The Dominant (32 page)

“I forgot where I was,” I said, trailing my eyes down her body. “Now I have to start all over.”

Because starting over would give me time to calm back down, to bring her back to the edge and heighten her pleasure. I kissed
her—parting her lips with my tongue, savoring her taste.

“We discussed your mouth,” I said, when we were both breathing heavily. “And your neck,” I said, working back over her delicate
skin. “Your overlooked elbows and belly button—and I
definitely remember these.” I kissed her breasts, rolling first one nipple and then the other between my lips, tickling her
with the tip of my tongue.

“Ah, yes,” I said, when her body trembled beneath me. “I remember now.” It was time to drive her completely mad, for she thought
she knew where I’d go next. I slid down her body. “Right. About. Here,” I said, coming to rest between her legs, ignoring
where she really needed me and taking her knee in my hand.

She lifted her head and stared at me.

“The knee is an erogenous zone for many people,” I explained.

Her head fell back to the bed.

I played with her knee—kissing and caressing it. I gently lifted her and tasted the skin behind her knee before switching
to her other leg.

“Nathaniel. Higher.”

I know. I want it, too.

Instead, I slipped lower, coming to rest at her feet. I took one in my hand, examining the curve of her arch. Then I kissed
the inside of her ankle, and ever so gently, placed a soft kiss on the bottom of each foot.

She was indeed a goddess.

Who needed to be teased more.

“Now,” I said, raising my head. “I feel like I forgot something. What was it?”

But I’d forgotten how sinfully she could tease me.

“You’re a smart man.” Her legs shifted, then parted and gave me a perfect view of her silk-clad sex. “I’m sure it’ll come
to you.”

A growl ripped from my throat—if that’s the way she wanted it, I was more than ready. I crawled up to her and ripped away
the silk that stood between my goal and me.

I lifted both her legs and slipped under them. I licked her gently, remembering how tentative she had been the first time
I did
so. She was not tentative now—she lifted her hips to me, trying to get closer.

“Now, right here is an important spot,” I said. “Because, this”—I ran my tongue over her again and again, in between my words—“is
pure, unadulterated Abby.”

“Dear Lord.”

Just you wait, darling vixen.

“And after I spend hours kissing your mouth”—I spread her with my fingers and her wetness coated me—“I could spend hours kissing
and licking and drinking from your sweet”—my tongue dipped into her—“wet”—I licked her again—“pussy.”

I set my mouth on her and thrust my tongue inside. I sucked her clit gently and pushed my tongue deeper. She let out a small
gasp and her muscles tightened around me. As her orgasm subsided, I continued to kiss and stroke her folds, wanting to keep
her sensitive, knowing how it would intensify her second release.

When her body relaxed, I slipped out from under her and set her legs on the bed.

“Now”—I moved up her body—“let us continue.”

She stretched under me as my weight came to rest on her. I spread her legs with my knees and placed my cock so it just brushed
her wet entrance. I wanted a deep emotional connection this time, so I took her hands and intertwined our fingers.

“Abby,” I said, because her eyes were closed and I wanted them open and watching mine. She opened them, and the love and wonder
I saw shining back at me stole my breath.

“This is me, Nathaniel,” I said. I pushed partly into her, wanting her to know, to feel, the truth of my words, of my actions.
“And you, Abby.” I slipped deeper inside. “Nothing else.” No scene. No trickery. No deception. Just us.

“Nathaniel,” she said.

Just love.

I kissed her long and deep, bringing our hands over her head as
I pushed even farther inside her body. She groaned, and I rocked my hips to slip all the way inside. Then I pulled back to
look into her eyes again as I starting moving within her.

I took my time, holding her hands and her gaze as we slid together. I kept my thrusts slow and purposeful, wanting us both
to feel every inch of our skin touching, wanting to draw out every minuscule pleasure possible from our joining.

She arched and lifted herself to me, wanting more, wanting faster. My body begged for the same, but I forced myself to hold
on to the control, to cherish this moment.

