“Abigail.”
“I’m sitting,” she said, moving away. “I’m sitting.”
I reached down to discreetly rearrange my pants while I continued stirring with the other hand. The sauce was coming together nicely, but needed some time to cook thoroughly. While it finished up, I’d get the plates down, maybe grab another bottle of—
“You know,” she said, “you had a breakthrough today.”
“What was that?” I asked, not sure what she was getting at.
“You opened one of your label-less cans,” she said, and my body relaxed. “I think that calls for a celebration.”
“What did you have in mind?”
She wore a wicked grin. Trouble. The woman was nothing but trouble. “Naked picnic in the library?”
Like I said . . .
I turned on the burner under the water pot. “That’s your idea of a celebration?”
“I should have made bread for dinner,” she said.
What? Bread? What was she talking about? Did that mean no n**ed picnic?
“You’ve done quite enough for one day,” I said. But let’s do more anyway.
“Yes,” she said in a very serious voice. “It is my idea of a celebration.”
Thank goodness.
“Okay. Naked picnic in the library. Thirty minutes.”
She hopped up from the table. “I’ll go set up.”
“Extra blankets are in the linen closet,” I called as she left.
I added pasta to our plates and then ladled marinara over the pasta.
Naked picnic in the library . . .
There went the plan.
Again.
But did it matter? So what if we had sex? It was her library. We’d had sex there before. Nothing had changed then, why would tonight be any different?
Todd’s voice echoed in my head. “A relationship like yours . . . complete honesty and trust . . .”
I ignored Todd’s voice.
It was picnic time.
I undressed in the laundry room and walked into the library. Thick blankets covered the floor and half a dozen pillows sat in front of the library. And Abby . . .
Abby sat in the middle of it all—long hair brushing the tips of her nipples, one leg propped up, showing her bare, glistening—
“Do you need any help?” she asked.
I swallowed. Hard. “No. I’m fine. Let me set this down and I’ll get our drinks. More wine?”
A trip to the cold wine cellar was just what I needed to cool down a bit.
“Please.”
It worked. The short walk down the stairs to the wine cellar chilled my body just enough to keep my c**k in line. I returned to Abby and poured us each a glass.
I watched as she brought a forkful of pasta to her mouth and tasted my label-less marinara. She immediately took a second bite and then a third.
“This is superb,” she said, twirling another bite. “My compliments to the chef.”
“To label-less cans,” I said, lifting my fork and trying to keep my eyes off her mouth and other body parts.
“To label-less cans,” she repeated, lifting her own fork.
But what the hell? Somehow, label-less can marinara sauce flew the short distance from her fork to my . . .
I stared at it. “You got marinara on my cock.”
Her voice held a smile. “Oops.”
“Get. It. Off.”
I raised my eyes. She wasn’t even trying to hide the smile.
“Lie back.” She took my plate and set it beside me.
Crazy. Somehow I’d envisioned sex happening after dinner.
“Abigail.”
She pushed on my shoulders. “You want me to use a napkin?”
Hell, no. I wanted her to lick it off.
I dropped my head to one of the pillows and closed my eyes as her hand ran down my chest. “The marinara, Abigail.”
Her fingers traced my nipples. “I’m getting there.”
“Get there. Faster.”
She wasn’t listening. She started at my chest and took her time nibbling down, licking and grazing her teeth along the planes of my stomach. Then she bit me, right below my belly button.
I clenched my fists.
She finally made it to where I wanted her—and blew warm air at the head of my cock.
She was f**king teasing me.
My body trembled in anticipation of her mouth on me. Then finally, finally, her tongue came out and licked me.
Damn. Don’t stop.
She didn’t stop, but she didn’t take me in her mouth either. Instead, she played me—sucking just my tip in her mouth, licking me and stroking the rest of my length with her hands. She drove me mad with the urge to shove my c**k down her throat, but I held still, fists clenched at my side.
