Page 100 of Lesson Learned

The fullness when both he and the toy are thrusting inside me is incredible, satiating me beyond anything I’ve experienced before.

“Fuck,” he drawls in a husky whisper. “I can feel it vibrating inside you.”

His voice catches in his throat as he gives an elongated groan, enough to make me shudder with pleasure.

“Grab it,” he orders, waiting until I take the toy before he lets go, his hand immediately moving up to cup my breast, moulding it in his palm before pinching my nipple hard.

He releases me, but only to switch sides so I have a matching pair of tingles. Then he moves back to the first, clamping hold so the gorgeous pain travels along a guidewire, straight to my groin, straight to my clit, tweaking me over the edge until I fall headlong into an orgasm, the toy sagging from my numb fingers, working out of me like a bee blindly buzzing its way from a hive, sparking joy all the way.

Conner pushes me forward again and I fall flat, my knees not up to the task of taking my weight, not with my body in rapturous spasms and my head floating away in a joyous cloud.

The jolt as his cock pops free makes me moan with the loss. From two full tanks to empty in the beat of a heart.

I expect him to move me or to drop lower, to enter me again, but instead he gives a groan, falling flat upon my back, grinding himself against me. I feel the tiny pulses, the twitches, as he comes, the wetness mixing with the strawberry lubrication, rubbing over my skin as he grinds against me again, for the sheer pleasure of it, the sensation of the whole sticky mess.

His breath is heavy in my ear. The warmth of his body is like the world’s best weighted blanket. When he rolls to the side, he takes me with him, his arms crisscrossing over my chest, cupping my breasts, while he nuzzles into the side of my neck.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, releasing his hold on my right tit for long enough to brush my hair away from my ear, then immediately returning to its position. “I didn’t hurt you too much?”

“I’m good.” And with the afterglow lighting me from the inside out, it’s the truth.

The intrusive thrust of memories has retreated. Not gone but eviscerated until they’re fragments of themselves. Weak enough, I can combat their lasting imprints on my own.

He shifts again, this time putting the wreck of my dress to work, wiping my butt, my lower back, wiping me clean.

When he tosses it aside, I turn to face him, checking his features anxiously, wondering at the things I said to him, worried about the lingering effects.

“Did I hurt you before?” he asks, the question surprising me. “When I drugged you.”

I frown, thinking back to the morning after, and shaking my head. “No.” My nose wrinkles the memory. “It actually felt good.”

“Yeah?”

There’s still anxiety in his voice and I close my eyes, slipping near to a doze. “Yeah.” When I’m almost asleep, I jerk awake. “But next time, ask me first, okay?”

He doesn’t immediately answer, and I open my eyes. There’s still a faint frown on his face that relaxes as I smile, folding myself into him even more snugly. “Next time? You would do that again?”

“Sure,” I tilt until my forehead rests against his chest, giving a small cough before I settle. “I’ve always enjoyed a good night’s sleep.”

He snuffles out a laugh and cups my head, his thumb stroking along my cheekbone. My body is sore and there’s a lingering sense of dread from the awful day but here, in his arms, I feel safe.

I feel loved.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

CONNER

I didn’t setan alarm to wake me but the mental clock in my head delivers. Paisley’s still asleep, one hand curled on my chest, the other resting on the slope of my hip.

The bathroom light is still on, illuminating her face, her body. I smile while watching her sleep, adorable with her little twitches and snorts.

It was awful to be confronted but I breathe easier knowing my secret’s now in the open. An even bigger surprise to find she doesn’t mind. That she’s open to the idea of indulging in my kink again.

The feeling recurs from the first night. That nothing’s ever come as easy as this. I wonder if this is how it should be with family. If that’s what we are already, even if we haven’t cemented it with vows or scribbled our signatures on paperwork.

I could lie like this for hours, waiting for Paisley to wake up naturally, waiting for the sun to rise, not that it makes much of an appearance in these boxlike rooms. But there’s still the matter of a body growing cold, sandwiched in the crawlspace, waiting to be manhandled, pushed, pulled, and shoved into a location where it won’t be found for years, possibly never to be found at all.

Right now, I need a pinch of luck to pull this off. The transition will involve minutes where I’m out in the open, dragging what’s obviously a dead body across the grounds. Even if I get my car within a few metres, that’s still a few metres where I could be spotted and reported. Where my life as I know it will cease.

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