I imagined him watching as I hooked my thumbs into my waistband.
“Top first.”
I reached behind my back and unhooked my bra. It fell to the floor and, almost immediately, his hands were on me. Walking me backward until my back hit something wooden.
His thumbs rubbed my nipples, and I bit the inside of my cheek. His mouth ran softly across my neck. “You did so well this morning. I’m so proud of you.”
I couldn’t tell what made me happier—his hands and mouth on me or his praise.
“I’m so proud. I decided to give you a little reward.” His hands took one of my wrists and locked it into a soft cuff above my head. He repeated the action to the other wrist, and his teeth grazed my earlobe. “By f**king you good and hard while you’re bound to Paul’s cross.”
Ah, hell, yes.
While he talked, his hands moved—over my shoulders, across my chest, tweaking a nipple, stroking my belly. I became a quivering mass of need, spurred along by his deep, husky voice.
“I do have one of these in my own playroom,” he said, oblivious to my desires, or maybe he knew exactly what he was doing. “Next time we’re in there, I’ll bind you with your back facing me.” His touch grew rougher. “Your ass completely exposed.” He grabbed the fabric at my h*ps and jerked it down, baring me completely. “Would you like that, Abigail?”
I gasped as the cool air hit my aching flesh. His fingers grazed my clit.
“Yes, please, Master,” I said in a half whisper, half groan.
Fingertips traced lazy circles across my bare flesh, dipping occasionally into my wetness. “You enjoyed the rabbit fur. I think it’s time to move up to suede.”
I shivered just thinking about offering my backside to his flogger.
“But for now,” he said, spreading my legs, “we have other business to attend to. Wouldn’t you say?”
He was deliberately baiting me. Between the promises of what waited for me in his playroom, his hands on my body, and the anticipation of what he was getting ready to do, I could hardly form a coherent thought.
“Whatever you wish, Master.”
He chuckled. “I’m so glad you see things my way.”
With one movement, he picked my legs up and thrust into me. My backside hit the wood behind me with a force that drove him deeper.
“Don’t hold back,” he said, and I wrapped my legs around him. “This room’s soundproof.” He pulled back, rocked into me again, and I let out a loud moan. “I think.”
Part of me wanted Paul and Christine to hear. After all, it only seemed fair. I wanted them to know what Nathaniel did to me, how I responded to him, how he commanded my every move, my every thought and, it seemed, sometimes my every breath, during our weekends.
He thrust into me again, and Paul and Christine left my thoughts completely. I concentrated only on the feel of him as he drove me closer and closer to release. He shifted my legs, angled his hips, and hit that sweet spot deep inside me.
I couldn’t hold back anything then. I yelled.
He continued his thrusts, stroking inside me again and again, until I was dizzy with pleasure. His breaths came in short gasps, and he moved a hand between our bodies.
I let out another yelp as he rubbed my clit. “Please, Master,” I begged.
His voice was tight. “Please, what?”
Oh, God, his fingers. His cock. Being vulnerable and at his mercy. “Please, Master. I can’t hold on anymore.”
He thrust again. “Come, then.”
My cl**ax swept through me with the next pass of his hand.
“Hold on,” he said, taking my h*ps and pushing me against the wall, legs still wrapped around his waist. With quick, deep movements, he entered me over and over, driving himself toward his own release.
I felt another cl**ax building and, as he spilled himself deep inside me, his movements caused me to come again.
For the next few minutes, he rested against me, breathing hard and heavy. When we’d both recovered somewhat, he gently lowered my legs to the floor. He quickly unlocked my wrists and spent several minutes rubbing my arms and shoulders.
Then, finally, his fingers reached behind my head and the blindfold fell away. I met his eyes for the first time since we’d left the hallway to enter the playroom.
It was there.
The intense longing, passion, and love I’d wondered about was there. I sucked in a breath.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes, Master.” I stood and basked in wonder at the emotion in his eyes. “So much more than okay,” I whispered.
After, he took me back to the guest room. I sat in his arms while he leaned back against the headboard. As much as I wanted to talk after our morning, I was glad he held me—I still felt more comfortable touching as we talked.
“I want you to be completely honest with me now,” he said, and I relaxed further into his embrace. “What do you think so far?”
“I have so many thoughts, so much information to process,” I said. “But first, thank you for setting this up. I was worried at first, but it’s been so helpful.”
“How so?”
“Everything,” I said, not sure how else to describe it. “Starting with Christine. She’s so confident, so sure of herself.”
I heard the worry in his voice. “Have you had doubts about yourself?”
I dropped my head, and my hair fell forward. “Not when I’m with you. It’s when I’m at work, or talking with Felicia. Even when I’m around Elaina and Todd. I used to wonder if there was something wrong with us.”
“And now?” he asked, voice thick with emotion.
