“What business of yours is it?” I asked.
She shook the box at me. “It’s my business because these are not on your meal plan.”
Not on my meal plan? I didn’t have a meal plan. She had a meal . . .
Oh.
Oh.
She wanted to role-play. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Abby would never want to be a domme, but if she wanted to play around a bit. Well . . .
Part of me knew this was dangerous, blurring the lines even further. The other part of me wanted to see how far she’d go. I’d told her my room and the playroom were off-limits for the week. Where would she take this? Had she planned this out?
There was only one way to find out.
“Do you think I put together a meal plan for you because I’m bored and have nothing better to do?” she asked as victory surged in her eyes. “Answer me.”
My words from the night I punished her. I uncrossed my arms and dropped them to my sides. “No, Mistress.”
She gave a dramatic sigh. “I had plans for today, but instead we’ll have to spend the afternoon inside, working on your punishment.”
I wasn’t sure what she had planned, but for that one moment, I didn’t much care. Abby and I working together on anything for the entire afternoon would be delightful.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mistress.”
“You’ll be sorrier still when I’m finished with you. I’m going up to my room. You have ten minutes to join me there.”
She turned and left the room. I glanced down at Apollo and smiled. “Go to the kitchen, Apollo.”
He cocked his head to the side and pawed the air.
“I mean it.”
With a heavy sigh, he left the library and I was alone. Needless to say, my thoughts were all over the place. What was Abby up to? How far would I allow her to take this? If it were a real scene in which I was a submissive, I would enter her room naked. Since that wasn’t the case, I decided to leave my clothes on.
As I walked up the stairs, thoughts swirled around in my head. I needed a plan. I needed to decide how long and exactly what I’d allow Abby to do. Lay out when I’d call a stop to her little game. But how could I plan when I didn’t know what she had planned?
Her words from the kitchen came back to me: You think too much.
She had been right, of course. I did think too much. So for tonight I wouldn’t think. I’d simply allow myself to fly by the seat of my pants—to be spontaneous. I could handle whatever Abby had planned, and if at any point I needed to, I’d call a stop to it.
It was simple when you thought about it.
She stood by the foot of her bed, dressed in the silver robe she’d worn the day I collared her. She looked even more beautiful today, if such a thing were possible.
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “What do you have to say for yourself, Nathaniel?”
Nathaniel.
The way she said my name. The way it fell from her lips.
I dropped my head so as not to show how it affected me. “Nothing, Mistress.”
“Look at me.”
No. Please, no. Anything but that. If I looked at her, she’d know. She’d know everything. I couldn’t hide it anymore. Then again, I didn’t want to hide it anymore. I was so tired of hiding.
“I am not a mistress,” she said. “I am a goddess.” She pushed the robe from her shoulders, exposing more of her gorgeous body. “I will be worshipped.”
The truth of her words stunned me momentarily. She was right. She had never been more right.
She was a goddess.
She should be worshipped.
Tonight, I would do no less than prove it to her. I would show her exactly what she did to me, what she made me feel. Perhaps, in return, she would show me how I made her feel.
Dropping the role-play completely, I walked to her, closing the distance between us. Gently, I gathered her in my arms and sat us both on her bed.
I stared deeply into her eyes. What was this thing I felt whenever I looked at her? What was it she did to me that no one else ever had? Whatever had I done to deserve what she gave me?
The only things I knew with any certainty were that she was my one percent and I’d be damned if I’d deny it any longer.
Of its own accord, my hand reached out to stroke her cheek. “Abby,” I whispered, rejoicing in the freedom her name held. “Oh, Abby.”
To say it, to say her name . . . How was it something so simple stirred my very being? As if I’d finally found what I’d spent my entire life searching for? She was mine and I was hers, and if the world ended at that exact second, I’d die knowing that most sacred truth.
And still, I craved more. I needed more. I needed . . .
Her lips.
I traced her mouth with my thumb. “‘A kiss of desire . . .’”
I couldn’t finish. It was too much. My body shook with the effort to remain where I was.
