The Training (Book 3: The Submissive Trilogy) (34 page)

His hands found purchase in my hair, and he rocked his hips slightly, but for the most part he allowed me to take my time. Slowly, I worked up a rhythm until I found my pace.

It had been my request to serve him, and he allowed me to do it my way. He kept his hands in my hair, but he didn’t move other than to slightly rock his hips in time with my mouth. The movement of my body pulled in delightful ways against the ropes, and I wondered, not for the first time, when he’d permit my release.

“Fuck,” he said, so low I barely heard him above the water pounding us both.

I took his word for the encouragement it was and moved faster. My hands slipped along his skin. It was difficult for me to hold him since his body was so wet, but I doubled my efforts and managed. My hands played with his backside, and I ran a tentative finger along the crack of his ass.

He bucked against me in obvious pleasure.

Well, well, well. That would be something interesting to explore.

“Fuck,” he said again, thrusting deeper into my mouth. I dug my fingers into the backs of his thighs and relaxed my throat moments later, as he filled me with his release.

He looked completely sated when he helped me to my feet. “Thank you,” he said.

“My pleasure, Master.”

The gleam in his eyes told me he would more than reward me for my service, and I couldn’t wait to see what he had in store for me.

On Sunday, he took me into the playroom, where he restrained me with more ropes and used several different floggers. He started with the rabbit fur and worked up to leather, drawing out in me the feeling I’d started to crave. The one the other sub-missives I’d spoken to craved as well.

By the time he finished, I was quivering with need and felt certain I’d come in one never-ending wave if he so much as looked at me. I thought he’d take me in the playroom, but instead, when I was somewhat recovered and able to stand, he took my hand and led me to our bedroom.

I stepped inside behind him, noting how the room was dark
thanks to the light-limiting shades. Candles flickered from the dresser and nightstands, and soft piano music filled the room.

“On your back, in the middle of the bed,” he said.

The push and pull of the ropes felt familiar now, though my excitement grew as I tried to imagine what he had planned.

After I was settled, he joined me on the bed, straddling my body. He started at my chest, unwinding the rope binding me as slowly as he had put it on. Maybe slower. When one coil of rope fell away, he did as he promised so many weeks before and trailed his finger along the marks left.

“Your skin has deep impressions,” he said. “Do you feel?”

I did. My skin was hypersensitive where it had been covered for the last day. It felt like it did when I removed a Band-Aid, leaving the newly exposed skin new and almost raw. I shivered as his finger traced the indentations I could imagine in my mind.

More of the rope fell away and his lips joined his fingers in the exploration of my skin. I closed my eyes and felt. Warm breaths over my nipples. Sweet, tender kisses to my heightened and on-edge skin. Soft, soothing caresses to my backside, still prickly from the heat of his flogger.

His hands dropped to my waist to undo the ropes there.

“Come when you wish,” he said, his voice husky and coarse.

The rope between my legs fell away, to be replaced by the warmth of his touch. I knew then what he was doing: he was making love to me as my master. One man. Two parts.

Nathaniel, my beloved. My gentle, considerate lover, who worshipped my body and captured my heart.

Master, also my beloved. My dominant, who commanded me with a look, controlled my body, and held my soul lovingly in his powerful hands.

In that moment, for that sliver of time, they combined together
into one, and I opened my eyes to see him looking up at me from below my waist.

“Yes,” I said, a soft almost whisper, even to my own ears.

“Yes?” he asked, turning his head to lightly kiss the inside of my thigh.

“Yes,” I repeated. “Both. Now. Like this.”

I knew it probably didn’t make sense to him, but I couldn’t help it. Whether he understood or not, he continued what he was doing, slowly removing the ropes. All the while making me feel as if he unraveled me.

I sighed when the last rope fell away. It was as if I was newly born in my own skin. Every touch, every breath, felt new and untested. My body trembled at the sensations he created in me. I turned my head and got lost in the dance of the candles’ shadow flickering on the wall. Then I closed my eyes and let myself experience the delight of his touch as the soft music carried me away.

