because context is everything. That’s why. Think about justifiable homicide. If you were to walk up to a stranger, point a gun at them and shoot, assuming you were in no danger of losing your own life, you’d be committing murder. Take that same stranger, turn the tables so now he’s assaulting you and you shoot him, every court in the land will say it was justifiable because it was self-defence. One thing remains the same though, the stranger is now dead. It’s context that matters. One is justified, the other is not.

  ‘In your case, there is nothing wrong with a bit of kink to spice up sex. And, when two people do it together – consenting to it – it can be a great way to explore sensuality and sex together. When one person doesn’t consent, all bets are off.’

  She drew a breath to speak but he was determined to finish and held up a hand. Reluctantly, she relaxed.

  ‘Bridg, I’d love to tie you up and believe me, my dick gets hard at the notion of spanking your pretty little ass and then fucking you nice and rough. You see, pain and pleasure, they go hand in hand.’

  She began to protest. Again, he held up a hand to stop her.

  ‘Hear me out before you protest.’

  She sighed, but relaxed back and waited.

  ‘When pain is used strategically, endorphins are released and it actually heightens pleasure. It sounds like your first guy – what was his name anyway?’

  ‘Doug,’ she supplied.

  ‘OK, Doug, he understood this. Now, Trent, the dickhead, just wanted to hurt you. That you’d already had a pleasurable experience that involved pain and bondage is why you responded the way you did. Plus he obviously gave you a date rape drug to lower your inhibitions.’

  ‘They didn’t find any evidence of one when I went to the hospital.’ She didn’t look at him.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Both roofies and GH
B metabolise too quickly. Physical evidence is rarely found.’ At her sharp glance he shrugged and said, ‘What? I watched a Dateline episode about it once.’

  ‘How can you be so certain that it isn’t depraved?’

  ‘Because I don’t believe we are set up to fail as human beings. Simple as that. I want to do the things to you that you say wanting to have done is a depraved act. I don’t think I’m depraved at all. I think I like to push the boundaries of sensual exploration and that – for me, anyway – involves pain. The key is to find someone with reciprocal desires. I’ve never forced anyone who didn’t want to experience it to go through it. I’m very capable of living without it, but strategic pain gives pleasure a dimension and depth unlike any I’ve experienced.

  ‘What your rapist did to you was perverted and depraved because he took an act that is intimate and sensual and turned into a violation of your will, body and psyche. That he did it in a way that lowered your inhibitions, and robbed you of a very real need to rage and be angry at his violation, is even worse.

  ‘You’ve internalised this, Bridget. You’re carrying all this on your shoulders when he was wrong. Not you. You need to put blame where it lies, on your rapist, not on you sharing a desire that hundreds of other people in this world share – including me.’

  She was silent for a long time. He could see the wheels turning in her head and he wanted to argue more, try to force her to see things differently, but he knew he couldn’t do that. She would have to come to the understanding on her own.

  Finally, she turned to him, saying, ‘You’ve given me a lot to think about.’

  Her face was unreadable and she wasn’t making him feel altogether comfortable, but it was better than outright rejection.

  ‘That’s all I can ask for.’ He gathered up the dishes from the apple pie and put them into the sink. She followed him, bringing her wineglass and setting it on the counter.

  He wanted her to stay with him tonight. He didn’t want her to leave, and allow distance to grow. This was important. They were on opposite sides of an argument right now and he didn’t want to give her the opportunity to twist this into an excuse to stop seeing him.

  Taking the plunge, he said, ‘Stay here with me, Bridget. I don’t want you to go.’

  ‘I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.’ She bit her bottom lip, something he’d begun to realise meant indecision for her.

  ‘Look, I feel as if we just had a really hard conversation and I don’t want you to leave. I won’t try anything; I’d just really like to sleep with you in my arms. I’d like to wake up with you.’

  ‘I can’t.’ She looked unhappy. ‘I have to take care of Daisy. I can’t leave her by herself overnight.’

  ‘Let’s go get her.’

  ‘Seriously?’ The incredulous look on her face made him grin even as his chest lightened. He really did want her to stay.

  ‘Yes, seriously. She and Lotus took to each other and I want you here with me.’

  She tilted her head to one side in that sexy, curious kitten way she had and he couldn’t help himself. He stepped forward, cupped her face in his palms, and kissed her.

  It was a kiss filled with promises and declarations that were entirely too soon to make with any sanity, but that he felt in his heart nonetheless. Sometimes you just knew, and Connor was certain that no matter what happened between them, this woman would be a part of him for ever.

  Chapter Twelve

  Bridget awoke to the feel of Connor wrapped around her. She felt warm and safe and that was odd for her. She’d spent nights with the men she’d dated before, but they’d never felt safe. Not like this anyway. There was a tremendous comfort in having shared her darkest secret with Connor.

  She wasn’t at all sure she agreed with him, but he’d definitely given her a different perspective. They hadn’t talked about it any more after he’d asked her to stay. Their conversation had been more mundane, full of the confessions and admissions that any two normal people would share in an attempt to fill in the gaps of understanding about a new person you were interested in.

