The Dominant (22 page)

Yes, she wanted this.

“I want you to stand up and wrap a blanket around yourself. Open in the back. Put one foot up on the railing in front of you.”

She jumped to her feet and wrapped the blanket around herself, just as I’d asked. I looked around and carefully studied the
crowd. There was still no one looking our way. We would be just another couple in the crowd, cuddling to keep warm.

My gaze traveled from the crowd surrounding us to the scoreboard. The quarter was in its last seconds. I took the other blanket,
stood up, and pressed close to Abby. Jackson and his teammates ran off the field. I draped the blanket around my shoulders
and brought the ends around Abby.

My hand found its way up her shirt and I grazed her breast with my hand. Pulled at her nipple.

She gasped.

“You have to be quiet,” I told her again. What the fuck would I do if she got too loud and we were discovered?

But it was too late now—we were both too caught up in the moment to care. So I let myself go and enjoyed the present.

I leaned closer to her. “I can’t wait to be inside you.” My hands explored her body under the blankets, cupped her breasts.
“You feel so fucking good. You turn me on so fucking much.” I thrust my hips against her. “Feel what you do to me.” My hips
rocked into her backside. “How hard you make me.”

The stadium grew dark then, and I stepped back long enough to undo my pants and slip on the condom. “Lean over the rail just
a little.”

She looked first to her right, then to her left, but she pressed against the rail and leaned over.

“No one knows.” I lifted her skirt up. “People are so caught up in their own little worlds, they don’t notice what’s going
on around them.”
Like when you helped someone on your way to a
Hamlet
reading years ago
. “The most life-altering event could be happening right next to them and they’d miss it entirely. Of course, in this case,
it’s a good thing.”

Whistles, claps, and shouts filled the stadium. The main act had arrived. I took advantage of the growing chaos and thrust
into Abby. She let out a yelp.

I rocked my hips into her, in time with the music. Fuck, it felt so good to be so deep inside her. I took the ends of the
blanket and wrapped my arms tighter around her, drawing her back against me. Without my asking, she spread her legs a bit,
allowing me to thrust and enter her even deeper.

I glanced once more to the people nearest us. “All these people and no one knows what we’re doing.” I pulled back and drove
myself into her again. “You could probably scream.” I teased her, tried to drive her to make a noise by pulling at her nipple,
but she didn’t make a sound.

I slowed my movements for the next song. This was good. I could do slow—could take a moment to simply enjoy being inside her.
To take and hold in my memory the feel of her right now. How she felt in my arms. How her warmth wrapped around me. How her
breathing slowed a bit but her heart still raced beneath my hands. I splayed my hands over both breasts, felt the hard pounding
underneath.

And, fuck it all, the next song slowed even more. I hardly moved, but the connection, our connection, was still there. If
we had nothing more, we had this and for now, in this moment, it was enough. I could enjoy and take this part of Abby—the
submission and trust she gave me for this moment—and not worry about the future.

The rest of the world slipped away as the last song started. My thrusts picked up and I knew I wouldn’t last long. I moved
my hand to the front of Abby’s body and rubbed her clit. She pushed back harder against me and started clenching around me.

I moved even faster into her, slamming her against the rail, driving myself farther into her. My hips circled and rocked as
the song reached its ending. Lights flashed around us. I pulled her tightly against me, thrusting in time to the last few
beats of the song.

“Come with me,” I whispered and thrust into her once more, holding still as I released into the condom and she climaxed around
me.

I kept my chest to her back, not wanting to draw any attention to us and waiting for the crowd to die down a bit. But most
of all, enjoying the feel of Abby under my hands, under my body. Could she feel the pounding of my heart? Could she feel how
she affected me?

As the crowd settled back into their seats, I pulled Abby back from the rail but kept my arms around her. I slipped off the
condom,
dropped it into the plastic bag I had waiting in the duffel bag, and redid my pants. Then I drew her into my lap—unwilling
and unable to let her go just yet.

I ran my nose along her neck. She smelled like sex.

