The Dominant (23 page)

“Come here,” I nearly growled, and she glided across the floor to me.

We weren’t going to make it up the stairs.

The faint light of the foyer lamps reflected off the diamonds on her collar.

Mine.

I hooked a finger around the collar and pulled her to me. “I want you. And I’ll have you. Right here.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Sit on the third step.”

As she settled herself on the stairs, I lazily stroked my cock.

The stairs had not been my plan, but that was okay. Plans could change. Change was good.

Especially when that change meant taking Abby on the stairs.

“Put your feet on the second step and lean back on your elbows.” My hand flew over my length, stroking faster. Fuck. This
wouldn’t be slow. Maybe round three would be slow. Round two would be hard and fast on the stairs.

I lowered myself, careful to keep my weight off her. “Do you like this?” In this position, her chest was pushed out—bare and
vulnerable. “Do you want me to take you on the stairs?”

“I want only to serve you.” Her eyes were dark and veiled. “In any way you wish.”

“Be still.” I cupped a breast and flicked her nipple. Her body tensed, but she remained motionless. “Serve me on the stairs,
then.”

I could have feasted on the sight of her spread for me for hours, but I was hard and ready. I knew it wouldn’t take long before
she was just as ready as I was. I played her body, using everything I knew she’d love—starting with light, tender touches
and eventually moving to rougher caresses and strokes. I tasted her—from the salty flavor of the curve of her breasts to the
faint metallic taste of her neck. The entire time she held still—breathing heavily, though, and heart pounding.

I finally lowered my weight onto her and gathered her wrists in one of my hands. “Relax, Abigail.” Her body stretched under
mine. “Move as you wish.”

Her legs wrapped around my waist and drew me close.

“Are you ready for my cock?”

She swallowed and answered in a small voice, “Yes, Master.”

But I wanted to tease her a bit more. I ran my free hand over her ass. “One day soon, I’ll introduce you to my flogger.” Her
breath hitched, and I pinched her other cheek. “You’ll love it. I guarantee it.”

I released her arms and brought my elbows to rest on either side of her head. I shifted my hips and felt her wetness on my
length. “Take my cock and place it inside yourself.”

Her hand slipped between us and her warm fingers wrapped around me, her thumb rubbing over my tip. She wasted no time guiding
me into her, and we both moaned as she lifted her hips to take me inside.

“Yes,” I said. “Just like that.”

I loved being inside her, but I forced myself to hold still. “Work yourself on me. Show me how much you want my cock.”

Her hips lifted in response, taking me deeper, and she started a quick rhythm. I dropped my head to her neck and inhaled her
scent as she worked her wet heat over me.

Finally, I couldn’t remain still. Over and over, I pounded into her. Her legs fell from around my waist, and as she braced
them against the stairs, I knew I wouldn’t last much longer. I dropped a hand between us and rubbed her clit.

“Come hard for me,” I said, and she tightened around me. “Fuck. Now.” I pinched her clit gently, setting off her orgasm.

I pushed inside her once more and allowed my release to overtake me.

She threw her head back onto the stairs, and her body clenched around me for a second time.

I drew her close to my chest as our breathing slowed. “Can you stand up?”

She straightened her legs experimentally. “I think so.”

I massaged her hips and ran my hand down to her knees, wanting to ease any discomfort.

“Come on.” I stood up and held out a hand. “Let’s go upstairs. There’s something I want to try.”

I kept my hand on the small of her back as we walked up the stairs, enjoying the way her hips swayed. When we reached her
room, I turned to her.

“Take a quick break. Meet me in my bedroom in ten minutes.”

While Abby used the bathroom, I set up my bedroom—lighting candles, pulling the sheets down. I went down to the
foyer and gathered our clothes, putting mine in the laundry room and setting Abby’s on her bed.

I wanted to take this next round slower—for us both to enjoy and relish each other. I wasn’t sure how much time we had together,
but if our time ended, I wanted Abby to have pleasurable memories to look back on.

Some part of me desperately wanted to keep her in my bed all night, to sleep with her in my arms, but I told myself not yet.
If, after two weeks, she stayed, then I’d invite her to stay in my bed all night.

She didn’t look uncomfortable at all when she walked into the room. She saw me standing there and dropped her eyes to the
floor.

“I have pillows on the bed,” I told her. “Come get on your hands and knees.”

Without a second’s hesitation, she walked to the bed and climbed on top.

“Lean your head into the pillow,” I said.

She followed my instruction, situating herself with her head sideways and her forearms on either side of her head.

I reached under the pillow. “Do you know what I have hiding under here?” She didn’t say anything and I slid the toy out. “The
riding crop.”