Right when I least expected it, she deep-throated me. She took my entire length into her mouth and relaxed as I hit the back of her throat.
“Fuck,” I said.
She released me. “I can stop.”
“Hell, no,” I said. “Swing those legs up here. I want to taste that sweet pussy.”
She twisted her body.
Perfect.
I grabbed her hips, moving our bodies into sixty-nine position, and thrust my tongue deep within her, releasing my need by pleasuring her.
“Mmmmm.” I licked her clit. “Sweeter than the finest wine. And I’m going to drink from you until there’s not a drop left.”
I started doing just that and she deep-throated me again.
Our movements mirrored each other’s—her licks and nibbles matched mine. Her teeth ran down my c**k whenever I nipped her clit. I licked her again, and she moved her h*ps closer to my face.
I rolled us to our sides to give us better access to each other. I could thrust deeper into her mouth this way. She responded by moving herself on my tongue. I pushed three fingers inside her and she moaned around my cock.
Like that, do you?
I licked her cl*t and moved my fingers inside her. I tried to reach the spot I’d found last weekend, but it was too hard in the position we were in. Then she ran a finger from my balls to my ass and, instinctively, I thrust into her mouth harder.
The friction of her mouth on my c**k was amazing. Incredible. Knowing I was pleasing her at the same time—feeling her move her h*ps against my fingers—only made me push her harder.
She groaned again, sending vibrations along me, and I sucked her cl*t into my mouth, lightly dragging my teeth against her. She trembled and then tensed as her cl**ax overtook her. I gently bit and she released a second time, drawing me deeper into her mouth. I moaned as my own orgasm hit, coming in her mouth, and she swallowed it all.
I placed soft kisses on her bare pu**y and reached down to pull her up to me. With weak arms, I held her.
“Dinner’s cold,” she said against my chest.
I ran a hand down her back. “Screw dinner.”
Eventually, though, I sat us both up. “We need to eat.”
The question danced in her eyes, but she didn’t verbalize it.
Yes, Abby. Food this time.
I handed her plate back to her and picked mine up. The pasta wasn’t bad cold—I could only imagine how it tasted hot. Although, if I had to pick between hot pasta and Abby . . . well, Abby won every time.
Her face knit together with concentration and she scowled at her pasta. Whatever could she be focused on so intently? She glanced up, and I quickly looked at my own plate.
“How long have you been a dom?” she asked.
Ah. She wanted to ask personal questions. A flicker of unease tickled my belly.
“Nearly ten years.”
“Have you had a lot of subs?”
Collared or uncollared? And define had.
But I took the easy way out. “I suppose that depends on your definition of ‘a lot.’”
She rolled her eyes, undeterred. “You know what I mean.”
While pleased she felt comfortable enough to ask me questions, I needed to lay a few ground rules.
“I don’t mind having this conversation, Abigail. This is your library. But keep in mind that just because you ask a question doesn’t mean I’ll answer it.”
Again, a look of determination crossed her face. “Fair enough.”
“Then ask away.”
Her first question surprised me. “Have you ever been a sub?”
My time with Paul flashed back to me—the various scenes he’d mentored me through, the few times I subbed for him. Our relationship hadn’t been sexual, but he believed a dominant needed the experience of submission.
“Yes,” I said, and her eyes grew large. “But not for any extended period of time, only for a scene or two,” I hastened to add.
Surprisingly, she didn’t question me further about those scenes. “Have you ever had a sub use her safe word before?”
“No,” I said, wanting to see her reaction.
“Never?”
“Never, Abigail.”
She looked away first.
“Look at me,” I said, because I wanted her to hear the truth of what I told her. “I know how new you are to this, and I ask you, have I ever come close to pushing you beyond what you could handle?”
I knew the answer before she spoke, but I wanted her to follow my reasoning.
“No,” she said.
“Have I been gentle and patient and caring?” I asked. “Anticipated your every need?”
“Yes.”
