Page 16 of Slaying With Sylphs (Haven Ever After #6)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LOU

T he morning after our date, I have no words. I’m officially out of words. Words don’t even exist to explain how amazing last night was. I throw my braid over my back as I leave the Annabelle Inn to head toward the Galloping Green Bean to meet my nieces. I need a girl date stat.

Because last night? Last night was crazy fun and insanely intense.

By the time I get to the Green Bean, I’m a bundle of pent-up nerves. Pulling the doors open, I step inside the retro-themed turquoise and red diner. Looking around, I find my nieces and Lola in a booth at the far end. I wave to Alba, holding back a wink. She and Malik have been on at least one date now, and I can’t wait to see how their story turns out.

When I slip into the booth next to Lola, she leans down and sucks in a deep breath. She pulls back with a satisfied-looking smirk.

“I ran across the girls on the way over and they dragged me here to get the details.” The shifter princess’ smile goes feral.

Across the table, my niece Thea makes the “what gives?” gesture, rolling her shoulders, her blue eyes wide. “And?”

Lola bumps me with her hip. “I’m guessing things happened. Am I right?”

I turn to look at my friend. “Are you telling me you just sniffed me to see if things happened?”

She grins. “Your aura’s a very lazy red this morning. Usually means sex.”

Thea leans across the table with a wicked grin, waving her fork at me. “Spit it out, Lou. Every damn thing.”

“I bet Dirk was an absolute gentleman,” my niece Wren says kindly, lifting a coffee cup to her pink-painted lips. She’s fucking glowing. Love her so much.

“Well,” I hedge. “They both were.”

Lola takes a sip of her coffee with a little chuckle.

Thea and Wren pull in matching shocked-sounding breaths.

“It’s everybody with everybody,” I confirm. “Dirk and Connall.” Thea and Wren stare at me, open-mouthed.

Thea makes heart eyes at me. “Aww, Auntie,” she says, “that’s the cutest thing I ever heard of! You came here to rescue us, and now you’re gonna get double-teamed by two hotties. Things have a way of working out.”

My mouth drops open, and then a hilarious giggle erupts from me and Lola at the same time. The laugh breaks the ice, and the entire story comes out from start to finish. It feels so good to share with my girls and my friend my thoughts and feelings, and how on board with this I am.

So far.

“Mama would have been happy for you,” Wren says quietly when I finish. She sips her latte, bright eyes wrinkling at the corners as she smiles over the cup at me.

Thinking about my sister Caroline sends a rush of emotion through me. She would have loved Dirk and Connall. I go misty pondering that. Next to me, Lola puts her arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer to her.

“I never had the privilege of meeting her,” she says quietly, “but if she was your sister and the girls’ mother, I bet she was a real badass.”

“She was,” Thea confirms, looking at Wren who’s still smiling at me. After a moment, Thea snort laughs. “And she’d have been hellsa proud of you for locking down two hotties.”

That makes me chuckle. I don’t know if proud is the right word, but Caroline would have understood. She was the only person in my life growing up besides the triplets who got me.

“Breakfast” runs until nearly lunchtime. Eventually, Alba stomps back and forth, letting us know she has other customers who “wanna eat sometime this century.”

I stand in front of the Green Bean and watch my nieces leave. Thea’s headed to meet her mate, Shepherd, to do security rounds of the haven. Wren’s off to meet her mate, Ohken the troll, to work a shift at the General Store. And Morgan’s probably off to have sex with her hot vampire husband, if I’m being honest. I’ve barely even seen him since they got mated. I don’t think she lets him leave the bedroom.

Nerves fill me as I consider my afternoon appointment with Connall—our first appointment for not-therapy therapy.

Half an hour after I parted ways with the girls, my hands shake as I knock on the solid wood door to Connall’s office. He’s tucked behind Pack Gem, the shifters’ jewelry store on the main thoroughfare. This is likely a terrible idea, going to therapy with the wolf I kissed last night, who carried me home and tucked me into bed. That’s the last thing I remember—Dirk standing watch as Connall pulled cushy blankets up to my neck.

Am I seriously pursuing two men? Or, rather, allowing them both to pursue me? The reality is I always wanted to be part of a mystical, ethereal world. It’s why I’ve always worked in occult shops and been drawn to that lifestyle. Now I’m living in a hidden monster town, and a wolf shifter and elemental sylph are my…mates?

It feels too good to be true.

