He loves me. It’s in his own… unique way, sure, but he loves me, and I guess I love him as much as I can.
There are still moments when I hate him, when I hate how he thought locking me in the basement until I chose to stay was a brilliant idea. I hate how itworked. Since months into my second captivity and Connor no longer locks me down here. I have free rein of the house again, though I’ve grown so used to the basement, I actually choose to spend most of my time down here.
He invites me into his bedroom. I rather cuff him to the headboard in the panic room and work my aggression out byfucking him until his eyes are rolling back in my head and the stolen pleasure knocks out the confused rage that still wells up inside of me from time to time. No matter where I fall asleep—either because the sex endorphins leave me ready to pass out or Connor senses I need a little pharmaceutical help—I fall asleep with him right there.
I don’t escape. At this point, where would I run to? An apartment where Connor will find me in two seconds flat? He tells me that he’s taken over paying the rent on it so that I can go through my belongings, moving them into his house whenever I feel up to it. Since I’m not, I don’t say a word, and considering I’ve been finding my voice more and more lately, the silence is enough of a warning for him to drop it.
He won. He got what he wanted. I’m his wife, and I have no desire to leave him, not when the entire fucking town will take one look at the ring on my finger and know that I no longer belong to Adrian Heller. I’m Connor Heyward’s, and while part of me secretly is pleased by that fact, I’m still not sure if that’s the trauma talking or if, by giving in just a smidge, I’m finally allowing myself to move past the worst of it.
Both, probably.
We’re not perfect. This thing with Connor… I don’t know if it ever will be because I don’t know if I’ll ever recover completely.
It’s been six months since he rescued me (in more ways than one).
There are nights when the nightmares come anyway, leaving me shaking so hard that I can't catch my breath. Connor always knows before I do. Sometimes he simply holds me until the trembling passes. Other times, when I haven't slept in days and my eyes burn from exhaustion, he reaches for another syringe.
The first time he sedated me after the rescue, I thought it meant I was losing another choice. Now? Now it means I get to sleep.
Because Connor made me a promise months ago that he’s abided by, even after we had sex for the first time.
"If I put you under," he'd murmured, brushing my hair away from my face, "you wake up exactly the way you fell asleep. I won't touch you. I won't ask anything from you. You'll just rest."
He's kept that promise every time. And though I know I shouldn’t trust him, Ido. The dangerous man who’s proven time and time again that he’ll do anything for me—except let me go—is the one guy I’ve allowed myself to be vulnerable around.
Will I regret it? Yeah. I’m sure I will. But for now… I’m surviving, and Connor? He’s helping me do just that.
Connor hasone hand cuffed to the headboard. The other is absently playing with a lock of my hair.
My head is on his chest. I’m panting softly, listening to the thrum of his heart as he comes down from his climax. Me? I grinded my pussy and my clit against his groin so hard that I hadtwobefore I relented enough to let Connor buck up inside of me, finishing only when I decided I was done with him.
That’s how it works for us. Whenever I feel up to indulging my newfound libido, all I have to do is tap my wrist, gesturing for the handcuffs. Though I can manage a few sentences at a time with Connor, when it comes to telling him that I want him, those words still get stuck in my throat. Thankfully, he understands from the needy look on my face and prepares himself to let me do whatever the hell I want to him.
Sometimes I ride him. Sometimes I just lazily stroke him, watching in delight as he struggles to keep from coming all over my hand and his lower belly. When I’m feeling adventurous, I use my key to uncuff him, then go to my hands and knees sothat he can fuck me from behind. I don’t mind that one so much because I can avoid the look of love… the look ofneed… on his face as he possesses me.
Other than that, I do have total control. He always lets me come first, and there are times I punish him by climbing off of him before he can finish, leaving him to smash his head into the pillow behind him because he promised… he promised that I can control him—and Ido.
I still can’t bring myself to bring my mouth anywhere near his dick. I just… I can’t, and because I refuse to perform oral, I don’t let Connor put his mouth on my pussy, either. Instead, I invite him to finger me, to rub my clit, to test how wet I am so he knows I’m ready for him, and then I fuck him.
Even when he’s the one thrusting, make no mistake,I’m fuckinghim.
I did just now. I couldn’t stop myself. Christmas is in a week. I wasn’t sure how we were going to celebrate it. Knowing it was December 18th, I finally brought it up. For the most part, the outside world doesn’t exist for us. We passed the August ceremony, Halloween, Thanksgiving unaware… with the exception of Connor playing holiday-themed movies and cooking me traditional meals—including turkey on Thanksgiving—we don’t really pay attention to what’s going on outside of our little bubble.
But it’sChristmas,and when I finally got the nerve to ask about it, he just grinned. The next morning, the entire house—including the basement and my sanctuary—was decked out for the holiday. He had this massive eight foot tree upstairs in the living room, piled high with wrapped presents beneath it. I have no fucking idea how he pulled it off, and when I grabbed a pad and wroteI don’t have anything for you, all he did was pull me close, kiss my temple, and tell me that I was all the gift he needed.
Maybe, but even though there’s still a week to go, I wanted to show my appreciation the only way I can right now: I asked for the handcuffs, and I edged him until he was pleading with me to let him come. Then, wearing nothing but a smile, I fucked him with all the emotion I can’t often say.
That was this morning. We’ve had two more sessions since then: one right before lunch, and one after dinner when I decided that Connor would be my dessert.
You think I would’ve tired him out by now. I sure as hell feel like I could pass out. In fact, I’m half asleep when Connor uses the catch on the handcuffs to let himself free.
I quirk open an eye. From the moans and the pleas and the slight howl I let out the second time I came, my poor voice is as raw as ever as I ask, “What are you doing?”
I know that the handcuffs have a release catch. However, from the moment they became a symbol of the balance in our relationship, he only ever gets out of the cuffs when I use the key to let him out.
“Sweetheart… I thought you were asleep.”
Not yet. I shake my head.
