Chapter 37
Jaxon
When Neil started talking about himself, it wasn’t clinical at all. There were no forms, no assessments, no feeling of being evaluated. It felt more like we’d met somewhere by chance and struck up a conversation. Over coffee, or at a bar, anywhere but a therapist’s office.
He told me about his time in the Army. Not the horror stories. Just enough that I understood that he’d been there, seen things, and lost people. He carried memories that refused to stay buried. He knew what those nightmares felt like.
The realization alone took some of the tension out of my shoulders.
Then he told me about his family. About going back to university as an older student.
About feeling ancient surrounded by eighteen-year-olds.
I actually laughed. More than once. Looking back, I think that was the moment he got me.
Not because he manipulated me but because he made himself human first.
By the time he finally asked about me, I was relaxed enough that I didn’t think twice before answering. One question became another. Then another. Before I knew it, I was talking, really talking. About the foster homes. The military. Trent. The drinking. The pills.
All the things I’d spent years avoiding. Some things I’d never said out loud. A lot of it hurt. Yet Neil never looked shocked, never looked disgusted, never gave me the pitying expression I’d come to hate. He just listened. Asked questions. Made observations that were irritatingly accurate.
By the end of the session, my head felt strangely lighter.
Yet the pain in my chest still sat heavy.
Talking hadn’t erased anything. If anything, it had stirred everything up.
Every memory I discussed seemed to drag two more to the surface.
They all crowded together until I felt emotionally exhausted, raw, and exposed.
More than anything, it reminded me just how alone I’d been for most of my life.
Then Conor asked me what I needed. What he could do to help.
My answer surprised even me. A week ago, I never would have said it.
Never would have admitted it. Yet somehow, standing in front of him, the truth had simply fallen out.
I didn’t want to think anymore. I didn’t want to make decisions.
I wanted someone else to carry the weight for a little while.
Conor leads me upstairs. Neither of us speaks. His hand remains firmly wrapped around mine. When he pushes open the door to his bedroom, he doesn’t stop there. Instead, he guides me into the massive en suite bathroom.
My eyes immediately land on the bathtub. It’s enormous. Large enough to comfortably fit several people. Sunlight streams through the frosted windows, reflecting off the marble surfaces and polished fixtures. The entire room looks like something from a luxury resort.
“Conor.”
He squeezes my hand gently. “Trust me.”
The words settle something restless inside me. He begins filling the tub. Hot water pours from the faucet while steam slowly rises into the air. The scent of eucalyptus drifts through the room a few moments later. Calming. Clean. Peaceful.
Conor turns back toward me. His eyes move over my face. Not assessing. Not judging. Simply looking. No one has ever looked at me and decided that my comfort mattered.
His hands move to the hem of my shirt.
“Arms up,” he says gently.
I obey without thinking. The shirt disappears over my head and is set aside. There is nothing demanding in the gesture. The kind of gesture and care I’ve spent my entire life pretending I didn’t need. His hands settle briefly on my shoulders. His touch warm and steady.
Conor helps me step out of the rest of my clothes with the same quiet efficiency. Never rushing. Never making me feel exposed even though I’m standing naked in front of him.
By the time the tub is full, steam has filled the room. The scent of eucalyptus wraps around us. Conor rests a hand against my back.
“Get in.”
I step into the water and immediately feel some of the tension leave my body. The heat sinks into aching muscles, into old injuries, into places I hadn’t realized I’d been holding tight all day. A sigh escapes me.
“Better?”
I glance up to find Conor watching me. Concern still lingering in his eyes.
“Yeah.” My voice comes out rough. Honest. “A lot better.”
For the first time since sitting down with Neil, my mind begins to quiet. Not completely. But enough that I can finally breathe.
Conor kneels beside the tub. He wets a washcloth and works soap into the fabric before reaching for me.
Every movement is unhurried. He treats me like something precious.
Something worth taking care of. The realization makes my throat tighten.
I can’t remember the last time someone looked after me without expecting something in return. Maybe I never have.
The warm water and steam loosen muscles I hadn’t realized were clenched. The ache behind my eyes begins to fade. For the first time all day, I stop thinking. Stop replaying conversations. Stop dissecting memories. Stop wondering what comes next.
Conor washes me with gentle strokes of the cloth.
When he runs it over my chest and stomach, I can’t help but wish it were his hand and not the cloth touching me.
I close my eyes and lean my head back. Willing my body not to react.
My breathing quickens without my permission as thoughts of his hands on me flash behind my eyelids.
My cock begins to thicken. Muscles that had just started to relax bunch and tighten. I can feel the color rising up my neck. I slowly move my hand to cover my now hard cock.
“Hands at your sides.” The command in his voice has me obeying immediately. Despite my embarrassment, I do as he says. That is what I want, what I need. His command, my obedience. His decision and my surrender.
“You won’t hide anything from me, Jaxon.”
He uses the handheld sprayer to wet my hair. Warm water runs down the back of my neck. The scent of sandalwood fills the air as his fingers work shampoo through my hair. The simple act should feel ordinary. Instead, it feels unbearably intimate.
“I want to see all of your reactions.” His voice is quiet.
The water starts again, rinsing away the last of the shampoo.
For a few moments neither of us speaks. The silence isn’t uncomfortable.
It actually gives me the space to just be.
To simply exist here with him. Here, where there are no expectations, no decisions.