I’m pondering that when the door swings open, and Connall’s seductive scent hits me full force. My cheeks heat at the knowing smile on his face. Today, he’s wearing a tee that’s fitted around his chest and arms but hangs loosely over his abs.

I saw those abs last night. All million of them, covered in sexy wolfish tattoos.

“Lou, everything okay?” His tone says he knows exactly what I’m thinking about.

When I manage to drag my eyes to his face, his smirk is a full-on grin.

“This is probably a terrible idea,” I blurt out. “The therapy, I mean,” I tack on before he thinks I mean he himself is a horrible idea.

He reaches out and grabs my hand, pulling me over the stoop and into the front room. “It’s alright to be nervous about therapy, Lou. Our track is certainly unconventional.”

“You can say that again,” I mutter as I drop his hand and stare around in wonder. His space is one giant room with a retro turquoise and cream kitchen on the left side. The right side has a sitting area with mismatched plush chairs of all sorts and a tall brick fireplace. Windows along the back wall look out onto an enclosed porch area. I think I see the corner of a canvas, but it’s hard to be sure at first glance.

“Come to the kitchen,” he says, turning and padding into the depths of the space.

I follow him into a bright kitchen full of pale turquoise retro-style appliances. He opens the fridge door and retrieves a tray of cheese, crackers and a few spreads. When he withdraws two chilled glasses and a bottle of something pale that looks like wine, I laugh, shooting him a wry look. “Is that champagne?”

He smiles. “Therapy and drinking don’t really go hand in hand in the monster world. If they do in the human world, I’d love to know more about that. But, no, it’s not champagne. It’s a special nonalcoholic mead Ohken makes for me. It’s been proven that having a drink while at therapy can help soothe your nerves. The snacks serve the same purpose. And I’ve discovered as a therapist that sometimes the best sessions are the ones where we don’t sit awkwardly in chairs staring at each other.”

“Are you gonna take notes about me?”

Connall’s laugh echoes in the small space. Gods, it’s so deep and delightful. I could jump into that laugh and get lost. I’ve never heard a manlier laugh in my entire life.

“Yeah, but I take them between sessions so that, during our session, I can give you my full attention.”

I tug at my collar. The mental image of Connall sitting there scribbling notes about me makes me simultaneously anxious and horny. What if he wore glasses? Gods, that’s hot.

He places a piece of cheese on a cracker and hands it to me.

“I want to reiterate that we can in no way consider this real therapy, Lou. I couldn’t date a client. So let’s just eat and drink and talk about how you’re feeling. I want to help, if I can, even if I’m only able to give you coping mechanisms.”

“Agreed.” I munch on the cracker as he grabs another and tosses it into his mouth.

It’s companionable being with him like this. Easy.

“How are you feeling today?” he questions.

“About any specific topic?” I slide my eyes to his.

“Whatever’s top of mind,” he encourages. “We can talk about Leighton if you like, or about your nieces. We could even talk about last night.” His smile returns as heat flares through me.

“Not last night,” I say in a rush. “Not that it wasn’t lovely, I just think I’d feel awkward talking about it like I need therapy because of it?”

He laughs. “Noted. Then what would you like to discuss?”

“Coping mechanisms.”

He pushes his glass to the side and leans over the pale aqua countertop onto his forearms. “To cope with what?”

I hunch over the countertop, wondering if it would be weird to slide my hands across it and hold his. “Guilt,” I finally admit. “I can logically tell myself that what I did to Leighton wasn’t my fault, that I was a victim too. But Leighton’s gone, and I’m here, and I don’t know how to get my emotions in line with the logic part.”

He keeps the soft smile, even though I just brought up his dead friend. “Lou, are you familiar with the concept of moral injury?”

I shrug. “Sounds familiar, but I’m not sure I could explain it.”

“Essentially, it’s applied to any number of emotions or sensations that result from having done something that’s contradictory to your moral code, in this instance, your part in Leighton’s murder.”

Murder. Oh my gods, he thinks I’m a murderer.

“This concept is common among soldiers who’ve gone through war,” he continues. “Even if they signed up to fight, going into battle and killing is another thing entirely. The number of monsters I’ve counseled who fought in various wars is too high to count.”

I blink away errant thoughts as I process what he’s saying. Looking up into those green eyes, I try to understand.

Connall rounds the island and grabs my hand. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

Twisting my fingers through his, I allow him to pull me through the room and down a short hall into a sunny porch-like area. A singular canvas sits on a stand in one corner. Buckets of paint cover every surface with giant containers full of brushes.

