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“Is that a threat?” she asked, her lip curling.
“Would you like it to be?” he retorted pleasantly. “If you don't want me as your temporary Dom, that's fine. My dick might be offended after the stellar effort he put in tonight, but he'll get over it. I know Loki and Liam threw their hats into the ring, so they would take care of you. Jasper offered his services as well, but the sadism might not be easy to swallow, especially seeing as he's as much of an ass man as I am.”
The color drained out of her face, leaving it chilled. She made herself laugh, brushed it off as nonsense. “Now I know you're bullshitting. Jasper's happy with Anarchy; he's not going to stick his oar in this mess. Besides, he couldn't top me. None of them could.”
“Why not?” Atticus slid his hand under the blanket and along her thigh until he touched her swollen labia. “I did, and I will again. Anarchy loves you and she gave J permission to do whatever he needs to do in order to get you back on track.” He petted her folds, arousal darkening his eyes further as she slickened his fingers. “I know there's a lot of people who think sex and kink aren't an appropriate method of dealing with traumatic events. I'm not a shrink, not a psychologist, but I say fuck them. I'm willing to deal with this by any means that work.”
“Att, I'm not a basket case,” she said on a sigh. The voice in her head chanted, Liar! Liar!“I—ow!”
The soft fondling of her sex was replaced with the savage clench of his thumb and forefinger on her clit. He pinched it hard, raising her up onto her knees with a confused whimper, adding a little twist to drive his message home. “Still in my space, Connie. I've let more than one slip of the tongue pass—no more. Master or Sir, those are your choices when we're in this room. Understand?”
Quivering, kneeling straight up now, Connie was mortified by the whine crawling through her vocal cords. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting into the thick ridges of muscle, as her hips shuddered with a mixture of pain and pleasure. “No. I'm not…I'm not…” Her breath fluttered in harsh pants as his grip tightened. “Yes, Sir! I'm sorry, yes, Sir!”
“This isn't the way I like giving aftercare, little sub, and I don't appreciate you putting me in the position of reprimanding you after such an enjoyable scene.” He rubbed his fingers together, almost twirling her tortured nub. “You and I are going to have ground rules, Connie. You need boundaries.”
Christ, she was ready to agree to anything if he didn't let her clit go. The pain had morphed into something else, but the moment he released her clit, all the blood would rush back into her poor bundle of nerves, and send her through the roof. Worse, he knew exactly what a prolonged clit clamp would do.
“Number one: this room is at our disposal whenever we need it. I'm claiming it as your safe space, Connie. Yours.” He lifted his other hand to clasp her throat, his fingers adding just enough pressure to make her squirm uncomfortably. “Number two: in here, you're submissive to whoever takes you under their command. Be it me, Jasper, Loki, whoever. The Domme stays at the door.”
She nodded frantically.
“Number three: you'll trust me. No matter what the scene, you'll trust me to look after you, and know that I'm doing things for a reason. Safewords apply always. Hard limits will be abided by.” His thumb tapped thoughtfully on her pulse. “Number four: this arrangement stays in place until we're both satisfied your mental health has improved, until we find you a suitable and more permanent Dom to give you consistent sessions, or until we decide otherwise.”
“Yes, Sir.” Her head was buzzing. “Anything you say.”
“Good girl,” he crooned, releasing her throat. “We'll go over them again when your faculties are back in order, just to be sure.” He slipped his hand around to the small of her back, grinning wickedly.
Jasper isn't the only goddamn sadist in Aval--oooooh. Connie's eyes rolled back in her head on a moan, feeling the tightness on her clit lighten, then disappear altogether. She barely had a moment to register his hands were supporting her back and hips before a thick pulse of sensation throbbed into her nervous system, using her clit as the conduit.
It wasn't quite enough to give her an orgasm, but the ride was worth the discomfort.
Hips bucking, she sought desperately for something to fill her, to satisfy the ache inside her. But the tide of almost-there pleasure passed without fruition, and she sagged against Atticus's chest with a breathless groan. “You'd have let me come if I'd called you Master, wouldn't you?”
Atticus gave her a loving pat on the ass. “Absolutely. Might be worth remembering that next time, little sub.” He kissed the top of her head, then lifted her off the rocker and set her on her feet. When she swayed and set her hand on his shoulder for balance, he steadied her. “I'm not ashamed of what we're doing here, Connie. I hope you're not either. Should you decide you want to bring the situation to light, I'll be right behind you. A Switch isn't a lesser being, however much you believe so.”
Connie managed to stand tall, pulling the blanket around her more securely. She edged toward her clothes, noting Atticus's exasperated expression. Without his scent and heat giving her the comfort her sub needed, she felt more in control. Seeing the cuffs still clasped around her wrists knocked her confidence for a second, but she recovered quickly and tried to wrestle them off. “This was a mistake, Atticus. I need to go home, I need to check on Alicia and…and…” Shaking, she bent and swiped her pants off the carpet.
Seemingly understanding her distress, Atticus rose with a sigh and guided her to the bed. He yanked the covers back and stripped the blanket from her shoulders, nudging her until she sat on cool sheets. Gently, he lifted each hand and deftly unfastened the cuffs, linking them together and attaching them to his belt. At some point, he must have pulled on his pants and left them casually undone, but she couldn't remember when.
He made her lie down, urging her head onto the pillow as she trembled. “Bad girl, Connie, undoing all my hard cuddling. Take a nap for ten, you'll feel better.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “It's going to get easier, I promise.”
Connie huddled under the covers as he drew them up to her chin, rolling onto her side and into the fetal position. Anything would be easier than this rattled sensation, as though over a decade of building new foundations hadn't gone to waste in a single night. She watched him stroll around to the other side of the bed, stretching out beside her on top of the covers and giving her a strong, warm form to lean back against.
She hated him for turning her world upside down, but was so grateful for his presence, she couldn’t say the words.
*
Monday morning came too soon after a weekend of ups and downs.
Connie sat at her desk and scrubbed her hands over her face. There was a file in front of her for one Caera Anderson, twenty-one years old, who was incapable of sleeping more than a couple of hours over the span of days. It had the vibe of a difficult case, and after the weekend, Connie just didn't know if she could cope with another boulder on her back.
Friday night, she'd slept until after closing. Atticus had stayed with her the entire time, and she'd woken to a chilled bottle of water and little chocolate drops. He'd helped her dress, made sure she was fit to drive, then followed her all the way home like a dutiful bodyguard. Even escorted her to her front door, and would have steered her to the bedroom if she hadn't denied him access.
She'd been too wiped out, mentally and emotionally, to start picking through the remnants of her life, but they were waiting for her the next morning. Stress piled upon stress when Alicia declined to visit Bodie, then locked herself in her room when Connie quietly asked about the reading and writing lessons. Apparently, that was a touchy subject, not to be prodded at the wrong time.
Connie had decided to stay home on Saturday night, not feeling up to dealing with the concerned glances of her friends. There would be questions, she knew, and she didn't know how to face Atticus again. Not when he already had plans in place to make their situation a regular thing.
Not because he likedher as a woman, but because he'd decreed her behavior was self-destructive and harmful. Her thoughts turned bitter as she wondered how much of a hardship it must be to fuck a woman—a friend, she corrected—when she didn’t come close to being his type. Not that it held any bearing, she told herself. He'd still fucked her with all the respect he gave any of his submissives.