“Do you not think I would have been gentle and patient and caring with my past subs? Anticipated their every need?”
Understanding dawned in her eyes. “Oh.”
“I am starting you out slowly, because I see this as a long-term relationship, but there are so many things we can do together.” I traced her arm down to her elbow, imagining her in my playroom again. “So many things your body is capable of that you don’t even know yet. And just as you have to learn to trust me, I have to learn your body.”
She swallowed loudly, and her skin broke out in gooseflesh.
“I have to learn your limits, so I’m working you slowly. But there are many, many areas we have yet to explore.” I circled her wrist and squeezed. “And I want to explore them all.” That’s enough, West. “Does that answer your question?”
“Yes.”
“Any other questions?”
She straightened her back. “If your other subs didn’t use their safe word, how did the relationships end?”
Should I really tell her how Beth left because I couldn’t give her what she wanted? Or was she calling me out on the safe word?
“They ended as any relationship ends,” I said, giving her a safe answer. “We grew apart and went our separate ways.”
“Have you ever had a romantic relationship with a woman who wasn’t your sub?”
Damn that Elaina. When I got my hands on her . . .
“Yes,” I said simply.
Two brown eyes peeked up at me. “How did that go?”
It didn’t go. It was a horrific failure.
I was a horrific failure.
I, Nathaniel West, who never failed at anything, had failed Melanie.
“You’re here now,” I said, playing it safe again. “Was that a rhetorical question?”
“Melanie?”
That was it. I would call Elaina after dinner. She had no business telling Abby everything about my personal life. “What did Elaina tell you?”
“That Melanie wasn’t your submissive.”
I sighed in relief. Elaina wouldn’t have known why Melanie and I split, would she?
“I would prefer my past relationships remain in the past,” I said. “What Melanie and I did or did not do has no bearing on you and me.”
She looked down, shuffling her remaining pasta from one side of her plate to the other.
I’d upset her.
“Abigail. If I wanted to be with Melanie, I would be with Melanie. I’m here with you.”
“I’m sitting,” she said, moving away. “I’m sitting.”
I reached down to discreetly rearrange my pants while I continued stirring with the other hand. The sauce was coming together nicely, but needed some time to cook thoroughly. While it finished up, I’d get the plates down, maybe grab another bottle of—
“You know,” she said, “you had a breakthrough today.”
“What was that?” I asked, not sure what she was getting at.
“You opened one of your label-less cans,” she said, and my body relaxed. “I think that calls for a celebration.”
“What did you have in mind?”
She wore a wicked grin. Trouble. The woman was nothing but trouble. “Naked picnic in the library?”
Like I said . . .
I turned on the burner under the water pot. “That’s your idea of a celebration?”
“I should have made bread for dinner,” she said.
What? Bread? What was she talking about? Did that mean no n**ed picnic?
“You’ve done quite enough for one day,” I said. But let’s do more anyway.
“Yes,” she said in a very serious voice. “It is my idea of a celebration.”
Thank goodness.
“Okay. Naked picnic in the library. Thirty minutes.”
She hopped up from the table. “I’ll go set up.”
“Extra blankets are in the linen closet,” I called as she left.
I added pasta to our plates and then ladled marinara over the pasta.
Naked picnic in the library . . .
There went the plan.
Again.
But did it matter? So what if we had sex? It was her library. We’d had sex there before. Nothing had changed then, why would tonight be any different?
Todd’s voice echoed in my head. “A relationship like yours . . . complete honesty and trust . . .”
I ignored Todd’s voice.
It was picnic time.
I undressed in the laundry room and walked into the library. Thick blankets covered the floor and half a dozen pillows sat in front of the library. And Abby . . .
Abby sat in the middle of it all—long hair brushing the tips of her nipples, one leg propped up, showing her bare, glistening—
“Do you need any help?” she asked.
I swallowed. Hard. “No. I’m fine. Let me set this down and I’ll get our drinks. More wine?”
