The Dominant (14 page)

I led her inside, trying my best to keep Apollo from jumping on her, and settled her on the couch. Then I went into the kitchen.
I’d called my housekeeper from the hospital earlier in the morning
and instructed her to stock my refrigerator and pantry for the weekend.

I made a turkey, cheese, and avocado sandwich for Abby and filled her plate with grapes and apple slices. I grabbed a bottle
of water from the refrigerator and joined her in the living room.

She took the plate from me. “This looks delicious. Thank you.”

I resisted the urge to stroke her forehead. “Just eat what you feel like.” I glanced down to where Apollo sat beside her on
the couch. “You can either rest here or in your room. I’ll put Apollo outside if he bothers you.”

She patted his head. “He’s fine.”

I turned the TV on and gave her the remote. “I’m going to make myself a sandwich. I’ll join you in a minute.”

Minutes later, I sat down at my desk with my lunch and turned on my laptop. I sent a short note to Sara, telling her I’d be
back on Monday, and quickly scanned the rest of my e-mails.

I read a message from Yang Cai and sighed. I’d probably have to schedule a trip to China for later in the year. I sent back
an e-mail, promising to follow up with more details after the weekend.

When I looked up, Abby was asleep. I stood, took her plate, and set it on the table, tucked a blanket around her curled body.

Then I sat back down and watched Abby sleep.

The weekend before, I’d wanted to show her the library. What if I took it a step further? What if I gave her the library?
She rarely took advantage of her freedom at the kitchen table—if I gave her an entire room, would she feel more at ease?

There was only one way to find out.

She woke up at three thirty, blinking awake, glancing around and smiling when she saw me.

“Feeling better?” I asked.

“A little.” She reached out and swallowed the pain pills I had set out while she slept, then stood and stretched.

“Come with me.” I got up and walked toward her, held out my hand. “I want you to see the southern part of the house.”

She took my hand without question, and I ran my thumb over the tops of her knuckles. We went down the hallway toward the library.

Would she like it?

I dropped her hand, pushed the double doors open, and stood back so she could enter first.

She gasped.

“I want this to be your room,” I told her. “When you’re in this room, you are free to be you. Your thoughts. Your desires.
It’s all yours. Except for the piano. The piano is mine.”

Use it, Abby. Please, be yourself. Open up to me.

She walked around the room as if in a daze. Trailing her fingers along the book spines, stopping here and there to read a
book title. The sunlight bounced off her hair, illuminating her.

But what was she thinking?

“Abigail?”

She turned around. Silent tears fell down her cheeks.

Was that a good sign?

“You’re crying,” I whispered, overcome by the emotions she could evoke from me. “Again.”

“It’s so beautiful.”

She liked it. I smiled. “You like it?”

Without a word, she walked back to me and threw her arms around me. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I whispered into her hair.

I spent the next two days caring for Abby. Watching her as she rested and making sure she stayed comfortable. She passed time
lounging in the library, even eating a few meals sitting on one of the couches, engrossed in one book or another. I joined
her occasionally and tried to start a conversation, but she never spoke freely.

Perhaps I’d read too much into her whore comment. If our relationship worked for her, it would work for me. Her needs. Always
hers.

On Sunday afternoon, I sat at the small desk in the library, waiting to see if Abby would join me.

Then, there she was. “Everything all right?” I asked. “Do you need something?”

“Yes. You.”

She slipped her shirt over her head.

Fuck.

“Abigail,” I said, trying to ignore the twitching of my cock, “you need to rest.”

She didn’t listen. Instead she slipped her pants down and stepped out of them.

I swallowed a moan.

She wanted me. She was asking for sex.

I’d had submissives ask for sex before. Sometimes I agreed. Sometimes I didn’t. I walked the line between fulfilling their
needs and ensuring they knew I could and would turn them down if I wanted to.

I didn’t want to turn Abby down.

But was she ready?

Did she feel obliged to do it because I was taking care of her?

I knew I should probably turn her down. She needed to rest, and I didn’t want her to offer sex out of obligation.

If I turned her down, would she ever ask again?

She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, slowly slipping it off her shoulders. It fell to the floor, exposing more
of her body to me—more than she probably meant to expose. There was a purplish blue bruise on her right shoulder.

I decided to turn her down. Explain it wasn’t her—that I wanted her badly, but she needed to rest.

She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and slipped them over her hips.

I stood up. I couldn’t turn her down. Not when I’d given her this room and told her to be herself in it. Not when she stripped
herself naked before me. If she wanted me, wanted the pleasure my body could give her, she would have me.

I opened the desk drawer and took out a condom. Slowly, I walked over to where she stood. We would have to take it easy. I’d
let her take control and set our pace.