“I don’t wonder anymore,” I said, wanting to reassure him. “Seeing Paul and Christine, the life they’ve built. I’m not ready for children and everything, but I see now that when I am . . . I’ll be okay.”
“We’ll be okay,” he corrected.
My heart leapt at the underlying meaning of his words, and I turned my head to kiss him. “We’ll be okay,” I repeated.
“Anything else?” he asked, stroking my hair.
“So much.” I leaned back into his embrace once more. “Christine helped me understand how important it is to give you feedback. I see now it’s not telling you what to do.”
“I’m glad someone finally got that point across.”
“I never wanted you to think I was telling you what to do.”
“There’s a world of difference between telling me what to do and telling me what you like or want more of,” he said in the firm but gentle voice I loved so much.“I know. Christine said if it was easier, I could tell you on a weekday what I’d like to do.”
“Or you could tell me on a weekend.”
I shook my head. “I can’t imagine doing that.”
He was quiet, and I wondered if he’d change the subject altogether, but then he spoke again. “What if I gave you another safe word?”
“What?”
“We could add ‘green.’”
“What would that do?”
He took a deep breath. “If you wanted me to speed up or push you harder.”
“Really?” I asked, excited about the prospect.
“Yes. If you feel more comfortable saying ‘green’ instead of telling me directly,” he said. “But I will still ask for you to give me detailed feedback later.”
I wondered why he hadn’t given me green weeks ago when we discussed the safe words, but then decided he probably hadn’t thought I’d ever want him to push me or that I’d feel comfortable using it.
“I like it,” I said. “Let’s use it.”
“What else did you and Christine talk about?” he asked, instead of talking further about safe words.
“Listening to her talk about the twenty-four-seven relationship she had with Paul made me curious. I wonder how something like that would be.”
He stiffened behind me.
“Just for a week or so,” I hastened to add. “Not for an extended period or all the time.”
He spoke carefully. “If, at some point in the future, you still want to explore something like that, I would not be opposed to extending our weekend play. But only for a specified period of time and only when you can prove to me you’re able and willing to give me feedback.”
“Fair enough.”
“It’s not something I’m particularly interested in. But if you want to try, I’ll do it for you.”
I was starting to see the benefits of giving feedback. “Thank you.”
He kissed the top of my head. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but anything else?”
“The scene with Paul and Christine. I never realized how it looked. How”—I stopped for a second—“beautiful it was.”
“Beautiful?”
“Mmm,” I said, tracing his fingers, intertwined with mine. “The trust. The control. How they played off and balanced each other.”
“Almost overwhelming.”
“The way he looked at her . . .” I stopped.
“Yes?”
“To think of you watching me. Looking at me like that.”
He moved his hands to my shoulders. “Look at me.”
I turned in his lap.
Met his eyes.
Gasped when I saw the truth of his next words.
“I do,” he said. “Always.”
Chapter Eleven
—NATHANIEL—
I stared into her eyes and saw she finally got it. Finally understood. At least in part. She gasped, and I hoped she found what she was looking for in my eyes.
“Does it make sense now?” I cupped her cheek, stroked her skin. “Do you understand, just a bit, how I feel when I see what you give me?”
“Yes,” she said, still searching my eyes. “I see it now.”
“Good.” I drew her close and kissed her, my lips hard and urgent. I wanted to taste her. Feel her under me.
She moaned into my mouth and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. For just a minute, I let myself go and gave in to the need I’d held back since seeing her amazement in the playroom. Only when she pulled me toward her, trying to bring me down on top of her, did I stop.
“No,” I said, pushing back from her. “We can’t. Paul’s ordered lunch.” I honestly wanted to tell him we’d eat later and spend the next few hours alone with her in bed, but we couldn’t. We were guests in Paul’s home, and he’d been nice enough to ask me when he should plan to have lunch delivered. I felt I should honor the time frame I gave him.
She sighed. “Yes, sir.”
“Later,” I whispered to her.
She smiled in response. Her fingers danced along my shirt. “Can I ask you one more question?”
“Anything.”
Her fingers didn’t stop. “Your other submissives,” she said. “Did they . . . and you . . . ?”
I dug my fingers into her hair and pulled them through the softness. I understood why Paul had a rule that hair be up in his playroom, but I didn’t feel the same. As soon as we left the playroom, I took hers down.
“Did I look at them the same way I look at you?” I asked.
“I understand if you did. I mean, I see more now.” Her fingers traced the neckline of my shirt. “Although I guess I’ve seen only you and Paul. And Christine and I are . . . well.” Her hands dropped. “Ah, hell. I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”
“I do.” I took her face in my hands. “And no, I can’t think for a minute I ever looked at anyone the way I look at you. You’re my one percent.”
Her eyebrows wrinkled. “Your what?”
“Before you came to my office that first day,” I explained, “I felt complete and at ease with my life ninety-nine percent of the time. But it was the missing one percent that haunted me. Then I found you—my missing one percent.”