A trip to the cold wine cellar was just what I needed to cool down a bit.
“Please.”
It worked. The short walk down the stairs to the wine cellar chilled my body just enough to keep my c**k in line. I returned to Abby and poured us each a glass.
I watched as she brought a forkful of pasta to her mouth and tasted my label-less marinara. She immediately took a second bite and then a third.
“This is superb,” she said, twirling another bite. “My compliments to the chef.”
“To label-less cans,” I said, lifting my fork and trying to keep my eyes off her mouth and other body parts.
“To label-less cans,” she repeated, lifting her own fork.
But what the hell? Somehow, label-less can marinara sauce flew the short distance from her fork to my . . .
I stared at it. “You got marinara on my cock.”
Her voice held a smile. “Oops.”
“Get. It. Off.”
I raised my eyes. She wasn’t even trying to hide the smile.
“Lie back.” She took my plate and set it beside me.
Crazy. Somehow I’d envisioned sex happening after dinner.
“Abigail.”
She pushed on my shoulders. “You want me to use a napkin?”
Hell, no. I wanted her to lick it off.
I dropped my head to one of the pillows and closed my eyes as her hand ran down my chest. “The marinara, Abigail.”
Her fingers traced my nipples. “I’m getting there.”
“Get there. Faster.”
She wasn’t listening. She started at my chest and took her time nibbling down, licking and grazing her teeth along the planes of my stomach. Then she bit me, right below my belly button.
I clenched my fists.
She finally made it to where I wanted her—and blew warm air at the head of my cock.
She was f**king teasing me.
My body trembled in anticipation of her mouth on me. Then finally, finally, her tongue came out and licked me.
Damn. Don’t stop.
She didn’t stop, but she didn’t take me in her mouth either. Instead, she played me—sucking just my tip in her mouth, licking me and stroking the rest of my length with her hands. She drove me mad with the urge to shove my c**k down her throat, but I held still, fists clenched at my side.
Right when I least expected it, she deep-throated me. She took my entire length into her mouth and relaxed as I hit the back of her throat.
“Fuck,” I said.
She released me. “I can stop.”
“Hell, no,” I said. “Swing those legs up here. I want to taste that sweet pussy.”
She twisted her body.
Perfect.
I grabbed her hips, moving our bodies into sixty-nine position, and thrust my tongue deep within her, releasing my need by pleasuring her.
“Mmmmm.” I licked her clit. “Sweeter than the finest wine. And I’m going to drink from you until there’s not a drop left.”
I started doing just that and she deep-throated me again.
Our movements mirrored each other’s—her licks and nibbles matched mine. Her teeth ran down my c**k whenever I nipped her clit. I licked her again, and she moved her h*ps closer to my face.
I rolled us to our sides to give us better access to each other. I could thrust deeper into her mouth this way. She responded by moving herself on my tongue. I pushed three fingers inside her and she moaned around my cock.
Like that, do you?
I licked her cl*t and moved my fingers inside her. I tried to reach the spot I’d found last weekend, but it was too hard in the position we were in. Then she ran a finger from my balls to my ass and, instinctively, I thrust into her mouth harder.
The friction of her mouth on my c**k was amazing. Incredible. Knowing I was pleasing her at the same time—feeling her move her h*ps against my fingers—only made me push her harder.
She groaned again, sending vibrations along me, and I sucked her cl*t into my mouth, lightly dragging my teeth against her. She trembled and then tensed as her cl**ax overtook her. I gently bit and she released a second time, drawing me deeper into her mouth. I moaned as my own orgasm hit, coming in her mouth, and she swallowed it all.
I placed soft kisses on her bare pu**y and reached down to pull her up to me. With weak arms, I held her.
“Dinner’s cold,” she said against my chest.
I ran a hand down her back. “Screw dinner.”
Eventually, though, I sat us both up. “We need to eat.”
The question danced in her eyes, but she didn’t verbalize it.
Yes, Abby. Food this time.