He chuckled against my skin. “You aren’t falling asleep on me, are you?”

“No, Master. Just trying to savor it all.”

He made his way up my body, stopping at my chest. His tongue gently circled my breast, and he blew warm breath across my nipple. “I want you to savor it all, too.”

He sucked me into his mouth, swirling his tongue, his teeth scraping ever so softly. Repeated it on the other side.

“Do you feel me?” he asked, shifting his body so I felt his need, his desire.

I dropped my hand between our bodies and took him in my hand. “Yes, Master.”

“Do you want me?” he asked, thrusting slightly.

I tightened my grip. “Yes, Master.”

“Show me,” he whispered.

I positioned my legs on either side of him and lifted my hips, aligning our bodies. I took him inside, feeling my body stretch as he filled me.

“Yes,” I said again.
Yes
, I repeated in my head.

He slid his arm under my knee and lifted my leg high, slipping deeper inside.

“Oh, God,” I said, as he hit a new spot.

“Like that?” he asked, punctuating his question with a thrust of his hips.

“Yes, Master.” I moaned. “More. Please. Again.”

He answered with another thrust, hitting the same spot. His other hand slid to my backside and pulled me close. I whimpered at the pleasure of his hand,
there
, right where my skin was still sensitive from the kiss of his flogger.

“Feel it?” he asked, and I felt everything: his ownership, his mastery, his protectiveness, his love. Him.

I couldn’t form the words, so I answered with a moan.

“I love you,” he said, in time with his next thrust. “I love you, Abigail.”

He’d told me only once before on a weekend that he loved me, and that had been in response to my own declaration. After I spoke the words first, on the phone. However, at that moment, he was doing more than making love to Abigail, his submissive. He was showing me with his body, his words, and his actions that he’ d conquered his fear of not being able to be both lover and dom to me.

I ran my hands up his back, not realizing until then that I’d shared some of those exact fears. That I’d feared one day he would discover he didn’t want or need both sides. As he continued to move in me, I knew, in the deep recesses of my soul, that he would always need both sides of himself. Just as I needed both sides of myself. As we needed both sides of the other.

He thrust again, and I lifted my hips in answer.

Our bodies took over, speaking for us in ways words never could. As my climax approached, I wrapped my legs around him.

My release built slowly until he reached between us and gently rubbed my clit. I came with a short yelp and shudder that shook my body. He held still, deep inside, as his own release surged through him. I kept my legs tight around him, wanting to keep our physical connection for as long as possible.

Finally, he rolled us over so I rested on top, and he gathered me into his arms. I lifted my face and kissed along his jaw. He sighed.

“Master?” I said, wanting to make sure I had his attention.

“Hmm?”

“I love you.”

His arms tightened around me. “I love you.”

The end of September found us in Florida. I’ll admit my idea of a nice vacation was not being surrounded by screaming kids, overly tired families, and sweaty, sticky bodies. Unless, of course, you counted Nathaniel’s sweaty, sticky body.

The resort we stayed at was very nice. From a distance it looked like a sprawling Victorian mansion and, if you ignored the constant traffic in the lobby, it was nicely decorated as well. Nathaniel had procured us a roomy suite, and it was relatively quiet on the upper floors.

When we arrived on Friday night, I had my collar on. At first I thought it would be like when we stayed in Tampa for the Super Bowl, but he was quick to tell me otherwise.

“I want you in my bed this weekend, Abigail,” he said.

I wasn’t about to argue with that.

His part in the conference didn’t start until Sunday evening, so for the first part of our trip, our time was ours. Well, ours and the two hundred thousand people who happened to be visiting at the same time we were.

We tried the touristy thing on Saturday. I watched Nathaniel and enjoyed his almost childlike playfulness, realizing just how much of his childhood had been stolen from him with his parents’ deaths. But a day was just about all we could take of the push and pull of the crowds. I supposed we were both relatively quiet people who enjoyed our privacy. This was just as well, considering his plans for Sunday morning. It had somehow escaped my attention that spreader bars, floggers, and paddles filled one of his suitcases.

