The Training (Book 3: The Submissive Trilogy) (5 page)

“Better?” he asked in a whisper.

“Much,” I said, closing my eyes. “Thank you.”

He stroked my hair for a few minutes, and I listened to the steady
thump, thump, thump
of his heart.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it this way—you tell me what you liked.”

We’d talked about our checklists for hours. About what we enjoyed and wanted to try. Why did talking about something we’d done make me embarrassed? I told myself it was crazy. Nathaniel had seen all of me. Touched all of me. There was nothing to be embarrassed about.

“Not being able to vocalize was very intense,” I said.

“Very intense meaning,
I loved it; let’s do it again?
” he asked. “Or very intense meaning,
I hated it; never try that again?”

I took a deep breath and inhaled the deep woodsy scent of him. Someone else had taken a shower recently. “Mmmmm. I loved it; let’s do it again,” I said.

“I think you can handle more,” he said. “Next time we’ll see if you can go a bit longer.”

My body tingled with anticipation.
Longer next time.
I could only imagine what he meant. I was glad he thought I could handle more. Frankly, I thought I had reached the end of my control there at the end.

“I liked the flogger,” I said, wanting to switch subjects. “It wasn’t what I was expecting.”

His hand ran down my side. “I’ve decided to use only the rabbit
fur this weekend.” The press of his fingers grew rough against my backside. “But I meant what I said about the clamps. I’ll use them tomorrow.” He leaned down and spoke softly in my ear. “And it’s a good thing you’ve been using your plug.”

I nodded, suddenly unable to speak. The tingle in my body became stronger and moved lower, coming to rest right between my legs.

Gah.

“The eight strokes?” he asked.

“Hurt like the devil,” I finished.

“They were meant to.”

“I know,” I said. “I completely understand that part.” I lifted my head. “You didn’t seem surprised. Did you know I’d mess up so soon?”

“I thought you might,” he said. “It made sense to me you would. I didn’t want to say anything before it happened, though. How would that have sounded?”

I laid my head back on his chest. “I probably wouldn’t have believed you anyway.”

“Probably not,” he said.

“What hurt most was knowing I’d disappointed you,” I said.

“That was my least favorite part of the night,” he said. “Having to punish you. But you learned. You didn’t make the same mistake twice.”

I didn’t want to dwell on my failure. “Your turn,” I said. “What was your favorite part?”

“Look at me,” he said, and I tilted my head to catch his gaze. “My favorite part was you. The trust you have in me. Your obedience. The joy you find in pleasing me.”

I shook my head. “That’s not what I meant. I meant—”

“Shhhhh,” he hushed. “I’m not finished.”

I pursed my lips together.

“You are,” he said slowly, “
exquisite
in your service to me. And that, my lovely, was my favorite part.
Is
my favorite part.”

I found I couldn’t help myself. I brought my head up and kissed him, our lips merely grazing.

I love you
, I wanted to say, but wasn’t sure it was allowed. Didn’t know if it would be wise. Perhaps some things were best left unsaid during the weekends. At least for now, anyway. We had plenty of other days to murmur our love.

He didn’t often tell me he loved me. Mentioning it, perhaps, only a handful of times. It didn’t bother me that he wasn’t very vocal with his feelings. Somehow, the rarity of his words made them all the more special.

He didn’t attempt to deepen the kiss, and neither did I. Both of us feeling that, for right then, the simple touch of our lips spoke loud enough. We fell into a comfortable silence while I listened to the steady beat of his heart again and enjoyed the security of his arms.

“Anything you didn’t like?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Nothing I’d change.” I knew in time the talking would become easier. I wondered how the conversation would go if or when he did something I didn’t like. “You?”

“Nothing.”

I’m not sure how long we stayed in the library. It wasn’t until the mantel clock chimed midnight that he spoke again. “You should go on to bed if you’re finished eating.”

“I know,” I said. As I extracted myself from his arms, I felt the absence of his touch immediately.

He stood with me and touched my shoulder as I turned to leave. “Breakfast in the dining room at eight. We’ll head into the playroom shortly thereafter. I don’t mind if you do it tonight or tomorrow morning, but I want the playroom cleaned before breakfast.”

A fresh wave of desire washed over me at the way he commanded me so unobtrusively. “Yes, Master.”

He gave me a light kiss. “Good night, Abigail.”

I tossed and turned for a long time, the reason why escaping me. I’d slept in the small bed plenty of nights before. Slept in it more times than I’d slept in his bed, truth be told. Why would I have trouble sleeping? He was right down the hall. We’d decided together to sleep separately on weekends. It was the arrangement I wanted. The one he wanted. The one
we
wanted.

I wondered if sleep shunned him as well.

Right when I decided to give up and walk to the library to pour myself some brandy, I heard it: the soft, haunting sounds of a piano. The melody both delicate and comforting in its simplicity.

I sighed in pleasure and closed my eyes.

I tossed no more.

I’d anticipated not being able to sleep. I somehow knew having her back in my house as my submissive, even though it was what we wanted—what we needed—would be difficult. That she wanted to spend Friday and Saturday nights in her old room brought me a certain measure of relief. Her indication in the library that our relationship was easy because I was used to it could not have been further from the truth. Our entire relationship was uncharted territory.

I left the library after playing the piano and walked back upstairs. Her bedroom door was closed, causing me to wonder if she slept yet or if she still tossed restlessly. I didn’t anticipate sleep coming quickly to her, either. Something in my mind whispered I should have made her sleep on the floor in my bedroom.

I stopped outside my own bedroom door.

I’d made her sleep on my floor once before. Would have made any other submissive sleep on my floor the first night after I collared her.

Does that mean I won’t be able to be both dom and lover to her?