“Nathaniel. Please.”

I obliged, moving a bit faster, giving us both a taste of what we wanted. It still wasn’t enough. She wrapped her arms and
legs around me, meeting my thrust with her own. Still, I kept my pace slow and steady.

“Damn it, Nathaniel. Fuck me.” She bit my earlobe.

Her words shot fire through me and I no longer wanted to be in control. I wanted to let myself feel. To let my body and my
need take over. I pulled back and started a new rhythm, driving into her with faster, deeper thrusts.

I grabbed her hips and jerked them upward, so I hit deeper within her.

“Nathaniel!”

Fuck. Yes. Shout my name.

But as I had discovered once before—as much as she was mine, I was also hers. The feel of her—her under me, her surrounding
me—proved it.

“Oh, God, Abby!”

She started to tense around me, and I dropped my hand to rest between us, making sure I hit her clit with each thrust.

“I’m . . . I’m . . . I’m . . .” she said.

Let go. Give yourself to me.

She screamed through her orgasm, but I kept my rhythm
going, knowing she had more. A minute later, another spasm ran through her body and I knew I couldn’t hold my own release
at bay any longer.

I thrust again and held deep inside her as my own climax ripped through me. I felt her muscles clench around me a third time
as I released into her.

I rolled us to our sides, not wanting to crush her, but not willing to let her go just yet, and kept my arms around her as
our breathing slowed.

I lifted my head, kissed her. And as I held her in my arms, I knew what I wanted. Knew I wanted her to stay with me all night.
It only made sense that my first night back in my bedroom would be with her by my side. She would probably turn me down, but
I still had to ask.

Of course, even if she didn’t stay, she didn’t have to leave quite yet. I slipped out of her arms and walked to my dresser.
From the top drawer, I took a handful of candles and set them out, lighting them as I went.

When I returned to the bed, she rolled onto her back and I gathered her in my arms. We sat silently for a few minutes, simply
enjoying the moment. I ran my hand across her shoulders and kissed her forehead.

“I didn’t plan for this to happen tonight,” I said. She lifted her head and I kissed her lips softly. “Truly, I didn’t.”

“I’m glad it happened, though.” She sighed and nuzzled my chest. “Very glad.”

Again we sat silently, and I thought about how much I wanted her body against me all night.

Ask her.

I swallowed. “Abby? I know you didn’t bring anything, but would you stay with me tonight?” I pulled back and met her eyes.
“Here. In my bed?”

A lone tear trickled down her face.

“Please.” I brushed the tear away with my thumb. “Sleep here. With me.”

She pulled out of my arms, and I looked at her, confused. She wasn’t going to leave, was she?

“Yes,” she said, and kissed me. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

Before I could tell her how happy I was, she pushed me onto my back and straddled me. “But we have
hours
before it’s even remotely time to think about something as mundane as
sleep
. So for now”—one of her fingers traced my lips—“let me start with your mouth.”

I slept with her in my arms all night. Unlike the last time, I felt only contentment and peace—all was right, in both of our
worlds. I didn’t even try to stay awake, but drifted off to sleep shortly after she succumbed to her own dreams.

Of course, I woke at my usual five thirty. I stayed where I was, though, enjoying the feel of her—how her body fit against
mine, how her head rested on my chest, her hair cascading around me.

She stirred two hours later, waking and stretching lazily against me. I ran a hand down her back, and she lifted her head
and smiled.

“Good morning,” I said.

“’Morning.”

“I’d go fix you breakfast or coffee, but I’m not willing to leave the bed just yet.”

She arched her back against my hand. “Breakfast and coffee can wait.”

I couldn’t agree more. “Sleep well?”

“
Mmm
. Best sleep ever.”

I kissed her forehead. “Thank you for staying.”

It meant so much that she’d stayed with me all night in my
bed—it was another little step confirming what we had, what we could be, confirming our future together.