I placed my hands on her shoulders, careful of the bruise, and trailed my fingers down to her hands, delighting in the goose
bumps that rose to meet me. My eyes took in the soft angles of her form—the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts, the
slope of her belly. I gently took her hands and slipped the condom inside her fist. Her eyes questioned me.

Oh, Abby. I could never turn you down. Not for anything. My body is yours. Take it.

I brought her hands to my chest, showing her I wanted her to lead this time.

“Okay,” I said simply.

She opened her hand, glanced at the condom, and gasped. A smile lit her face.

She’d thought I would turn her down.

You almost did
.

Idiot
.

The condom fell to the floor and she worked to unbutton my shirt. When she took it off and ran her hands down my chest, I
had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning. As much as I’d wanted to touch her in the hospital, I hadn’t thought
about how much I needed her to touch me. To have her hands on me.

She walked around and cupped my shoulder blades. I closed my eyes to better focus on her hands and sucked in a breath when
she kissed my back.

Then she licked,
fucking licked
, her way down my spine, ending with a gentle kiss, right at the spot above my pants.

I clenched my fist to keep from grabbing and throwing her on the couch.

Her way, West. Let her do it her way.

Her way would kill me.

She dropped to her knees before me and stroked the front of my pants. I couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped from my lips.
She unbuckled my belt and, very deliberately, stroked me again before working on the button of my pants.

I dropped my eyes to watch as she unzipped me, dragging her fingers roughly over my hardened cock. My eyes damn near rolled
back in my head and I wasn’t even naked yet. I forced myself to watch, to enjoy her response, her actions. She licked her
lips right before she pulled my pants and boxers down. Then she took me in her mouth.

Holy shit.

Her mouth.

Her mouth on me.

She wrapped her arms around my backside and pulled me toward her so I went deeper. I nearly fell over, but steadied myself
by resting my hands on her head.

Gentle, I reminded myself. She’s still sore.

She sucked me a few times. I hoped fervently that she’d stop soon or else I’d come in her mouth. I wanted to be buried inside
her when I came. Deep inside, with my arms wrapped around her, bringing her the pleasure she deserved.

Right when I thought I might have to pull her to her feet, she released me and ripped open the condom. With sure hands, she
rolled it onto me, giving my cock a hard squeeze. She stood up, smirked, and pushed on my chest.

The couch. She wanted me on the couch.

And, fuck it all, I think she’s going to ride me
.

My cock grew so hard, it hurt, but I walked backward and fell onto the soft leather of the couch. Abby straddled me.

Hell, yes.

Her breasts bounced right before my eyes. I couldn’t help it. I leaned over and sucked one into my mouth. Umm. I’d forgotten
how damn sweet she tasted. I swirled my tongue around the nipple, feeling it grow hard in my mouth.

She reached up with her hand and pushed on my chest, bringing me back down to the couch and pulling herself from my mouth.
Then she rested one hand on either side of me and lifted her hips.

My cock ached with the need to be inside her.

She moved slowly, too damn slowly, lowering herself so I felt every inch of her as she took me inside her tight heat.

“Abigail.” I rocked my hips, wanting her deeper, but she held back, continuing her slow descent. Finally, though, finally,
I was buried inside her and she held still.

She groaned and my eyes flew open. Was she hurt? Her eyes were closed, her mouth open, and her head slightly back.

She was fine.

Thank the sweet heavens.

She started moving, and I knew nothing but the feeling of her above me, riding me, working herself on me. I couldn’t keep
my hands off her, couldn’t keep from touching her, from making sure she was fine. Her slender waist, the strength of her spine,
her beautiful breasts—she was more than fine, and—for that moment—she was mine.

She was mine.

I took her by the waist and helped her move, thrusting harder. I wouldn’t last much longer, but I wanted her to come first.
My balls ached with the need to release, but I held back, urging her on, until she moved faster.

I thrust quicker then, pushing her toward the release I knew was close. She held still, muscles clenching around me as her
orgasm swept through her body. I gave one last thrust and held deep within her as I released into the condom.

Her body shook, and I wrapped my arms around her. Sex had probably not been a good idea. I rolled us over so she was sandwiched
between me and back of the couch—if one of us fell off, it would be me.

I ran my hand down her back and her eyes opened.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She still breathed heavily, but she smirked at me. “I am now.”

She was a vixen.

Then she ran a hand down my chest and I knew vixen didn’t come close to describing her. So, just in case she had any other
ideas and her hand decided to continue its way south, I stopped her. Took her hand and held it to me. “I want you to take
it easy the rest of the day.”

She agreed, but with a smug little satisfied grin.

I had to get away from her or else I’d be tempted to keep that satisfied grin on her face by taking her again. I pulled away
and
stood up. Then I made the mistake of looking at her again—naked and sprawled out on my couch.

