Page 69 of Lesson Learned

Paisley immediately tries, tugging with no discernible change. She reaches past to snag the remote and turn up the lights, then gets to her knees as she attempts to figure out the mechanism.

She shuffles farther across, her legs now between mine, still frowning at the armrest. When I swallow, there’s a click in the back of my throat. I close my eyes, reminding myself this is a day to get to know her better, to have fun.

But when I open them again, she’s resting there, her hands on top of her knees, staring at me with those large, doe eyes.

* * *

PAISLEY

The seat is a gift. I’m sure the movie was great; I wouldn’t know. For the past few hours, all I’ve done is take snapshots of the man beside me. He looks different out of his more formal work attire. Relaxed. Comfortable. A person who knows exactly who he is and where he belongs.

A confidence that makes him oh-so-sexy.

I memorise his eyes as they stare down at me, storing them up, using them to paint in the finer details of the nights that went AWOL, leaving only traces behind. To add to the way he caressed me in the back seat of his car, drawing forth an orgasm with so much ease that I feel like I’ve spent my life doing it all wrong.

My mind notes how he sways towards me like he’s helpless to do anything else. It records the moment his eyes darken, the pupils expanding with a dopamine hit, all the wiring in his body and brain that’s strapped fast to these primal urges, getting a taste of what it needs and clamouring for more.

I sit up, scared he’s about to extricate himself somehow. I reach for what I need, what I’ve been dreaming of for days.

The cure to the lingering dread James left me with. A way to exorcise those terrible memories and replace them with someone pure and good and real.

Energy pulses through my fingers as they work the leather strap of his belt free of his buckle. Once it’s undone, I sit back on my heels, palms resting lightly above my knees, waiting for his command.

That’s what I remember best from our first night, the night that’s mostly gone. The way he told me what he needed, then gave me the space to provide.

The same hit I got from completing each task was reflected in his reaction each time I obeyed.

I want that again. I want to feel needed, to feel controlled by somebody I trust won’t do me harm. For someone to take away the responsibility so all that’s left is desire.

No blame. No fear. No shame.

My skin pulses in time with each heartbeat. Sparks shoot through my nerves, firing in response to any random stimuli, on such a hair trigger, it feels like internal fireworks.

A throb starts between my legs and keeps growing in intensity. I clench my pelvic muscles and shut my eyes, losing myself to the sensation.

Every part of me is alert, revelling in each touch, each sight, each sound.

“Take me out,” he orders, his voice so husky I doubt he could speak above a whisper even if he wanted to.

The words are so similar to James but so different: in tone, in meaning, in intent. When my mind tries to go where I don’t want it to, I ground myself, basking in Conner’s gaze, inhaling his scent, rejoicing in his touch as his fingers run lightly through my hair.

Each second overwrites those dreadful memories with something fresh and clean, washing away the dark traces of what came before.

I lean forward eagerly, careful when I drag down his zipper, wishing my hands were warmer as I slide them into the waistband of his boxers and free his cock, keeping my right hand circling its fat girth as I look up for the next instruction to obey.

“Open your mouth.”

I do, letting my tongue slide forward to hide my teeth, opening wider than any dentist ever saw. He puts his hand atop mine and cups the back of my head, drawing me closer. I sit up to reach him easier, seeking direction, closing over the head when he whispers, “Just the tip for now. You have to earn the rest.”

When I lick across him, there’s a smoky tang of pre-cum and I close my lips, sucking until it’s gone.

My hand starts gently pumping, and I’m rewarded with the soft touch of his fingers on my hair. Lifting strands, letting them fall, tucking them behind my ear, playful, then grabbing a fistful and twisting until I can feel the pull, straining forward against it until it goes past warmth on my scalp, becoming a steady burn.

All the while, most of my concentration is taken up by soft licks of his cock, taking the head into my mouth and sucking, then letting it go with a popping sound that makes me smile.

I flatten my tongue against the base, and he jerks me away, a scolding reminder.

Instead of saying my apologies, I stick between the lines, licking and sucking and letting him rub against my palette, turning my head to let him rest in my cheek, melting inside when he whispers, “That feels so good, angel.”

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