The Enticement
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Chapter One
There were times I felt I came alive only at night. When the world was quiet around me and the kids were asleep and for a few precious hours there was nothing but me and Nathaniel. Those sacred nights had become more and more infrequent lately, as there always seemed to be something else to do, but I often thought I could survive on the anticipation alone.
I checked in the bathroom mirror to make sure my face didn’t reflect the day’s stress. Satisfied, I pulled my hair out of the ponytail it’d been in all day and brushed it until it fell soft and loose around my shoulders. I threw the yoga pants and T-shirt I’d been wearing into the hamper. Before heading into the bedroom, I took the body lotion Nathaniel once said smelled like sin wrapped in silk and ran it over my arms and legs. I rummaged through my lingerie drawer and finally settled on a long opaque satin nightgown. Silver, of course, since that was his favorite color on me.
Most nights I didn’t take so long getting ready for bed, but tonight was different. When he’d gotten home, we’d chatted briefly before our two kids interrupted us. I’d swallowed a laugh as four-year-old Elizabeth expressed her grief at not finding the purple crayon she insisted she had to have for the castle she was coloring. Not to be outdone, our eighteen-month-old son, Henry, kept his arms uplifted and repeated, “Dada! Dada! Dada!” until Nathaniel swept him into the air.
After that, the room was filled with Henry’s delighted shrieks. At least it was until Nathaniel caught a whiff of something.
“Again?” I asked. “I just changed him less than an hour ago.”
“Has to be the antibiotics,” Nathaniel said, which was probably true. Henry was desperately trying to get rid of recurrent ear infections, but the medication upset his stomach. “Come on, big guy, let’s get you changed.” As they walked away, he looked over his shoulder. “We need to talk later, Abigail.”
Abigail.
Hearing my name from him like that stopped me in my tracks, lit my body with desire, and echoed in my brain throughout dinner, baths, and bedtime. As he, no doubt, knew it would. When he called me Abigail, it didn’t matter that I wore his collar only once a month or that sex was otherwise often hurried and infrequent. With just one word, my husband became my Master. And my body didn’t only respond; it begged for his dominance. Just thinking about the way he said it, in a tone of voice that managed to sound so matter-of-fact and commanding at the same time, sent shivers up and down my spine.
I walked down the stairs and found Nathaniel in the living room, reading. He looked up as I entered, his green eyes traveling over every inch of me. I took a seat beside him and my heart rate increased as he slipped a hand into my hair and pulled me close for a kiss.
“You smell incredible and you look sexy as hell,” he said against my lips.
“You’re not bad yourself,” I replied, running my fingers through his black hair. He’d changed out of his suit when he’d gotten home and throughout the evening had worn the old jeans that hugged his ass and a T-shirt that similarly hugged his abs—my favorite outfit for him.
He pulled away and settled his back against the couch. “I had a call today from Simon.”
“Oh?” Simon had moved into the area years ago and was part of our BDSM group. He, like Nathaniel, was a Dominant.
“He’s met someone online and she’s relatively inexperienced. He was wondering if they could come over on Saturday.”
Before getting pregnant with Henry, we’d started mentoring couples. Years ago, my weekend with Nathaniel’s old mentor and his wife, Paul and Christine, had helped me so much. I wanted to do the same for new submissives. But after getting pregnant and, in particular, after giving birth, there hadn’t been much mentoring going on.
Without thinking, I stroked my bare neck, missing the long, intense playroom sessions that lasted all weekend. These days they were just about as likely to happen as me getting forty-five uninterrupted minutes to make dinner.
“I’m probably the one in need of a mentor session,” I joked. “It’s so long between our scheduled dates.”
Nathaniel didn’t laugh. “I miss the way we used to be, Abby.”
“I know … me, too.”
He leaned forward and studied me silently for a few seconds. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, everything’s fine. Just life happening.”
“I wonder when we decided ‘fine’ was an acceptable way to live?” He took my right hand and twisted the ring there. The one he’d given me on our wedding day that symbolized his dominance over me. “I wonder if once a month is enough? I miss seeing you kneel before me, wearing only my collar, waiting for me to decide how I’ll use you.”