I didn’t allow myself to dwell on those thoughts. Instead, my mind drifted to the image of her wearing my collar. My collar and nothing else. I thought back to our conversation in the library—how badly I’d wanted to take her. To slip the gown from her shoulders and run my hands down the curves of her body . . .

My cock grew uncomfortably hard and I slipped my hand past the waistband of my pants to grasp it. I remembered scenes from earlier in the day:

On
her knees in my office.

Waiting for me in the playroom.

Holding back a moan as I informed her of my plans with the clamps.

My eyes fell again on her bedroom door.

She might not be sleeping on my floor, but she was still my submissive. She was to serve me however I decided.

I pushed her door open and saw her sleeping.

“Wake up,” I said.

She mumbled something in her sleep and rolled away from me.

“Now, Abigail.”

Eyes heavy with sleep, she slowly sat up. Her hair fell around her shoulders in disarray—sleep had not come quickly to her. She ran her hand up to her collarbone to straighten the strap of her gown.

“You sleep on Friday and Saturday nights when it is convenient for me.” I slipped my pants down over my hips and stepped out of them. “And right now, your sleeping
is not
convenient.”

Her eyes fell on my erection. Yes. She knew exactly what I was talking about now.

“I’m feeling cordial tonight, though, so I’ll let you decide how you want it,” I said.

She blinked a few times. “However it pleases you, Master.”

“I believe, Abigail”—I ambled over to her bed—“I just told you what would please me.” I leaned over her. “I want you to decide how you’ll take my cock.”

Her eyes dropped again. Was she embarrassed? Was that it? She needed to get over any embarrassment. Embarrassment had no place in our relationship.

I hooked my fingers under the straps of her gown and slipped it over her head. “Whatever you decide,” I told her, “I want this off.”

When the gown was off and she was naked, I raised an eyebrow at her. She still hadn’t said anything.

“Time’s up,” I said. “You didn’t tell me quickly enough, so I’ll choose for you.” I turned her on the bed and pushed on her shoulders so she lay down on her back with her head hanging over the edge. “Since you chose not to talk when I asked you a question, I’ll put that mouth to a better use.”

I had to bend slightly, but I put my hands on either side of her hips and pressed forward so my cock brushed her lips. “Do a good job and I might let you go back to sleep.”

I closed my eyes as she enveloped me. Her warmth felt so good, my erection grew even harder as I worked my way into her mouth. I brought a hand to her belly to check on her breathing and started thrusting, pushing myself deeper.

She took all of me, relaxing her throat and sucking as I slowly fucked her mouth. Her tongue wrapped around and stroked me when I pulled out, only to run back down my length as I reentered.

I knew that, once more, she had disobeyed. I had asked a question, asked for an answer, and she had not given me one. I needed to address it.

“I’m getting ready to come,” I warned when my release grew
imminent. I thrust harder into her mouth. “You are not to swallow. Hold my come in your mouth until I command otherwise.”

I held motionless as my release shot through me, digging my fingers into the soft skin of her waist.

Fuck.

She lay still as I stepped away to retrieve my pants, and she hadn’t moved when I turned to face her once more.

“Sit up.”

She sat up, breathing through her nose, cheeks slightly puffed. I walked over and took her jaw in my hand.

“When I tell you I want an answer, I want an answer,” I said. “Swallowing my come is an honor I do not bestow upon you lightly. Do you understand?” She nodded and I squeezed her cheeks. “Savor the taste of me in your mouth, because you’re the only person in the world able to do so. The only submissive allowed to serve me.” I jerked her chin up. “The one I selected to wear my collar.”

Her eyes teared up, and I felt a slight tinge of discomfort but pushed it away. I needed to make a strong impression this weekend—to remind her I had not been lying when I told her the last time was easy.

I ran my free thumb under her eyelashes and gathered the wetness there. My point had been made and was understood. “I see the disappointment in your eyes. Swallow, Abigail.” I kept my hand on her jaw and watched her throat as she obeyed.

While I had known this weekend would not be easy, it had not struck me just how hard it would be for both of us.

I wanted to reestablish my connection with her somehow, to let her know we were okay, but felt at a complete loss as to how to go about doing it. I had never struggled with anything like this before.

She sat before me with her eyes downcast, disappointment
still etched on her features. I searched for the right words to say. Anything that would reassure her we were okay. That this was a tiny blip on our journey and she should not feel overly upset. Yet I felt uneasy whispering accolades of love after the reprimand I gave her.

Then inspiration seized me. I leaned over and whispered:

“‘For I must love because I live.

And life in me is what you give.’”

Surely she would remember those were the last two lines of “Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Her” by Christopher Brennan, one of the last poems recited as part of the poetry reading series held by the library where she worked.

She gasped in recognition, and I smiled. Yes. She remembered.

I pulled back, my lips brushing her cheek as I did so. “Good night, my lovely.”

I heard her rustling around the house after I went back to my room and crawled into bed. She was cleaning the playroom, probably unable to get back to sleep after I’d woken her.

I rolled over and glanced at the clock. It was two a.m. Fuck, it was late. I wondered idly how Paul and Christine’s first weekend had gone years ago, when they’d first set up their arrangement. He was probably still awake. The last time we talked, he mentioned their son, Sam, was going through a nasty bout of colic. Still, even if he was, I doubted he’d be pleased to hear from me. I’d call him sometime after breakfast. Or lunch.

I rolled away from the alarm clock and waited until I heard her go back to her room before I allowed sleep to overtake me.

She waited for me in the playroom shortly after breakfast. She sat on her knees, hands folded in her lap, head down. Exactly the way I had instructed her to wait for me in the playroom. The sight of her, in position and wearing only my collar, caused my cock to jump to life.