As my one percent, of course she knew what I meant. What I had been unable to say.
“‘. . . on the lips,’” she finished.
I could contain myself no longer. I had denied myself too much. In telling myself kissing would make our relationship too personal, I’d created a rule that didn’t matter and couldn’t be obeyed. It hadn’t helped anything anyway.
I pressed forward, willing myself to take my time—to enjoy and revere the moment. I was so close, I could taste her—could feel her breath, warm against my lips. I inhaled deeply and then, ever so gently, touched my lips to hers.
Oh, God.
Surely my body couldn’t contain the joy that welled up inside. Surely this frail human shell was not meant to feel such deep emotion.
But my heart still beat within my chest, so I steadied myself and kissed her again.
And still I lived—or started to live. I wasn’t sure which.
I knew I would never get enough of her. Never would I tire of her lips on mine or the way she felt in my arms. The greedy bastard inside begged for more, and it wasn’t enough to simply touch her lips—I had to consume her. Had to let her consume me.
I framed her face with my hands to steady us both and kissed her again. Longer. But still softly—she was a goddess to be worshipped and I was nothing but a lowly disciple longing for the favor of her touch.
My tongue brushed the outline of her mouth, tasting and teasing. She parted her lips slightly, and my heart clenched in amazement. She would allow me this honor. After all I’d taken from her, still she would give me more.
I knew immediately her taste would be seared into my memory for as long as I lived. Her hands ran through my hair, pulling me closer, and I moaned.
She unbuttoned my shirt without breaking our kiss, and just as quickly, she slipped it from my shoulders and ran her hands over my chest.
Oh, God. Yes, Abby. Touch me.
I finally convinced myself to pull away and stood watching her as I stepped out of my pants.
She held out her arms. “Love me, Nathaniel.”
Love?
Was that what it was? I loved Abby? Is this what Jackson meant? What Todd and Elaina had? Certainly not. Certainly no one else had ever experienced emotion this intensely before. But if love was the only way to describe it, love would have to do.
Love.
I loved Abby.
I had been such a fool.
“I always have, Abby.” I picked her up and gathered her to me once more. “I always have.”
I gently lowered us to the bed, kissing her again, allowing the truth of my feelings for her to wash over both of us. This time, unlike the others, there were no words spoken, because no words were needed.
It was as if I touched her for the very first time. Even her hands on my body were new. Touching, teasing, and exploring, yes, but there was a new meaning behind each touch and caress.
I love you, my fingers said as they breezed down her arms.
I love you, her fingers responded, stroking my back.
Her lips danced against mine, our mouths moving together in unbroken and unrestrained love.
Our joining was slow and purposeful. I closed my eyes as emotion surged inside me again for it was more than I could bear. My entire life, I’d seen and used sex as a means to physical pleasure. I had always made certain my partners and submissives had pleasure in return, but that was all it was—meaningless pleasure. Now I knew the truth. Sex could be, should be, so much more. It should be me using my body not just to bring pleasure or to gain pleasure, but to show love, to give love, to give myself.
The truth burst from me as I released, and a tear escaped my eye.
Afterward, I drew her to my chest. I stroked her hair, unable to keep my hands from her. With a sigh of contentment, she turned and put her head above my heart, and within minutes, she fell asleep.
Sleep did not come as easily to me. Instead, the real world crashed down.
What had we done?
What had I done?
I closed my eyes and tried desperately to hold on to the feeling I’d had minutes before. But I wasn’t strong enough and the demons came back.
She would hate me for what I’d done now. Hate me when she discovered that I had been dishonest with her. She might stay with me for a time, but eventually she would feel nothing but pity, and I knew I could not bear her pity.
Her eyes would grow dimmer with each passing day as she discovered I could not be what she wanted. And what did my earlier epiphany mean? Was my entire life as a dom something less than it should be? How could I reconcile what I was with what I felt?
I tightened my arms around Abby’s sleeping body. How could I offer her less than what she deserved?
As the night deepened, I knew.
I loved her. I would do anything, absolutely anything, for her.