“Thanks for asking me.”

“Oh, no. The pleasure was all mine.”

She giggled. “I’m not sure it was all yours.”

I laughed along with her until she reached out, cradling my jaw in her hand, and kissed me.

She pulled away and sat up. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“The whole no-kissing rule,” she said. “Was that a rule with all subs or just me?”

Not exactly the morning-after conversation I wanted to have. I had to be honest with her, though.

“It was just you, Abby,” I said, stroking her hair.

“Just me? Why?”

Honest. You have to be honest.

“It was a way to distance myself,” I said. “I thought if I didn’t kiss you, I wouldn’t feel as much.”
Idiot. What were you thinking?
“I’d be able to remind myself I was just your dom.”

She pulled back slightly. “You kissed your other subs,” she said under her breath.

Fuck.

“Yes,” I said. No matter what, be honest, Paul had told me.

“But not me,” she said, eyes downward, expression a bit crestfallen.

How could I make this right? What could I do? How could I convince her that our past was past and our future would be so different?

“You know what this means, don’t you?” she asked, before I could decide what to say.

“No,” I said, not sure where she was going.

She moved up my body and whispered in my ear, “You’ve got a lot of making up to do.”

Okay. I could deal with this. I gave her a tentative kiss. “A lot?”

“
Mmm
,” she said, and I kissed her again. “With interest.”

Oh, she was teasing again. I smiled. “Interest?”

“Lots of interest,” she said in her vixen voice. “You better get started.”

My cock twitched at her words. “Oh, Abby,” I said. “I always pay my debts.”

“Nathaniel,” she said that Sunday afternoon. We were sitting on the couch at her apartment, sharing the newspaper. I set down
my section. She looked nervous.

“Yes,” I said.

“I was thinking.” She didn’t say anything else, though, and I started to get worried.

I scooted closer to her. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to assume anything.” She played with a loose thread on the cushion. “It’s just . . . I was
wondering.” She looked up at me. “When will you collar me again? I mean, you will, won’t you?”

I placed my hand on the side of her face and lightly stroked her cheekbone. “Is that what you want?”

She nodded. “I want all of you. Every part.”

My thumb traced her lips. “And I want every part of you that you’ll give me.”

I had wanted her to bring up the collar first, to make sure it was what she wanted. Even then, I had never expected the topic
to surface so soon.

“You should know . . .” I started, trying to find the words. “I’ve been a lover and I’ve been a dom, but I’ve never been both
to the same person before.” She had been so honest. I needed to do the same. “I don’t know how to do it. How to be both to
you. I’m so afraid I’ll mess up.” She started to say something, but I stopped her. “I will mess up, Abby. I know I will.”

She placed her hand over mine. “You don’t have to be an expert at everything.”

I looked into her beautiful eyes. “I’d never forgive myself if I hurt you—”

“You won’t hurt me.”

“I’m not just talking physically. If I hurt you emotionally again—” I shook my head, unable to go on.

“We’ll do it together.” She looped her arms around my neck. “You and I. We’ll work it out. Together.” Her lips brushed my
ear. “I want you. As my lover and my master. We can do it.”

“But if—”

“I told you once before you thought too much. It’s still true. You need to stop. We can be beautiful.”

Hearing her talk, I felt my confidence grow and I drew her closer. “You’re a very smart woman, Abby King. I should listen
to you more often.”

She gave a low, sultry laugh, her lips inches from mine. “I’ll remind you of that.”

“You better.”

Her hands untucked my shirt. “Don’t worry. I will.”

“Before we do anything, we need to talk.”

“Later,” she said, unbuttoning me. “Felicia’s coming for dinner in two hours.”

“Tomorrow night,” I said in between kisses. “My house. Kitchen table.”

“Right now. My apartment. Bed.”

I swept her into my arms and carried her down the hall.

She looked up in confusion when I set the papers in front of her the next night.

“What’s this?” she asked.