“Are you a painter?” The words croak out of me as I imagine Connall painting.

“I am,” he says, “but it’s also a therapy method that works really well for some. That’s not what I wanted to show you though.” He leans down to a half bookshelf and grabs a thick leather tome. When there’s nowhere to set it down, he grabs three buckets of paint and moves them somewhere else, balancing them precariously on top of others. This entire room is one painty disaster waiting to happen.

I love it. I never want to leave.

Connall drums his fingers along the book’s cover. “When Hearth HQ designed the haven system, they knew we needed a place for those monsters so scarred from all the wars that happened before, they needed extra help. There’s a haven called Shadowsurf, named by its occupants, for those monsters.”

Immediately, I picture a leper colony. Or that scene from Firefly where the crazy people-eating monsters swarm the town and drag everyone away.

“It’s a wonderful place to be and visit,” Connall offers, opening the book. A black-and-white photograph of a variety of monsters stares back at me. Their arms are slung around one another’s waists, and they’re all smiling.

“In order to gain access to Shadowsurf, you must have experienced moral injury—an accidental death, wartime, something like that. And the whole concept of this haven is being around those who can understand what you went through. I’ve referred many clients there.”

I flip the page to see an array of images, all depicting monsters in groups. Talking, playing skyball, sitting in a group with eyes closed like they’re meditating.

Glancing up at Connall, I frown. “Do you think I need to go here?”

He smiles back at me, reaching out to tuck my braid over my shoulder. “I’m not suggesting you need to do anything, Lou, just that it exists, because, what you’re going through? Others have been through it before. If they can get through it, you can too.”

Tears prick my eyes. I want to hug him. Scratch that. I really need a hug. Before I can talk myself out of it, I push into his arms and bury my face in his chest.

Connall’s purr is immediate, deep and rolling as it envelops me in comfort. Big, warm hands come to my back. One slides all the way around to hold my waist. The other moves up into my hair, gripping the base of my neck.

I’ve never particularly loved being manhandled. I think I’m just so bratty and independent, and I never had a partner I trusted to take care of me. And thinking about it now, trust is something people have to earn from me.

But I trust Connall. Implicitly. Completely. I’ve never met a steadier, more calming person. So I sink into his pecs and say nothing as he purrs and holds me tight. The rolling warmth of the sound relaxes my muscles one by one. I never want to leave the comfort of his embrace. Eventually, I glance at the clock and realize we’ve been standing here for nearly half an hour, and my session is just forty-five minutes long.

“Gods, I’m sorry.” I pull away from him. “I didn’t realize I needed a hug that badly, and I almost used up our whole time.”

Connall smiles at me. “Hugging is an essential part of wolf culture, but not at all for any other type of monster therapist. So, consider yourself a wolf, Lou.”

“Wish I were,” I mutter. “Being just a human is so boring. I’m jealous of the triplets actually being witches.”

The moment I say it, I realize how catty that sounds. I adore my nieces, would give my life for them any day. My loyalty literally knows no depths. But I am jealous of their power. Not that I don’t want them to have it. I just want it too.

“Sounds like something we should discuss very soon,” Connall says with a gentle smile. “You’re perfect to me as you are, Lou. Being who you are is magic enough.”

I risk a glance at him as tears fill my eyes again.

I want to kiss him. Stepping closer, I press my body to his, glad he insisted we not call this therapy.

“I want to kiss you,” I admit.

“A lovely idea, but most decidedly not therapy,” he says with a laugh.

I shrug. “I dunno. It might not be your typical therapy, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be therapeutic.” I look up at him. “We should try it, for science.”

His mouth drops open, then zips shut as his wolf’s brighter green shade overtakes his eyes.

“It might get out of hand,” he warns.

“What does your instinct tell you to do?” I’m pushing him a little. But I want to see that side of Connall that’s not so professional. Therapy shmerapy.

“It might be rough,” he says softly. “And I don’t know if you need rough right now.”

Heat sizzles through me, my pussy clenching around nothing as I imagine Connall getting rough with me.

His nostrils flare, and he sucks in a deep, slow breath. “Maybe I’m wrong, and rough is exactly what you need.”

“We should find out,” I manage, my heart beating like a drum.

His lips tilt into a delicious smile. Then he moves so fast, I can’t even track him.

In a heartbeat, he has me flipped against the bookshelf, pinned there by his body. His fingers close around my wrists, and he plants them on the book in front of us.