“Now, that,” I whispered, “was an amazing halftime show.”

I felt as giddy as a teenager on his first date. Of course, I’d had plenty of public sex in the past: a deserted park, an
empty parking lot, even the ever-popular back row of the movie theater, but I’d never participated in something as brazen
as a packed-to-capacity football stadium during one of the most watched sporting events in the country.

What if we’d been caught on television?

I ran my fingers through Abby’s hair, and the floral scent of her shampoo surrounded me.

Who the hell cared? It was so dark during the halftime show, no one would have noticed us.

Leaving the stands to return to the box, on the other hand . . .

I’d always had an excellent poker face and could hide my emotions behind a carefully constructed facade, but even I doubted
I could hide the I’ve-just-had-incredible-sex look on my face.

Abby sighed and leaned her head against my shoulder. I knew she wouldn’t be able to hide her expression either. Besides, we’d
spent too much of our weekend with my family and friends. I wanted some time with Abby, even if we shared that time with the
strangers sitting next to us.

So, for the third quarter, we sat. Simply enjoying each other’s company. Pretended to watch the game.

Near the end of the quarter, Abby shifted in my lap and I knew
if we didn’t get back to the box, I’d be hiding more than what we’d been doing. I was already half hard again as it was.

“We should head back to the box,” I told her, but held on tightly and wouldn’t let her go. “Do you know why we had to wait?”

A serene smile crossed her face. What the hell was she thinking?

“Because your face shows absolutely everything,” I answered for her. “You’re an open book.”

Except now. Now I have no idea what you’re thinking.

She laughed and the sound caused me to smile. I’d done it—I’d made her laugh. Finally. Even if I had no idea why.

“You better change.” I nodded at her outfit. “Felicia will have my head if she sees you in that skirt.”

I didn’t pay attention to the game anymore when we made it back to the box. I noticed New York won only when Jackson looked
our way and blew Felicia a kiss. I hoped he knew he owed me big-time.

Abby and I left shortly after the trophy presentation. I told Linda I’d see her for dinner on Tuesday night and bade Elaina
and Todd goodbye. I hugged Todd, still slightly pissed about his antics at brunch, but wanting to believe he had the best
of intentions.

Once Abby and I were seated in my plane, I looked at my watch. It was late. On a typical Sunday, Abby would have already left
my house for the weekend. I wanted nothing more than to drag her back to the bedroom and take her again, but I didn’t. It
would be outside of our agreement, and I’d already assumed too much outside of our agreement.

Which reminded me . . .

“Did you make me an appointment for Wednesday?” I asked, knowing I’d have to wait until at least Wednesday to have her again.
“Or were you just saying that to Linda?”

She flashed me a sly grin. “I was hoping you would want to stop by.”

She had made me an appointment. I crossed my right leg over my left, wanting to hide my erection, and smiled. “Wednesday,
then.” I thought back to her comment to Linda. “Research?”

“You do need help with your literature. If you try really hard, I’m sure you can do better than Mark Twain and Jane Austen
next time.”

“Really?” I thought Mark Twain had been really good. “Who would you suggest?”

“Shakespeare.” She leaned back and closed her eyes.

Fortunately, I had many, many volumes of Shakespeare at home.

Todd called on Tuesday afternoon and apologized for his behavior on Sunday. He said he was only trying to help, but that he
was wrong to try to jog Abby’s memory. I accepted his apology. He thanked me and said he knew it was hard, but telling Abby
was the right thing to do.

I thought about calling Paul, but then I remembered how he’d gone off about my lack of aftercare and I knew he’d book a flight
to New York if I told him how I’d lied to Abby. He’d be right, of course, but I’d just defused Todd, and I didn’t need another
person telling me what to do.

That night, I ate dinner with Linda. She was all atwitter about her upcoming lunch date with Abby. She frowned and asked why
I never brought her to dinner, but I covered by saying Abby didn’t feel comfortable visiting and leaving Felicia behind. Linda
shook her head and told me Felicia was welcome to come.