I gave her a pen, took my own papers, and sat down across the table. “I want us to redo our checklists.”

“Us?” She smiled, eyes dancing wickedly. “Why? Did yours change?”

I returned her smile with one of my own. “Mine? Not so much, but I think yours might have. In one or two areas, at least.”

She took the pen and filled out the header. “I can mark a few more things as experienced.”

I checked off the first few items on my list. “I suppose you can.”

“You’re still out of your mind if you think long-term sexual deprivation is ever going to fly with me.”

I chuckled. “Just fill out the list, Abby.”

For the next few minutes, only the sound of pens scratching paper filled the kitchen.

“You know,” she said, “I don’t think you had kissing listed as a hard limit.”

Damn it. I thought we’d already discussed that.

I pretended not to hear her. “Hmm?”

“If I’d looked at your list after you collared me, you might have had some explaining to do.”

I looked up at her so she would know the truth of my words. “Had you questioned me on anything, I would have had some explaining
to do.”

“You’re the dominant; it’s not my place to question you.”

I set my pen down and took her hand, needing her to know how much this meant. “I was wrong, Abby. And yes, it is your place
to question me. Why do you think I told you to speak freely at the kitchen table? Why do you think I gave you the library?
In the future, please tell me what you feel in those places, okay?” Her eyes went wide with understanding. “I want to know.
I need to know. We’ll never grow if we don’t talk.”

Her thumb stroked my knuckle. “Okay,” she said, but I knew we had more to talk about.

“Let’s finish the checklists and we’ll talk some more.”

I finished my checklist quickly and watched as she filled out hers. Every so often, she would nibble her bottom lip, start
to mark something, and then tap her pen on the table before making a decision.

She’s so inexperienced. You can’t fuck this up again
.

“Okay,” she finally said. “I’m done.”

We exchanged lists and I read over hers, comparing it in my mind to the one she had filled out before. Some of her limits
had changed and some hadn’t. I looked up to find her running a finger over my list, probably trying to line it up with hers.

“Do you have any questions?” I asked.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Should I go first?” I asked and, at her nod, I continued. “You should know, I will never violate your hard limits, and I’m
not trying to get you to change them, but I have to ask—what’s your problem with canes?”

“Are you asking because you have it marked as”—she looked down at my list—“
like it a lot
?”

“Yes, and I want to understand why canes are a hard limit, when so little else is.”

“There was a case I read about one time, in Singapore. You know they cane people there?” She didn’t wait for me to respond,
but continued. “It’s for punishment. It sounds frightening. It bleeds and leaves scars.”

I stared at her, confused. “You think I would beat you until you bled, leaving scars, and enjoy it?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I just . . . didn’t want to try it.”

“Didn’t?” I asked, picking up on the operative word.

“I need to know more about them first.”

“Okay. We’ll leave it as a hard limit for now. See if we can find a way to teach you more.”

Fucking hell. I was shaken that she thought I could use her like that. I needed to think about how to introduce canes to her
so she wouldn’t find them so scary.

“Breath play?” she asked, looking down my list. “Hard limit?”

“Yes. Always has been. Always will be.” While my hard limits had changed over the years, controlling someone’s ability to
breathe, to choke them, was something I’d never do.

“I just wondered what it would be like.”

“It’s too dangerous. I don’t feel comfortable doing anything like that.” But there was more, and this was a perfect opportunity
to talk and show my new honesty. “Beth wanted to try breath play, so I read up on it, spoke to a few dominants, even watched
a scene once.” I looked up and caught her eye. “I know my limits, though—I just couldn’t . . . I can’t take that kind of risk.
I’m sorry, Abby.”

She shrugged. “No big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” I countered. “After my failure with Melanie—”

“Wait a minute.” She held up a hand. “What’s this about your failure with Melanie?”

“I failed her. I couldn’t be what she wanted.”

