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“Hmmm. Kevin and David.”
“They were mine. I loved them and took care of them, I taught them how to submit. They were part of me, a huge part of me, and they didn't even try and change my mind.” More tears, more words wrenched from her as the floodgates opened. Too exhausted to hold the gates closed, Connie wept for the loss of two men who hadn't loved her the way she'd loved them. It was always the same story. “They walked away and didn't look back. Not even a token protest.”
“You didn't think we could help you with that?” For the first time, Atticus pressed his lips to the corners of her trembling mouth. “Being abandoned isn't something that just happens to subs, Con. You know that. Why didn't you talk to us, any of us?”
“Because I'm a Domme, and a psychologist, and I'm supposed to be able to handle this by myself.”
“Bullshit. If I have my way, you'll be scening as a sub until you get your fucking head set straight. There's being strong, and there's being stubborn.” Atticus drove into her, hard, and stole her breath before the next sob could. “Being a psychologist doesn't mean everyone can pile their shit onto you and leave you to flounder. It's about balance, for you and your patient.” He shifted his weight onto his forearm and reached down to unclip the chains on her cuffs. “From now on, you'll wear my cuffs, Connie. You'll wear them every fucking time you're at Avalon, and you'll remember that you're not alone, that you don't have to handleanything by yourself. You'll remember you're part of a family, and this family doesn't abandon its people.”
She threw her arms around his back, clinging to him desperately. Never had she been so relieved to feel another body against hers, skin warm under her hands. She didn't let go even when he pushed off the bed, standing tall so she stuck to him like a limpet, her weight pushing her down further on his cock. She grunted in discomfort, but only tucked her face against his shoulder.
Atticus walked to the corner post of the bed, braced her back against the cool wood. “This family stands strong as a team, not just as individuals. Reach up and grab the ring, Connie. That's it,” he murmured in approval when she hesitantly released him and lifted her hands to grasp the tie ring embedded in the wood. “That smart brain's tired now, isn't it? Quiet and calmer. You earned your reward.”
He ravaged her. Mouth on her breasts, her throat, he left a swath of beard burn in his wake, but it only added to the sensations he roused in her. His hands molded her curves, cupped her ass, travelled over her as his cock hammered into her, bruising her muscles as he took her to the edge of orgasm and tossed her over the peak. Before she could recover enough to take a breath, he drove her up again, using his strength and stamina to keep the pleasure rolling through her until he gripped her hips tightly and bared his teeth as he came.
***
Chapter Three
The rocking chair squeaked when it moved.
Honestly, Connie couldn't blame it. She'd given more than a squeak with Atticus's powerful frame on top of her. Bundled in a blanket on his lap, the motion of the chair was soothing—combined with his scent and his warmth, she found the tumultuous chaos in her mind settling, offering peace she hadn't felt in forever. Her fingers flexed against his bare chest.
He'd ripped the rug from under her feet, but she knew his game. The man was a Master for a reason, and orgasms were his skill. If he thought he could keep doing this—manipulating her submissive side to expose her—then he had her at a disadvantage, hooked on the sex alone. She just had to be stronger, that was all. Shove that needy bitch back into her closet and padlock the damn door, and give total authority to the Domme.
Atticus continued to rock, his hand stroking her hair in time to the rhythm of the chair. “That needy bitch is going nowhere, Connie. You need her more than you realize, and I like playing with her.” His chuckle reverberated under her cheek. “How are you feeling?”
No talking. Connie pretended to be asleep, silently admonishing herself for letting her mouth talk without the appropriate mental supervision. She needed to make sure that didn't become a habit around him, otherwise there was nothing he wouldn't know.
“It's okay, you don't have to talk. We'll just sit here like this until you're ready.” The chair rocked a little harder, a little faster, and the big lummox began to hum quietly. This was his forte, his purpose in life. Nurturing was his dream, and he did it so well.
“Atticus,” she murmured.
“Mmmn. Yes, Connie?” He sounded as though he was half-asleep himself, lost in contentment.
Connie shifted restlessly, feeling the heat from the flogging reignite as the blanket brushed over her tender skin. Her thighs were aching like a bitch, her pussy felt swollen and bruised. She wouldn't be able to walk out of this room without people knowing what they'd been doing. “Thank you, for this. But it's a one-time-only deal. I have a reputation as a Domme that I can't lose. I don't want to be looked at like I don't belong, as if I can't decide whether I'm Dominant or submissive.”
“Mmm-hmmm.” He patted her back gently, rubbing her shoulders.
That was it? That was all the response he was going to give her? With a huff, Connie eased her sore body into a sitting position, prepared to slide off his knees and get dressed. She was stopped by his hand clamping down firmly on her nape. The dominance of the gesture made her wet. Again.
“That'swhat you're worried about. How everyone is going to react to you being a Switch? Huh.” His expression was thoughtful when she risked a glance at his face. “You're more concerned about people and their reaction to something that has nothingto do with them, than you are about falling into depression, isolating yourself from the ones who love you, and possible attempts at taking your own life. Fascinating.”
“I'm notsuicidal,” she exclaimed, shocked he would think so.
Atticus lifted an eyebrow, then picked her up and shifted her so she sat astride his thighs in the oversized rocker. He tucked the blanket around her shoulders to keep the chill off her warm skin, then nudged her chin high enough to meet her eyes. “You're a psychologist, Connie. Enlighten me—what happens when a person becomes swamped by the rigors of life and the shit just keeps on coming? What happens when they reach a point where they can't see anything but the clusterfuck? What are their options?”
She closed her eyes. “Therapy—”
“I'm not stupid, little sub. Therapy only works if the patient wantshelp, and you're too fucking stubborn to see you needit. How many more months of being snowed under by stress and anxiety can you take before you start drinking, start taking prescription drugs to get through a damn day? How many more months after that before you overdose for the first time?” His voice grew harsher, more emphatic, as he bombarded her with questions. “How long before you make a mistake and kill yourself?”
She shook her head vehemently. Just because it had crossed her mind—very, very briefly—didn't mean she had any intention of doing something stupid. She'd seen the consequences of suicide, had spoken with people who had lost loved ones and dealt with the aftermath of losing someone special. She couldn't put anyone, particularly the ones she loved, through that hell. “Come on, Atticus. You know me.”
He nodded slowly. “I do. Just as I've known people as good and sweet and innocent as you. It didn't stop from them doing the unthinkable, Connie. It doesn't matter how smart or capable you are, how happy you seem on the outside. All that matters is what you've got cooking on the inside, and sweetheart, you're in trouble.”
Connie rolled her eyes impatiently. He was far too astute sometimes. “Att, I have too many people relying on me to do something moronic like find everlasting fucking peace. I've got a new patient starting on Monday morning, a young girl who's an insomniac. I've got case files coming out of my ears. And that's just professionally, it doesn't even cover the people here or Alicia. Me being dead wouldn't help anybody.”
He grabbed her face, his jungle-green eyes boring into hers with an intensity that shook her down to the bones. “Do you think depression gives a shit whether or not you're busy, Connie? All the branches of the crap weighing you down are sprouting from one tree. If the branches get too heavy, they'll pull the tree down, and it will be the end of you. We need to remove those branches, cut them off, before it's too late. So, no, right now I don't give a fuck if your priority is keeping your orientation a secret from the world. Mine is to make sure you stay alive.”