I would let her go.
Chapter Thirty-one
I looked over Abby’s head to the alarm clock on the nightstand—two o’clock. Roughly four more hours before I needed to leave her bed.
I closed my eyes and tried to commit her entire being to memory. I breathed deeply and inhaled the sweet scent of her hair, dipped my head lower and delighted in the floral smell of her skin. I ran my hand down her back, remembering how she arched against me in an attempt to draw me closer as we made love, how her body shook as wave after wave of pleasure washed over us both.
Now her body was relaxed in the stillness of sleep, though my hand moved up and down with her steady breathing. I ran my hand back up and rested my palm at the nape of her neck. Her skin was so soft, so flawless. Perfect, just like everything else about her.
Her lips formed a perfect O as she slept. I brought my head to where my lips nearly brushed hers, but I stopped myself—I didn’t have a right to her lips anymore. Not with what I planned to do in a few short hours. Instead, I lightly kissed her neck. She tasted of sex and sweat—a bittersweet reminder of what we had experienced together.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered against her skin. “I won’t mean a word of it. I only hope . . .”
I stopped.
Hoped what?
That she would understand? I couldn’t expect that.
That she would forgive me one day? Perhaps. Perhaps, maybe, years from now.
Did I hope she wouldn’t hurt? I wasn’t so blind or foolish that I thought I wouldn’t hurt her. I knew she would hurt.
Or did some small part of me hope that she would know I didn’t mean it? I was certain she would fight me, but in the end, I knew what it would take to make her leave. I hadn’t earned my reputation as a hard-ass without learning a few things.
I shut my eyes against the onslaught of hot tears threatening to overtake me. How could I bear to do this to myself? How could I do it to her?
Because it was for the best. I wasn’t sure of anything after the previous night—if I should continue my lifestyle, what Abby would do if I told her the truth—told her how I’d tricked her, lied to her, played on her naïveté.
I didn’t dare ask her to remain with me as I tried to sort it out. It would be better for us both if she left. If I forced her to leave.
She shook the box at me. “It’s my business because these are not on your meal plan.”
Not on my meal plan? I didn’t have a meal plan. She had a meal . . .
Oh.
Oh.
She wanted to role-play. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Abby would never want to be a domme, but if she wanted to play around a bit. Well . . .
Part of me knew this was dangerous, blurring the lines even further. The other part of me wanted to see how far she’d go. I’d told her my room and the playroom were off-limits for the week. Where would she take this? Had she planned this out?
There was only one way to find out.
“Do you think I put together a meal plan for you because I’m bored and have nothing better to do?” she asked as victory surged in her eyes. “Answer me.”
My words from the night I punished her. I uncrossed my arms and dropped them to my sides. “No, Mistress.”
She gave a dramatic sigh. “I had plans for today, but instead we’ll have to spend the afternoon inside, working on your punishment.”
I wasn’t sure what she had planned, but for that one moment, I didn’t much care. Abby and I working together on anything for the entire afternoon would be delightful.
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mistress.”
“You’ll be sorrier still when I’m finished with you. I’m going up to my room. You have ten minutes to join me there.”
She turned and left the room. I glanced down at Apollo and smiled. “Go to the kitchen, Apollo.”
He cocked his head to the side and pawed the air.
“I mean it.”
With a heavy sigh, he left the library and I was alone. Needless to say, my thoughts were all over the place. What was Abby up to? How far would I allow her to take this? If it were a real scene in which I was a submissive, I would enter her room naked. Since that wasn’t the case, I decided to leave my clothes on.
As I walked up the stairs, thoughts swirled around in my head. I needed a plan. I needed to decide how long and exactly what I’d allow Abby to do. Lay out when I’d call a stop to her little game. But how could I plan when I didn’t know what she had planned?
Her words from the kitchen came back to me: You think too much.
She had been right, of course. I did think too much. So for tonight I wouldn’t think. I’d simply allow myself to fly by the seat of my pants—to be spontaneous. I could handle whatever Abby had planned, and if at any point I needed to, I’d call a stop to it.