I handed her plate back to her and picked mine up. The pasta wasn’t bad cold—I could only imagine how it tasted hot. Although, if I had to pick between hot pasta and Abby . . . well, Abby won every time.
Her face knit together with concentration and she scowled at her pasta. Whatever could she be focused on so intently? She glanced up, and I quickly looked at my own plate.
“How long have you been a dom?” she asked.
Ah. She wanted to ask personal questions. A flicker of unease tickled my belly.
“Nearly ten years.”
“Have you had a lot of subs?”
Collared or uncollared? And define had.
But I took the easy way out. “I suppose that depends on your definition of ‘a lot.’”
She rolled her eyes, undeterred. “You know what I mean.”
While pleased she felt comfortable enough to ask me questions, I needed to lay a few ground rules.
“I don’t mind having this conversation, Abigail. This is your library. But keep in mind that just because you ask a question doesn’t mean I’ll answer it.”
Again, a look of determination crossed her face. “Fair enough.”
“Then ask away.”
Her first question surprised me. “Have you ever been a sub?”
My time with Paul flashed back to me—the various scenes he’d mentored me through, the few times I subbed for him. Our relationship hadn’t been sexual, but he believed a dominant needed the experience of submission.
“Yes,” I said, and her eyes grew large. “But not for any extended period of time, only for a scene or two,” I hastened to add.
Surprisingly, she didn’t question me further about those scenes. “Have you ever had a sub use her safe word before?”
“No,” I said, wanting to see her reaction.
“Never?”
“Never, Abigail.”
She looked away first.
“Look at me,” I said, because I wanted her to hear the truth of what I told her. “I know how new you are to this, and I ask you, have I ever come close to pushing you beyond what you could handle?”
I knew the answer before she spoke, but I wanted her to follow my reasoning.
“No,” she said.
“Have I been gentle and patient and caring?” I asked. “Anticipated your every need?”
“Yes.”
“Do you not think I would have been gentle and patient and caring with my past subs? Anticipated their every need?”
Understanding dawned in her eyes. “Oh.”
“I am starting you out slowly, because I see this as a long-term relationship, but there are so many things we can do together.” I traced her arm down to her elbow, imagining her in my playroom again. “So many things your body is capable of that you don’t even know yet. And just as you have to learn to trust me, I have to learn your body.”
She swallowed loudly, and her skin broke out in gooseflesh.
“I have to learn your limits, so I’m working you slowly. But there are many, many areas we have yet to explore.” I circled her wrist and squeezed. “And I want to explore them all.” That’s enough, West. “Does that answer your question?”
“Yes.”
“Any other questions?”
She straightened her back. “If your other subs didn’t use their safe word, how did the relationships end?”
Should I really tell her how Beth left because I couldn’t give her what she wanted? Or was she calling me out on the safe word?
“They ended as any relationship ends,” I said, giving her a safe answer. “We grew apart and went our separate ways.”
“Have you ever had a romantic relationship with a woman who wasn’t your sub?”
Damn that Elaina. When I got my hands on her . . .
“Yes,” I said simply.
Two brown eyes peeked up at me. “How did that go?”
It didn’t go. It was a horrific failure.
I was a horrific failure.
I, Nathaniel West, who never failed at anything, had failed Melanie.
“You’re here now,” I said, playing it safe again. “Was that a rhetorical question?”
“Melanie?”
That was it. I would call Elaina after dinner. She had no business telling Abby everything about my personal life. “What did Elaina tell you?”
“That Melanie wasn’t your submissive.”
I sighed in relief. Elaina wouldn’t have known why Melanie and I split, would she?
“I would prefer my past relationships remain in the past,” I said. “What Melanie and I did or did not do has no bearing on you and me.”
She looked down, shuffling her remaining pasta from one side of her plate to the other.
I’d upset her.
“Abigail. If I wanted to be with Melanie, I would be with Melanie. I’m here with you.”