It was the opening I needed: I launched into a discussion of the Super Bowl, and within minutes all talk about Abby joining
me for a family dinner was forgotten.

Abby hadn’t waxed when I showed up for my Wednesday afternoon appointment in the Rare Books Collection and it made me edgy
the rest of the week. What if she didn’t wax after I’d told her to? I felt like beating my head against a wall. I’d have to
punish her.

Damn it all.

What a way to start a weekend with Abby naked—in my room and on the whipping bench.

There went any hope of anything except punishment. And since there was no penalty written down for failure to wax, I’d have
to think of something.

Twenty strokes for a lost hour of sleep was too much. I knew that now. What would be acceptable for another failure to obey
a direct command? Not twenty. Fifteen? Ten? Somewhere in the middle? Thirteen?

Could I do thirteen?

Yes.

Yes, I could.

Because this time, I’d provide the necessary aftercare. This time, I’d be better prepared. This time would not be like last
time.

I left the city on Friday morning, deciding to work from my estate so I could properly set up for the weekend. The first thing
I did was turn up the heat. Abby would be naked all weekend and I didn’t want her to be cold. I checked the heat on the hot
tub and ensured clean towels were in the nearby cabana. I made paella for dinner.

I pulled the whipping bench into my room.

I took Apollo outside and played catch with him for a few minutes. After having him at the kennel the previous weekend, I
didn’t have the heart to send him away from home for any length of time.

I made everything as near perfect as I could, and then I paced.

Up and down in the foyer. Down and up. To the front door and back to the entranceway of the kitchen. Straining my ears and
listening for the sound of a car pulling up the drive.

Apollo heard her before I did.

“Down, boy,” I said as he ran to the door and scratched at it. He looked back at me and whined.

This was not a good idea.

I quickly took Apollo to the kitchen and closed the door. By the time I made it back into the foyer, the doorbell had rung.

I opened the door slowly.

Please, please, please.

She entered the foyer with my favorite grin on her face.

Oh, Abby. This is not the same as wearing panties. I hadn’t given you a command last Sunday about panties. I did tell you
to wax.

I pointed at her clothes. “Take them off. You’ll get them back on Sunday.”

She slowly slipped her sweater over her head, turned, and set it down. Then she looked over her shoulder at me and unhooked
her bra.

Fuck. She was doing a tiny little striptease.

That meant she’d waxed, right?

The bra dropped to join her sweater on the floor.

Maybe she was trying to distract me with the striptease.

I shifted my weight from foot to foot.

She turned around to face me, and my cock went hard at the sight of her topless. Her hands slid down her body to the button
on her jeans.

Yes, take them off. Let me see.

With deft fingers, she unbuttoned her jeans. She peeked up at me and slowly worked the pants over her hips. A little rock
or two of her hips and—

Fuck. She wasn’t wearing panties.

The jeans slipped lower.

She had waxed.

The weight of the world lifted from my shoulders. Her jeans dropped to the marble floor, forgotten, and I crossed the hall
to take her in my arms. The sight of her bare made me hard as a rock. There would be no punishment. None. It would just be
us. Together.

I pushed her back to the plush bench in the middle of the foyer. “How pleased I am you followed my order.” She sat down on
the edge of the bench and I pushed her legs apart. “I’ll admit, you had me just a little worried on Wednesday.” I bent down
so my face was level with her pussy. “I should spank you for that, and I might just do it later.” I looked up and grinned
so she knew exactly what type of spanking I meant. “For now, though, I think I need a taste of this deliciously bare pussy.”

I placed a kiss right on the tip of her clit. She moaned and dropped back onto the bench. I spread her with my fingers and
licked away the moisture gathered between her lips. Fuck. So sweet. Always so sweet. I took my time, overjoyed that there
would be no punishment, and concentrated on her. Wanting, once more, to show her just how sweetly obedience would be rewarded.

I took her knees and pushed them up so her heels rested on the edge of the bench. Her position allowed me greater access to
her body, and I ran my hands up her sides to play and tease her nipples. She arched her back, bringing her hips closer to
my mouth, and I ran my tongue up her slit and gave her clit another kiss.