It was simple when you thought about it.
She stood by the foot of her bed, dressed in the silver robe she’d worn the day I collared her. She looked even more beautiful today, if such a thing were possible.
She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “What do you have to say for yourself, Nathaniel?”
Nathaniel.
The way she said my name. The way it fell from her lips.
I dropped my head so as not to show how it affected me. “Nothing, Mistress.”
“Look at me.”
No. Please, no. Anything but that. If I looked at her, she’d know. She’d know everything. I couldn’t hide it anymore. Then again, I didn’t want to hide it anymore. I was so tired of hiding.
“I am not a mistress,” she said. “I am a goddess.” She pushed the robe from her shoulders, exposing more of her gorgeous body. “I will be worshipped.”
The truth of her words stunned me momentarily. She was right. She had never been more right.
She was a goddess.
She should be worshipped.
Tonight, I would do no less than prove it to her. I would show her exactly what she did to me, what she made me feel. Perhaps, in return, she would show me how I made her feel.
Dropping the role-play completely, I walked to her, closing the distance between us. Gently, I gathered her in my arms and sat us both on her bed.
I stared deeply into her eyes. What was this thing I felt whenever I looked at her? What was it she did to me that no one else ever had? Whatever had I done to deserve what she gave me?
The only things I knew with any certainty were that she was my one percent and I’d be damned if I’d deny it any longer.
Of its own accord, my hand reached out to stroke her cheek. “Abby,” I whispered, rejoicing in the freedom her name held. “Oh, Abby.”
To say it, to say her name . . . How was it something so simple stirred my very being? As if I’d finally found what I’d spent my entire life searching for? She was mine and I was hers, and if the world ended at that exact second, I’d die knowing that most sacred truth.
And still, I craved more. I needed more. I needed . . .
Her lips.
I traced her mouth with my thumb. “‘A kiss of desire . . .’”
I couldn’t finish. It was too much. My body shook with the effort to remain where I was.
As my one percent, of course she knew what I meant. What I had been unable to say.
“‘. . . on the lips,’” she finished.
I could contain myself no longer. I had denied myself too much. In telling myself kissing would make our relationship too personal, I’d created a rule that didn’t matter and couldn’t be obeyed. It hadn’t helped anything anyway.
I pressed forward, willing myself to take my time—to enjoy and revere the moment. I was so close, I could taste her—could feel her breath, warm against my lips. I inhaled deeply and then, ever so gently, touched my lips to hers.
Oh, God.
Surely my body couldn’t contain the joy that welled up inside. Surely this frail human shell was not meant to feel such deep emotion.
But my heart still beat within my chest, so I steadied myself and kissed her again.
And still I lived—or started to live. I wasn’t sure which.
I knew I would never get enough of her. Never would I tire of her lips on mine or the way she felt in my arms. The greedy bastard inside begged for more, and it wasn’t enough to simply touch her lips—I had to consume her. Had to let her consume me.
I framed her face with my hands to steady us both and kissed her again. Longer. But still softly—she was a goddess to be worshipped and I was nothing but a lowly disciple longing for the favor of her touch.
My tongue brushed the outline of her mouth, tasting and teasing. She parted her lips slightly, and my heart clenched in amazement. She would allow me this honor. After all I’d taken from her, still she would give me more.
I knew immediately her taste would be seared into my memory for as long as I lived. Her hands ran through my hair, pulling me closer, and I moaned.
She unbuttoned my shirt without breaking our kiss, and just as quickly, she slipped it from my shoulders and ran her hands over my chest.
Oh, God. Yes, Abby. Touch me.
I finally convinced myself to pull away and stood watching her as I stepped out of my pants.
She held out her arms. “Love me, Nathaniel.”
Love?
Was that what it was? I loved Abby? Is this what Jackson meant? What Todd and Elaina had? Certainly not. Certainly no one else had ever experienced emotion this intensely before. But if love was the only way to describe it, love would have to do.
Love.
I loved Abby.