“Don’t move your hands, Lou.” His breath is warm and ragged against my ear.

He’s so much bigger than me, so much taller. On instinct, I let my head fall back against his broad, warm chest. His hands come to my waist and lift me off the ground, bringing me up high enough to slide onto my knees on the top of the low bookcase.

“Better,” he grits out, splaying his fingers over my stomach. He moves them up between my breasts until he reaches my throat. His grip is unforgiving, tiny stars dancing behind my eyelids as he pulls my head to the side and buries his nose just beneath my ear.

“Dirk asked me to work with you for weeks, and this is why I said no.” His tone is full of his wolf’s deeper bass. “Because I want you with a desperation that claws at my insides. I want to be a caveman, Lou, and fuck you right here on top of my books. Then I wanna feed you and drag you to my home and fuck you again. I put together a treatment plan of things for us to discuss, and it did not include playing around like this. This is in no fucking way anything remotely resembling therapy.”

“We’re complicated,” I wheeze as his teeth close softly around the side of my neck. “Give me my fucking kiss.”

He bites harder, but all it does is send heat flaring between my thighs, my clit throbbing in time with my heartbeat.

“Now,” I demand, trying to rock my ass against Connall’s body.

“Or what?” he growls, raking his teeth down the line of my neck. “You didn’t give me a timeframe for it.”

I gasp and clutch at the hand still holding my throat. “I wanted it the moment I asked!”

Connall laughs, and it’s then I know what he means about being dominant. He won’t give me what I want without the words. He’s getting off on this fucking edging. My first instinct is to be bratty about it, and he said he loved bratty women, so I snarl and shove him away. “If you won’t give it to me, I’m leaving.”

He laughs again, but his fingers only tighten. “Good, Lou. Get mouthy so I can punish you like the brat you are. Throw my paints around. Make a fucking mess. Taunt me. Because what happens when you’re in trouble will be so fucking delicious.”

Anger and heat war inside my mind. But I almost laugh at the idea he gave me. Grabbing one of the open cans of paint, I toss it at the wall. It hits with a clang, paint splashing across the white surface.

Connall’s fingers tighten as he growls in my hair, “I was kidding about the paint, Lou.”

But I’m fired up now. He pushed me, and now he’s gonna get me in full Lou form. Plus, we sell a cleaning potion at Alkemi so I can sort this out pretty quickly once we’re done. I’m just gonna have fun making a damn mess.

I lash out and grab another can. Before I can toss it, his hand comes to my wrist, closing around it. But he’s not quite quick enough, and the paint sloshes down the side and over both of our hands.

Snarling, I shove us both backwards and slip off the bookshelf. Connall matches my snarl, staring at me with eyes full of heat. Purple paint drips from his hand and the flecks of the first color spatter across the bridge of his nose.

I give him a superior look as I whip a hand out and brush three cans onto the floor. “Oops.” Batting my eyelashes, I step into the paint and stomp my feet, sending splashes of it all over the books and floor.

Connall slips both hands into his jeans pockets, watching dispassionately.

I shoot him a taunting look. “The paint was your idea, Connall. How far do I go?”

His lips curl into a wicked grin. “As far as you like, Lou. You seem to be having fun, and every can you drop is an extra punishment. The more, the better. I’ll have my fun when you’re done having yours.”

I grin. “You keep saying punishment, but so far all I see is?—”

Paint-covered hands are around my throat before I even finish the sentence, green eyes flashing with lust. “Drop another, and another, Lou. Please. Because the punishment I have in mind is gonna be so fuckin’ beautiful.”

I reach to my left and grab a small can of yellow, tossing it right at his shirt. It hits and splatters. He straightens and pulls the shirt over his head, revealing miles of taut abs and pale skin dotted with tiny freckles.

“Actually, that’s enough,” he commands. When I reach for yet another can, he squeezes my throat so hard, black stars fill my vision. “I said, that’s enough, Louanna.”

His use of my full name has my pussy clenching on nothing.

Delicate nostrils flare as he pushes me downward. We sink to the floor in a heap. Connall rocks back on his heels, still holding me tight.

“Get on your knees, Lou. You’re gonna suck me off, and when you think you’ll choke, you’re gonna take another inch for every can of paint you tossed.”

I stare in surprise, my mouth falling open as he reaches down with his free hand. He unzips his jeans and pulls out his dick, and, fuck me, he’s hard. The thick knot at the base is partially swollen, his tip dripping with precum.