“Look at me, Nathaniel,” she said, and her eyes were livid. “You didn’t fail Melanie. Why do you think it was all on you?
No, you couldn’t be what she wanted, but she couldn’t be what you needed.”

“If I had just tried harder.”

“You both would be miserable to this day,” she said, and the wicked sparkle returned to her eyes. “And where would that leave
me?”

The corner of my mouth lifted. “Where, indeed?”

“No more talk of failing Melanie,” she said, picking up the papers and tapping them into a stack. “Now, where were we?” She
looked over the list again. “Oh, yes. Breath play. Won’t ever happen. Any more questions about my list?”

We went over a few more things, not so much to change anything, but to get a better understanding of why certain things had
been marked the way they were. I explained the reasons for my hard limits and she talked about things she wanted to try.

There was still so much to talk about, but after going over the lists, I drew her into my arms and took her into the living
room to watch a movie.

It felt odd.

It felt strange.

It felt good.

The next night, we regrouped at the table to discuss the whens and hows of our relationship. I started by telling her I had
no interest in her being a submissive seven days a week. I wanted her as my lover just as much.

“Can we do the weekend thing again?” she asked.

It had been what I wanted to try, and I felt relieved she had suggested it herself. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

“And during the week, we’re Nathaniel and Abby.”

“I like it, but it’s going to be hard. Going from Nathaniel and Abby to dominant and submissive.” I had spoken to Paul earlier
in the day about what he and Christine did. “I think it would work best to have set start and stop times and rituals for when
I collar and uncollar you.”

“Collar and uncollar? Why would you take your collar off me?”

“Because we’re just us during the week,” I said, repeating her words. “I could collar you every Friday, let’s say at six,
and take the collar off Sundays at three.”

“I wore it every day last time.”

“But things have changed.”

“I’m not arguing with that, but by wearing it every day, I would keep that connection between us.”

My heart swelled with pleasure at her words, but it wouldn’t be a good idea for her to wear the collar during the week. I
had seen firsthand how she acted wearing the collar, and I didn’t want her to be in that frame of mind during the week.

I lowered my voice. “I understand why you want to wear my collar every day, but will you listen to some advice? From someone
who has more experience?”

Her eyebrow shot up. “Are you going to play the experience card often?”

I swallowed my laugh. I had lived the lifestyle of a dom for more than ten years and she wanted to know if I would play the
experience card?

“Yes,” I said simply.

She huffed and sat back in her chair.

“Abby, listen. Whether you admit it or not, the collar puts you in a certain frame of mind and I don’t want you in that frame
of mind during the week.” I had wanted her in that frame of mind during the week before, but not now. Not this time. “If I
ask if you want peas or carrots for dinner on a Tuesday night, I want the
answer to come from Abby, my lover, not Abigail, my submissive.”

“I know, but . . .”

I had her. I could see it in her eyes. “I’m not giving you a meal plan or an exercise routine or stipulating sleep, or—”

“Thank goodness for that. Because insisting on eight hours of sleep would severely limit our weekday activities.”

Fuck yes, it would, and I planned on a lot of weekday activities.

“Agreed,” I said. “But to get back to what I was saying, if I want to have sex on a Wednesday and you’re not in the mood,
I want you to feel free to say so. The collar”—I shook my head—“it will limit you. Even though you think it won’t.”

“Okay, weekends only.” She leaned forward in her seat. “Now, what was it you were saying about rituals?”

I talked to her about how a ritual would help get us both in the necessary frame of mind for Friday night and how it would
ease the transition back to everyday life on Sunday afternoons. Repeated enough, Paul told me, it would become a signal we
would learn to respond to.

“Are you sure you want to play the entire weekend?” I asked, once we’d agreed on times and rituals. I wanted to offer her
options. “Maybe we could just scene a few times. That way you wouldn’t be serving me the entire time.”

“You mean, like cooking and waiting on you?”

“Right. If you don’t want to do that . . .”