I had been such a fool.
“I always have, Abby.” I picked her up and gathered her to me once more. “I always have.”
I gently lowered us to the bed, kissing her again, allowing the truth of my feelings for her to wash over both of us. This time, unlike the others, there were no words spoken, because no words were needed.
It was as if I touched her for the very first time. Even her hands on my body were new. Touching, teasing, and exploring, yes, but there was a new meaning behind each touch and caress.
I love you, my fingers said as they breezed down her arms.
I love you, her fingers responded, stroking my back.
Her lips danced against mine, our mouths moving together in unbroken and unrestrained love.
Our joining was slow and purposeful. I closed my eyes as emotion surged inside me again for it was more than I could bear. My entire life, I’d seen and used sex as a means to physical pleasure. I had always made certain my partners and submissives had pleasure in return, but that was all it was—meaningless pleasure. Now I knew the truth. Sex could be, should be, so much more. It should be me using my body not just to bring pleasure or to gain pleasure, but to show love, to give love, to give myself.
The truth burst from me as I released, and a tear escaped my eye.
Afterward, I drew her to my chest. I stroked her hair, unable to keep my hands from her. With a sigh of contentment, she turned and put her head above my heart, and within minutes, she fell asleep.
Sleep did not come as easily to me. Instead, the real world crashed down.
What had we done?
What had I done?
I closed my eyes and tried desperately to hold on to the feeling I’d had minutes before. But I wasn’t strong enough and the demons came back.
She would hate me for what I’d done now. Hate me when she discovered that I had been dishonest with her. She might stay with me for a time, but eventually she would feel nothing but pity, and I knew I could not bear her pity.
Her eyes would grow dimmer with each passing day as she discovered I could not be what she wanted. And what did my earlier epiphany mean? Was my entire life as a dom something less than it should be? How could I reconcile what I was with what I felt?
I tightened my arms around Abby’s sleeping body. How could I offer her less than what she deserved?
As the night deepened, I knew.
I loved her. I would do anything, absolutely anything, for her.
I would let her go.
Chapter Thirty-one
I looked over Abby’s head to the alarm clock on the nightstand—two o’clock. Roughly four more hours before I needed to leave her bed.
I closed my eyes and tried to commit her entire being to memory. I breathed deeply and inhaled the sweet scent of her hair, dipped my head lower and delighted in the floral smell of her skin. I ran my hand down her back, remembering how she arched against me in an attempt to draw me closer as we made love, how her body shook as wave after wave of pleasure washed over us both.
Now her body was relaxed in the stillness of sleep, though my hand moved up and down with her steady breathing. I ran my hand back up and rested my palm at the nape of her neck. Her skin was so soft, so flawless. Perfect, just like everything else about her.
Her lips formed a perfect O as she slept. I brought my head to where my lips nearly brushed hers, but I stopped myself—I didn’t have a right to her lips anymore. Not with what I planned to do in a few short hours. Instead, I lightly kissed her neck. She tasted of sex and sweat—a bittersweet reminder of what we had experienced together.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered against her skin. “I won’t mean a word of it. I only hope . . .”
I stopped.
Hoped what?
That she would understand? I couldn’t expect that.
That she would forgive me one day? Perhaps. Perhaps, maybe, years from now.
Did I hope she wouldn’t hurt? I wasn’t so blind or foolish that I thought I wouldn’t hurt her. I knew she would hurt.
Or did some small part of me hope that she would know I didn’t mean it? I was certain she would fight me, but in the end, I knew what it would take to make her leave. I hadn’t earned my reputation as a hard-ass without learning a few things.
I shut my eyes against the onslaught of hot tears threatening to overtake me. How could I bear to do this to myself? How could I do it to her?
Because it was for the best. I wasn’t sure of anything after the previous night—if I should continue my lifestyle, what Abby would do if I told her the truth—told her how I’d tricked her, lied to her, played on her naïveté.
I didn’t dare ask her to remain with me as I tried to sort it out. It would be better for us both if she left. If I forced her to leave.