  They’d driven over to her house for her to grab some clothes and toiletries as well as collect Daisy. The two dogs had bonded immediately and had fallen asleep curled around each other on Lotus’s bed.

  Sleeping with Connor hadn’t been half as awkward as she’d feared. They’d been up chatting and talking late into the night before exhaustion set in. As she’d changed into her pyjamas, she’d been worried about being uncomfortable or unable to sleep, but as soon as she’d climbed into bed with him, he’d kissed her gently on the forehead, snuggled in behind her spoon-like and been instantly asleep. She’d followed soon after.

  She’d slept deeply and dreamlessly. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

  In the light of a new day, her mind still reeled from the things Connor had said to her. She’d never considered things from that perspective. She’d always assumed that having her rape turned against her like that was punishment for enjoying the things she and Doug had done together.

  She’d been raised in a loving household, but sex was not something that was discussed. Her mother had never had “the talk” with her. She’d handed Bridget some pamphlets and told her to come to her with any questions. Everything Bridget had learned about sex had come from the romance novels she’d devoured in her teen years.

  Her parents had not been demonstrative people. She’d never seen them be affectionate with each other. Her brother had once joked that they had to be the product of immaculate conceptions because he couldn’t imagine their meticulous mother allowing herself to get down and dirty. Bridget had agreed wholeheartedly. Her father’s answer to the sex talk was to say that if she ever allowed herself to get knocked up outside of marriage, he’d disown her.

  In spite of their taciturn ways, she’d always known she was loved. They’d made sacrifices for her and her brother. Ensured they always had what they needed. That they didn’t get the words of love were something both she and Roy had learned to live with.

  When Doug had suggested tying her up, it had seemed erotic and forbidden. The feeling of being helpless and at his will had been sexy and she’d loved every minute of it. When he’d added spanking to the repertoire it had made her feel wanton and just a bit dirty. The orgasms he’d given her had been off the chart.

  She’d never questioned it until she was raped. That Trent had done the same things to her in such a vile way had caused her to see what she and Doug had done in a different light. One that had caused her such deep-seated shame that it affected every relationship she’d had since then. Hell, it had changed her entire sense of herself too.

  She sighed deeply, feeling overcome by confusion. Had she given Trent too much power? She’d never truly been angry at him; she’d simply assumed she’d deserved it – a lesson to teach her the error of her ways.

  Shit, had she been wrong all this time?

  Turning over, she gazed at Connor. His face was even younger in sleep. The stubble on his cheeks gave him a rakish look and his arm was thrown back behind his head. Could he be right?

  As if her thoughts had summoned him, Connor opened his eyes and looked directly into hers. They were warm grey in the morning light and a slow grin spread across his face.

  ‘Morning, gorgeous.’ His voice was husky with sleep.

  ‘Good morning.’ She smiled back.

  He reached a hand up and cupped her cheek. At his touch, her insides went liquid. She watched his eyes darken with desire and her breath caught.

  ‘Bridget.’

  ‘Hmm?’ She didn’t want to move, not even to speak.

  ‘I want to make love to you.’ He stroked his thumb across her cheek. ‘Now.’

  She couldn’t even draw breath to answer, she just nodded.

  ‘Kiss me.’

  It was a command she gladly obeyed.

  Connor fought to control the urge to flip her over and fuck her wildly. He wanted her to lead this first time
between them. No matter how much he wanted to make this rough and dirty, he needed her to trust him before they could go there.

  Connor had spent a long time thinking about what she’d told him last night, and she was wrong. He was determined to show her that it was about consent. That when both people consented, there was nothing wrong with anything she’d experienced. It was time to replace her memories of the rape with better ones.

  Those better memories were starting right now. Hell, for him too. Her lips were warm and soft and feather-light. Too light; he wanted more.

  ‘Harder, gorgeous.’

  She smiled and deepened the kiss, stroking her tongue into his mouth. He welcomed her invasion and let her explore at her whim. Her hands were rubbing his chest and he desperately wanted her to reach for his cock, but he would let her set the pace.

  He couldn’t resist burrowing his hands in her curls. They were silken fire draped around his hands. She was growing more urgent, her kiss stronger and deeper. His body was tight everywhere; he wanted his hands on her, his mouth on her, his cock in her.

  It was hell trying to hold back.

  She broke the kiss. Panting, she looked at him but made no move to go further.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘I feel silly.’ She flushed.

  ‘Why?’ He stroked her lips with his finger. He wanted them wrapped around his cock.

  ‘Because I’ve never done this. Doug always took charge and then, after I was raped, I always just laid back and let the man take the lead.’

  He wasn’t at all surprised by her words, but that was about to change.

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me, Bridg, but it’s time you learned. So, you’re in charge. Do whatever you want or tell me what you want me to do.’

  * * *

  She felt like an idiot. She was almost 40, for heaven’s sake, and she’d never been the aggressor in sex. She was intimidated, but she wanted this, wanted him.

  Rising up, she sat cross-legged facing him and considered the issue. Not the sexiest thing in the world, but she needed a moment despite the fact that her fingers itched to touch him.