There were times I felt I came alive only at night. When the world was quiet around me and the kids were asleep and for a few precious hours there was nothing but me and Nathaniel. Those sacred nights had become more and more infrequent lately, as there always seemed to be something else to do, but I often thought I could survive on the anticipation alone.
I checked in the bathroom mirror to make sure my face didn’t reflect the day’s stress. Satisfied, I pulled my hair out of the ponytail it’d been in all day and brushed it until it fell soft and loose around my shoulders. I threw the yoga pants and T-shirt I’d been wearing into the hamper. Before heading into the bedroom, I took the body lotion Nathaniel once said smelled like sin wrapped in silk and ran it over my arms and legs. I rummaged through my lingerie drawer and finally settled on a long opaque satin nightgown. Silver, of course, since that was his favorite color on me.
Most nights I didn’t take so long getting ready for bed, but tonight was different. When he’d gotten home, we’d chatted briefly before our two kids interrupted us. I’d swallowed a laugh as four-year-old Elizabeth expressed her grief at not finding the purple crayon she insisted she had to have for the castle she was coloring. Not to be outdone, our eighteen-month-old son, Henry, kept his arms uplifted and repeated, “Dada! Dada! Dada!” until Nathaniel swept him into the air.
After that, the room was filled with Henry’s delighted shrieks. At least it was until Nathaniel caught a whiff of something.
“Again?” I asked. “I just changed him less than an hour ago.”
“Has to be the antibiotics,” Nathaniel said, which was probably true. Henry was desperately trying to get rid of recurrent ear infections, but the medication upset his stomach. “Come on, big guy, let’s get you changed.” As they walked away, he looked over his shoulder. “We need to talk later, Abigail.”
Abigail.
Hearing my name from him like that stopped me in my tracks, lit my body with desire, and echoed in my brain throughout dinner, baths, and bedtime. As he, no doubt, knew it would. When he called me Abigail, it didn’t matter that I wore his collar only once a month or that sex was otherwise often hurried and infrequent. With just one word, my husband became my Master. And my body didn’t only respond; it begged for his dominance. Just thinking about the way he said it, in a tone of voice that managed to sound so matter-of-fact and commanding at the same time, sent shivers up and down my spine.
I walked down the stairs and found Nathaniel in the living room, reading. He looked up as I entered, his green eyes traveling over every inch of me. I took a seat beside him and my heart rate increased as he slipped a hand into my hair and pulled me close for a kiss.
“You smell incredible and you look sexy as hell,” he said against my lips.
“You’re not bad yourself,” I replied, running my fingers through his black hair. He’d changed out of his suit when he’d gotten home and throughout the evening had worn the old jeans that hugged his ass and a T-shirt that similarly hugged his abs—my favorite outfit for him.
He pulled away and settled his back against the couch. “I had a call today from Simon.”
“Oh?” Simon had moved into the area years ago and was part of our BDSM group. He, like Nathaniel, was a Dominant.
“He’s met someone online and she’s relatively inexperienced. He was wondering if they could come over on Saturday.”
Before getting pregnant with Henry, we’d started mentoring couples. Years ago, my weekend with Nathaniel’s old mentor and his wife, Paul and Christine, had helped me so much. I wanted to do the same for new submissives. But after getting pregnant and, in particular, after giving birth, there hadn’t been much mentoring going on.
Without thinking, I stroked my bare neck, missing the long, intense playroom sessions that lasted all weekend. These days they were just about as likely to happen as me getting forty-five uninterrupted minutes to make dinner.
“I’m probably the one in need of a mentor session,” I joked. “It’s so long between our scheduled dates.”
Nathaniel didn’t laugh. “I miss the way we used to be, Abby.”
“I know … me, too.”
He leaned forward and studied me silently for a few seconds. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, everything’s fine. Just life happening.”
“I wonder when we decided ‘fine’ was an acceptable way to live?” He took my right hand and twisted the ring there. The one he’d given me on our wedding day that symbolized his dominance over me. “I wonder if once a month is enough? I miss seeing you kneel before me, wearing only my collar, waiting for me to decide how I’ll use you.”