Her couch.

Damn. Think of something. Quickly.

I glanced at the clock. The game. I needed to prepare for the game. “What type of pizza do you like?” I asked, keeping my
attention focused on the buttons of my shirt.

She didn’t say anything, but I could see that she was hesitating.

Right. Pizza. Not exactly on the meal plan.

“The Clark family has to eat pizza and hot wings during every play-off game,” I explained. “If we didn’t and the Giants lost,
Jackson would disown us.”

She took her time rolling off the couch. “I’ve heard of crazier superstitions. Just don’t tell me if he wears the same unwashed
underwear.”

I almost laughed, but then remembered the player who
did
wear the same unwashed underwear. “My lips are sealed.”

“
Mm
.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “Mushroom. I like mushroom pizza. And bacon.”

“Mushroom and bacon it is. Picnic on the floor sound good?”

Her fingers stopped and her eyes got a faraway look.

Was she thinking of us? On the floor?

“Abigail?”

She blushed. “Yes?”

Fuck. She was thinking of us on the floor.

“Picnic on the floor would be great,” she said.

In more ways than one, I wanted to say, but knew we had already done more than we should. “You will take it easy the rest
of the day,” I told her.

Before the game started and right before the pizza and wings were due to be delivered, I went up to my bedroom to get Abby’s
collar.
The locked box I’d put it in on Friday held several pieces of my mother’s jewelry. I unlocked it and slipped the collar into
my pocket, but instead of putting the box away, I took out a few pieces.

Nestled together sat a pair of diamond earrings I remembered Dad giving to Mom one Christmas. Santa brought me a bike that
year, so I didn’t remember much of the earring exchange. I closed my eyes and thought back, trying to remember. They kissed.
I remembered that. But I thought kissing was gross, so I’d turned back to the bike.

I put the earrings away and picked up Dad’s wedding band. Strong and sturdy—just like him. Would he have been proud of the
man I turned out to be? Of how I’d built his company? I slipped it onto my left ring finger. It looked odd, so I took it off
and placed it back in the box.

Next I lifted Mom’s wedding band and held it between my thumb and forefinger. So tiny. I slipped it on my pinkie and it didn’t
go halfway down. Funny. I remembered Mom being so much bigger than me. But of course she would have seemed big to a young
boy.

I took the ring off and was about to place it in the box when something caught my eye—there was writing inside the ring. I
brought it close and squinted.

But I send you a cream white rosebud
.

I spun the ring around, looking for more, but that was it. Nothing else.

A cream white rosebud?

I picked Dad’s ring back up. Yes, there was writing inside it as well.

With a flush on its petal tips
.

I set it down. What did that mean?

The doorbell rang.

I sighed and left the box on my bed. The rings would have to wait.

Abby knew nothing about football, so in between bites of pizza and wings, I did my best to give her a tutorial.

She finally shook her head and sighed. “I’m a lost cause. I’ll never understand football.”

I wanted to tell her that she’d have plenty of time to learn the rules of football, that football was huge to my family, but
I didn’t want to make any assumptions. She might not want my collar back. She might look at it and tell me to go hang myself.

Or she might be like Beth and tell me she didn’t want the collar because she wanted “more.”

I broke into a cold sweat.

What if Abby wanted more?

Could I give her more?

I watched as the clock ran down on the TV. When it hit zero, I got up and turned it off. I didn’t even know who was winning.

Abby sat on the floor, propped up by a mountain of pillows. I stood by her side and took the collar from my pocket.

“Elaina gave it to me at the hospital,” I said.

She looked me in the eye. “Elaina knows. But it wasn’t me. I didn’t tell her.”

I’d been right. I wondered how she knew.

But Abby was so honest; she couldn’t lie.

Unlike you. Lying bastard
.

“I thought as much. Thank you for being honest.” I hesitated, worked up my courage. “I want to make sure you still want this.
I wasn’t sure . . .” I looked into her eyes. “You know more now. Maybe you don’t . . . want it.”

“I want it.”

She rose to her knees and dropped her head.

She wanted it? No questions asked? Nothing?

“Look at me, Abigail.”

She lifted her head and I dropped to my knees before her—something I’d never done to a submissive before.

Relief surged through me. She wanted the collar. She wanted me. I fastened the collar around her neck, then ran my fingers
through her hair.

Damn. She looked so good wearing my collar.

My cock twitched and I moved toward her.

One kiss. One little kiss wouldn’t hurt anything.

I stopped myself. She didn’t want more. She wanted what we had, and because of that, I couldn’t kiss her. I needed to hold
myself back.

I sighed.

Damn it all.

I stood back up and turned on the game.