“Good, stare at it, Lou. Because you’re about to give me the best head of my life.”

When I falter, he strokes his cock languidly. “Pick a safe word, pretty girl.”

“Red,” I offer. It’s easy to remember. Gods help me because I didn’t come here for this kind of therapy. But right now, this sort of thing feels like exactly what I need.

He drops his grip on my throat. “Good. Now lean forward and take me into your mouth, Lou.”

Gods, I can’t resist the temptation. It occurs to me to brat it up one more time and deny him, but I think he’d just wrap that big hand around my braid and make me.

Leaning forward, I plant both hands on his muscular thighs and hover just above his bobbing cock. “What do you like?” I ask at the last minute.

“Licking, sucking, nuzzling, biting,” he says, a muscle in his jaw working overtime. “Just touch it.”

Grinning, I surge forward and take him to the back of my throat, sucking hard around his thick length. He’s huge, and I can’t fit much of him, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care about that as a deep, desperate groan falls from his lips.

I pull off him and lick playfully around his tip, bringing one hand to his knot. The paint makes for a good lubricant, so I swirl it around the bulbous area, tightening and loosening my fingers. Connall snarls at me, precum dripping onto my tongue.

“Time for your punishment,” he croons. “Take me to the back of your throat, Lou, and then we’ll start counting inches.”

Wait, is he fucking serious?

But he is, because he lifts off his heels long enough to bring my mouth down on his cock. He hits the back of my throat and grins. “You dropped six cans of paint, Lou. Think you can swallow six more inches of dick?”

I try to shake my head, but I’m stuffed too full.

There’s no fucking way.

“One.” His nostrils flare as black overtakes his iris. His hips work as he goes deeper, hitting the back of my throat and going just a bit farther. When I start to gag, he pauses. “Breathe, my bratty little female. In through your nose and out through your nose.”

I do as he says, and the need to gag passes.

“Five more inches, Lou.” He strokes my bangs away from my face.

His hips move again, teasing my throat as he fucks my mouth. I choke on dick as he slides farther in, growling softly.

“Naughty little girl,” he murmurs. “Throwing your alpha’s things around. You need a lesson. Take another inch.”

I shake my head. I can’t even speak around the mouthful of cock.

“Do it, my sweet girl,” he commands. So I surge forward, lips and teeth inching closer to his knot.

“Mmm, Lou.” His voice is ragged, husky with want. “I don’t think today’s the day you make up for all six paint cans, but look at you, you’re taking your punishment so well.”

I could cry with distress when he pulls his thick cock from between my lips. But when he grabs it and slaps my mouth with it, rubbing his tip along my sore lips, the brat in me rushes back. I nip at the tip, pinching it between my teeth.

The effect is immediate. Connall jerks and roars, and precum spurts onto my lips. “Fuck, Lou. You don’t know how much it turns me on for you to get rough with me.”

I feel powerful. Desired and beautiful and powerful . Surging forward, I take his cock into my mouth once more. But this time, I drag my teeth carefully down his length.

“Yes,” he cries out. “Again, don’t stop.”

Opening my mouth, I slip him farther inside until I choke. In a flash, he flips us so my back is to the floor. His thighs come to either side of me as he bends down. I’m encased beneath him, and I’ve never felt lighter or safer than I do right now. Connall’s eyes go wolfy green as he stares at me, his dick bobbing against my upper thighs. I shift onto my elbows, and he reaches one hand beneath my back to hold me up.

“Kiss me,” I demand.

His smile grows wicked, something I need to see a lot more of from Connall. Because Connall’s bedroom smile is utterly breathtaking.

He leans down and takes my mouth, his kiss rough and punishing. I’m still in trouble. And I love it.

The first swipe of his tongue is possessive and raw, like he’s learning every inch of mine with his. He growls and deepens the kiss when there’s a knock at the door.

Connall parts from me, glances down, and groans, pulling away. We look around the room and at each other as another knock echoes from the front door.

“Louanna, are yeh done?” Dirk’s voice is muffled.

“Dirk,” I manage. Thank fuck it’s him and not Connall’s next client, because I don’t know how we’re gonna clean up this mess.

Connall nods and helps me out of the pool of paint. He shoves his still-hard dick back in his pants, zips them, and then pads through the space to the front door. When he opens it, Dirk stands there with a serious expression. But the moment he sees Connall, it morphs into a wicked, wicked grin. He eyes the big alpha.

“Well, what do we have here?”