I slowly felt her relax and give herself over to me as pleasure worked its way through her body. Once more I licked her, wanting
to drain her dry, wanting to taste her as she came. I nibbled her playfully, enjoying the way she trembled under me.

I poured my relief into bringing Abby pleasure. Used my fingers
and mouth to show her how delighted I was. I stroked with my fingertips, teased with my lips, and nibbled with my teeth. In
return, she shuddered under my hands. Her moans echoed in the open room and bounced off the marble floor.

I pushed my tongue deeper into her, feeling her tighten around me. Yes. I quickened my movements, wanting nothing more than
to feel her come around me.

“Oh, please . . .” she moaned.

Yes.

Her breathing hitched. I sucked her clit into my mouth and her hips jerked against me. Her body tightened briefly before she
rippled around me.

I took her legs and gently placed her feet on the floor, then brought her knees together. She gave a satisfied sigh.

“I like you like this.” I ran a hand over her bare skin and another aftershock shook her body. “Bare for me. Did it hurt much?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

I preferred my submissives waxed. I didn’t typically require it, but often I would request it after a few months. Part of
me felt bad for throwing it at Abby the way I had. But all I had to do was look at her and that part of me was forgotten.

I stood up and held out a hand. “Ready for dinner?”

I expected her to be shy. To show some discomfort at her nudity. She surprised me, though, sitting up and running a hand through
her hair. My eyes dropped to her breasts.

“Yes, please, Master.”

Yes, please?

Yes, please what?

She took my hand and stood up. “What did you cook?”

Right. Dinner. Eating. Food.

I’d never make it through the weekend.

The paella had been an excellent choice. The spicy rice and succulent shrimp and chicken seemed to please Abby. She ate nearly
everything on her plate.

Okay, I decided, there would be no deep conversation at dinner. Probably not for the entire weekend. Not with Abby naked.

I’d thought about taking her back into the playroom, had planned on it, even. Of course, that had been before Tampa and Todd.
I decided instead to keep things the way they were—playing in the bedroom. At least until I told her the truth and she decided
to stay.

Please, please, please let her stay
.

But since I’d decided not to tell her yet, I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the here and now. On Abby, naked and
at my table. On what I decided we would do tonight . . .

“Abigail,” I said, putting my fork down. She looked up and waited for me to continue. “I’m afraid in my . . . highly, uh,
aroused state last weekend, I might have misspoken and, um, overestimated my abilities.”

Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“Five times would be”—I cleared my throat—“quite an accomplishment.”

She cocked her head to the side. “I think you’ve already accomplished one time.” She flushed and looked down at her plate.

“Yes, well,” I said. “Never mind what it would do to me—five times would certainly take its toll on you.” I lifted my wineglass
to my lips and took a long sip. “And that would definitely interfere with my plans for tomorrow.”

I said the words, but in my mind, I wanted to take her up the stairs, throw her on the bed, and keep her there for several
long and sweaty hours. I pushed back from the table, fully intending to carry out my plan for at least two or three times,
when I remembered—the whipping bench.

It was still in my room.

“Abigail. Clear the table and meet me in the foyer. I’ll be right back.”

I left her in the kitchen, ran up the stairs, and moved the bench back to the playroom. I wondered if she heard what I was
doing.

When I made it back down the stairs, she stood waiting for me. One delicate hand trailed down the arm of the plush bench.
Her back was to me and, at my return, she slowly turned her head to look over her shoulder. Our eyes met.

Time slowed. Then stopped completely.

She belongs here
.

My life had been a puzzle with one piece missing and then that piece fell into place.

Abby
.

My one percent
.

The picture was complete. I stood mesmerized and watched as she turned to fully face me.

Her elegant eyebrow rose, just a bit, and she grinned.

I kept my eyes on her as I slipped out of my shirt and stepped out of my pants. I nearly came as my erection sprang free.
She waited.

We weren’t going to make it to the bed.