On Monday, I spent the morning in the resort’s spa, Nathaniel’s reward for the day before. Afterward I lounged by the pool, watching little kids splash around the shallow end. Even though I was half reading, I noticed at once when Nathaniel entered the pool area.

For one, he still had his suit and tie on. Regardless of being in Florida for a conference, no one else I’d seen had visited the pool dressed in such a manner.

Second, he
was
Nathaniel and he
was
a sight to behold. As evidenced by the number of women who perked up or talked more animatedly when he showed up. I held my magazine up higher, hiding for just a second as I watched him.

He looked around the pool, eyes scanning faces as he tried to find me. I shot my gaze to the text before me when he started looking at the pool deck.

The ladies’ voices to my right dropping to a low murmur was my only indication he’d found me. I strained to hear what they were saying as it became obvious he was walking toward me.

“There you are,” he said, taking a seat in the empty lounge chair to my left.

I folded my magazine across my chest and smiled brightly at him. “How’d it go?”

“Eh,” he said. “As well as can be expected. Talk, talk, and more talk. Boring as hell, actually.”

“No receptions. No cocktail parties tonight?”

“Nope,” he said. “Just you and me.”

“Heaven,” I said. The night before we’d attended a reception, and the never-ending smiles and introductions had just about done me in.

“It will be as soon as I get out of this suit.”

I thought back to my comment to Elaina the month before about getting him out of his clothes. And our suite did have a private whirlpool. “How about I help you with that?” I asked. “Maybe order some wine from room service?”

He stood up. “Count me in.”

I collected my things and draped my gauzy wrap across my shoulders. I didn’t miss the viperlike stares of the women to my right as we left with Nathaniel’s hand protectively settled around my waist.

Late Tuesday afternoon, he surprised me after he finished with his conference for the day.

“Pack an overnight bag,” he said, finding me while I dug through my bag in search of a book to read. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Overnight? Aren’t we already doing that?” I waved my hand to an unpacked suitcase visible in the open closet.

His eyes were positively dancing with excitement. “Consider this an overnight overnight.”

“Okay,” I said, getting caught up in his playful mood and shoving my new book to the back of my mind. “What does one pack for an overnight overnight?”

“First”—he undid his tie as he talked, and I walked over to help him—“wear the dress Elaina gave you, and—”

“That one?” I asked, my hands stilling at his neck. I held his face, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Where are you taking me?”

His mouth curled up at one end. “It’s not a surprise if I tell you.”

I scowled at him, but he just kept on with the half smile.

“Okay. Fine,” I said. “I’ll wear the
gown.
There’s no one on this planet who should be allowed to call it a
dress.
What else?”

“Casual for tomorrow.”

Wednesday was his free day. I narrowed my eyes at him as if I could pick the information from his brain simply by the force of my will.

What is he planning?

“A bathing suit.” He nodded toward the bathroom. “And I suppose you’ll need to bring your two hundred bottles of face cream.”

I laughed. “They aren’t all face cream, and there aren’t two hundred of them. I have only a cleanser, a toner, and a—”

“Yes, yes,” he said, clearly enjoying himself. “All of them. Bring them all.”

“You’re impossible.”

Again with the smile. “Not for you,” he said. “Never impossible for you.”

I huffed and crossed my arms in mock disgust. “How long do I have?”

He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Two hours?”

Two hours later, I was dressed and packed. I’ll admit I felt a bit silly wearing the gown Elaina gave me for my birthday. I still didn’t quite understand why she’d felt the need to give me a gown, of all things. I supposed she knew I’d need several formal items, since Nathaniel attended various black tie events in any given year.

The gown was lovely: an elegant halter dress made of flowing chiffon and belted at the waist. The slate-gray color should have
washed me out, but somehow Elaina had known how fabulous it’d look on me.

Still . . .

I’d be walking around a family resort in a formal gown, dragging an overnight bag behind me, for crying out loud. I was willing to bet everyone would look at me like I was two bricks short of a load.