I would try. It would be completely outside of what I was used to with my submissives, but I would try. For her.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I rather like doing things for you. It’s actually quite the turn-on.”

My cock hardened at her words. “Really?”

“
Mmm
,” she replied.

Well, okay, then. If she liked it, we’d do it. And if it turned
her on . . . I’d have to give some thought as to how to work with that one.

Later, though. We had more to discuss tonight.

“We need to set up safe words,” I said. “I always used yellow and red in the past, and I think those are good choices for
you. When—”

“Two? You’re giving me two safe words?”

“It’s a commonly used system.”

“But last time—”

“I already explained my error in the way I set things up last time, Abby. I won’t have you walk out on me again.”

She took my hand. “I’m not leaving. I just don’t know why I have to have two safe words.”

“Because we’ll be pushing your limits,” I said, thinking back to the things she wanted to try. “If you say
yellow
, I know I’m pushing, but can continue.
Red
stops the scene completely.”

“But you’ve never had a sub use a safe word before.”

“I have now.” I kissed her hand. “And I want you to feel completely safe and secure anytime you’re with me. Even when I’m
pushing you.”

“Yellow and red.” She thought them over. “Like a traffic light.”

“Exactly,” I said. “And since I’ll be pushing your limits, the safe words will also help me.”

“You?”

“I can push, knowing you’ll say
yellow
if I need to slow down,” I explained. “You trust me, and in turn, I trust you’ll use your safe words if I push too hard,
too fast, or too far. It gives me peace of mind.”

“I never thought about you needing to be safe.”

“I know. I want to set things up correctly this time.” I stopped for a second, knowing there was more. “I was also wrong when
I punished you.” She looked up in surprise. “Not so much for punishing you, but for not providing any aftercare.”

“Aftercare?”

“I should have come to your room that night. Talked. Held you. Made sure you were okay. Checked your skin. Made you sit down
the next morning instead of waiting until lunch. Anything.”

“Oh.”

“I was so wrapped up in my own feelings that I didn’t give you the attention you needed.” I held her gaze. “It won’t happen
again.”

She didn’t say anything.

“If I have to punish you again—
when
I have to punish you again,” I corrected. It was inevitable. It would happen. “I want you to understand that it’ll be different.”

We spoke more about aftercare and what she should expect. We went over what would result in a chastisement and what the various
penalties would be.

When she didn’t have any more questions, I put an end to the discussion for another night and we took Apollo out for a walk.
I showed her the cherry trees, pointed out where flowers would be coming up soon. As we walked, I reached for her hand and
our fingers intertwined.

My phone gave a low double beep.

“Yes, Sara?” I looked at my watch and smiled. Five forty-five. I should have guessed she’d show up early.

“Ms. King is here, sir.”

“Thank you. Send her in at five after six. Once she comes in, you can go ahead and leave for the night.”

“Yes, sir,” she said and hung up.

It was a Friday night. Abby had told me she wanted to resubmit her application to Mr. Godwin and come back to my office for
an interview. I thought it damn near the craziest idea I’d ever heard and told her no, but she persisted. After some discussion,
I
saw her point of view—it would make things more official, and Godwin knew better than to question any orders I gave him.

“You want me to forward just Abigail King’s application to you?” he asked. “No one else’s?”

“That’s right. Only hers.”

“I have a new one here. Looks promising. She asked for you.”

“Not interested. Call and tell her I’m not available. Indefinitely. And that goes for anyone else who asks.”

Abby had requested I recollar her that weekend. We talked about timelines in detail. I told her there was no rush—I’d even
questioned her about it that morning in the shower—but she had been insistent.

I looked at my watch again.

At three minutes after six, I turned back to my computer and started typing.

Damn fucking lucky-ass bastard
.

The door opened and closed. Abigail—Paul had told me it would be easier to keep in role if I thought of her as Abigail on
the weekends—walked across the floor and stopped in the middle of the room. I peeked up and looked at her—head down, arms
to her sides.