No memories demanding my attention. Just the sound of the water and Conor’s steady presence beside me.
Eventually, he has me stand. I do so without question. Conor helps me rinse away the soap before shutting off the water. The sudden quiet settles around us. Steam curls through the room. Softening everything.
A large towel immediately wraps around my shoulders. Soft enough that I can’t stop myself from leaning into it. The sensation draws a contented sigh from me. He begins drying my hair with another towel. Gentle despite the size of his hands.
The simple act sends an unexpected wave of emotion through me. Because nobody has ever taken care of me like this. Not when I was a child. Not after the military. Not even Trent. The realization should hurt. Instead, it makes my chest ache in a different way. A hopeful one.
When Conor finishes, he rests a hand against the back of my neck. The familiar touch immediately settles something restless inside me. Without a word, he leads me from the bathroom, and I follow willingly. Trusting him to guide me.
We walk into the bedroom we’ve been sharing. The room is quiet. Peaceful. The fading sunlight paints everything in shades of gold. For a moment, neither of us speaks.
Conor simply looks at me. I told him what I needed. What I wanted. To be cared for. To stop thinking for a little while. To forget. And somehow he’d given me exactly that, and with a level of care I’ve never experienced before.
My chest tightens. Would Conor still look at me the same if I told him what I really want?
Would he think that I’m too fragile to handle my deepest desire?
He said he would do anything. Over the past few days, Conor has given exactly two orgasms, but he never pushed for more.
Each has been so sweet and gentle, but I want more.
I want him to command my body. Would he want that?
“What is it, A Chroí?”
I don’t respond, not with words. I let the towel he had wrapped around my waist fall to the thick carpet. My heart is beating so hard I wonder if he can hear it. I drop to my knees in front of him. Lowering my head, I place my hands behind my back. Conor’s only reaction is a sharp inhale of breath.
For a split second, I think I have made a huge mistake. Then his hand brushes gently over my hair.
“Look at me, Jaxon.” His voice is deeper now. I look up without hesitation. “Is this really what you want?”
I nod my head, but that’s not good enough for Conor. He grips under my chin when I try to look away.
“I need words, Jaxon,” He says, staring directly into my eyes. “I will give you anything. But something like this, you need to tell me what that is.”
I try to swallow around the lump in my throat. Could I really say the words out loud? I didn’t even do that with Trent. The thought of him gives me the push that I need. He never asked what I wanted or what I needed. Conor does.
“I want this,” I finally get out. “I want to submit to you, to your control.” I search his eyes for judgment, for amusement. But what I see is desire and want reflected back at me.
“We use the traffic light system. Say red and everything stops. If I ask for your color and you don’t answer, everything stops. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” The words come out like a balm washing over my heated skin. How many times have I dreamed about this exact thing? The need for someone’s total control and my total submission.
Conor rubs his thumb across my bottom lip before sliding it into my mouth. He utters one word, one command. “Suck.”
I wrap my lips around the digit and do exactly that.
His large finger presses down on my tongue.
He moves his thumb in and out. His eyes burn into mine.
He pulls free and takes a step back. I mourn the loss of his touch instantly.
But I don’t move. I stay perfectly still, waiting for his direction, his command.
Reaching behind his head, he removes his t-shirt in one fluid motion. I’ve seen Conor without his shirt, but this is different somehow. I watch as he unbuckles his belt, then his jeans. He doesn’t remove them, just lets them hang open.
“Come here, Jaxon.” He points at the floor at his feet. Shifting to my hands and knees, I follow his order. “Take out my cock.”
A shiver runs down my spine at the authority in his voice. I’m hoping that the tremor in my hands isn’t noticeable. It’s not nerves that cause it, but excitement.
Opening his jeans further, I reach inside and wrap my fingers around his length. Conor is a large man in every way. Pulling his cock free, I marvel at the size and beauty of it. Its weight sits heavily in my hand. My mouth waters, wanting to taste him.
His hand wraps around mine, squeezing at the base of his erection. He guides his tip to my lips, smearing his precum across them. My tongue darts out automatically to lick at it.
“Color?”
It takes my mind a second to catch up to the question.
“Green.” I manage to pant out.
“Good boy. Now open those pretty lips for me.” Again, I do as he instructs without any hesitation. “Tap on my thigh if it gets to be too much.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, looking up at him as I open my mouth to take him in.
The flare of his nostrils and deep breath are the only indicators of how this is affecting him.
I place my palms flat against his thighs.
The feel of the rough material is a reminder of my own nakedness while he’s still half-dressed.
I take his cock into my mouth. First, just the mushroom head of his cut length.
Swirling my tongue around and over, paying attention to the sensitive frenulum.
I let out a moan as the taste of Conor explodes on my tongue.
The salty taste of him has my eyes rolling back.
I take more of him into my mouth, unable to get enough of him.
“Look at you. Your lips stretched around my cock. Such a good boy for me.” Conor growls above me. His fingers palm the back of my head. For the first time in my life, I wish my hair were longer so he could tug on it.
He pushes deep into my mouth. His cock touches the back of my throat before he pulls back and does it again.
My eyes water, and spit gathers on my chin.
With each thrust my mind clears a little more.
The buzz that is normally there is oddly quiet, blissfully so.
There’s only Conor, only me on my knees before him.
The rest of the world is outside of our bubble.