Her skin broke out in gooseflesh.

“
Mmmmm
.” I ran the crop down her spine. Lightly. Just so she’d know it was there. “Remember what I said in the foyer?”

Again. Silence.

“All Wednesday night, all day Thursday, and for most of the day today, I’ve been worried.” I trailed the crop back up her
spine. “I think you deserve a spanking for worrying me so.” I slipped the crop between her legs. “Spread your knees wider.”

She moved her legs apart and grabbed the pillow with both hands.

I lightly tapped her thighs with the crop. “Such a naughty girl, making me worry so.” I brought the crop up to her ass and
hit her a bit harder. She moaned and closed her eyes. “You like that, do you?” I brought the crop down again and she bit the
pillow.

I slid a finger around the outside of her entrance. “So naughty, Abigail.” I licked her wetness off my finger. “Getting turned
on by a riding crop.” I tapped her with the crop. “You want me right here, don’t you?”

She still had the pillow in her mouth.

I chuckled and slapped the crop against her pussy a few more times. She mumbled something; I couldn’t make out what it was
through the pillow. I dragged the crop up over her ass and hit her there a few times. Just enough to leave a faint pinkish
mark. Just enough to bring her nearly to the edge.

Then I put down the crop and stepped back. Gave her a few seconds to realize I’d stopped. When her breathing slowed, I got
in place behind her and leaned my body over her.

“Tell me, Abigail,” I whispered. “Has anyone ever hit your G spot before?”

She shook her head.

“Answer me.” I cupped my hands under her breasts. “Would you like to see if I can find it?”

“Yes, please.”

I slapped her ass. “Yes, please, what?”

“Yes, please, Master.”

“
Mm
.” I moved my hand to skim her bare entrance and my cock grew even harder. “Right here, you think?” Nothing. I slipped one
finger inside. “How about here?” Still silence. I added another finger. “Here?” Nothing. I hooked my fingers and pressed them
deeper. “Right here?”

Her hips bucked back against me and she let out a small squeal.

Ah, yes. Right there.

“I think I found it.” I stroked the spot with my fingers again
and she nearly came off the bed. I took my fingers out and replaced them with my cock. “Let’s see if I can find it again.”
With one stroke, I thrust into her deeply.

She gave a sigh of contentment.

It took everything I had not to pound into her repeatedly, but I wanted this time to be slow. To take it easy. To make it
last.

I pulled back slightly and ran my hands over her back. Spread my fingers over her delicate shoulder blades and dug into the
hair at the nape of her neck. “You feel so good under me.”

She pushed back against me.

“So greedy.” I palmed her breasts. “And we have all night. All weekend.” My hands slid to her waist. “I want to memorize every
detail of you. To touch every part. See every inch.”

I held her hips and started a slow, even pace, making sure I hit the delicate spot deep inside her. “Is that it?” I asked
when her hips bucked in response. “Did my cock find it?” I angled my hips and thrust into her again; she mewed at me. “Ah
yes, I think I’ve got it now.”

My balls ached and my cock begged for relief, but I kept my movements slow and steady, hitting her with just enough force
to drive her to the edge, but not enough strength to push her over. We both teetered there precariously.

I kept the rhythm up for several long minutes, but I knew we both wanted more. I built up slowly, going only slightly faster,
pushing only slightly harder. But it didn’t take long before both of our bodies took over and I was thrusting into her with
all the force I could muster.

And poor Abby. I’d worked her too long and too hard with my previous teasing. Her body tensed and trembled under me, and her
head jerked off the pillow.

“That’s it,” I said, reaching down and pulling her hair as I continued thrusting. “Come hard for me.”

Her body responded and she climaxed immediately, her tight
muscles setting off my own orgasm. I pulled her head back as I came hard and deep inside her.

This woman, I thought as we both tumbled to the bed. This woman will be my undoing.

Her confidence grew the next day. I watched her become even more comfortable in her body as she walked around the house. Late
Saturday morning, I wrapped her in a thick fluffy bathrobe and took her outside to soak in the hot tub. We sat relaxing in
the warm water. The sky looked odd—hard and gray—and it was bitterly cold, but we were too wrapped up in each other to care.

That afternoon, pleased with the way she’d handled herself, I gave her another robe and told her she could spend some time
in the library. For the next few hours, she read, curled up on a couch with her toes peeking out of the warm bathrobe. I joined
her later, played a bit of piano, and we spent the afternoon in a world of our own.

My cell phone woke me up the next morning. I blinked a few times, rolled over in bed, and picked it up.

“What?” I asked, not even checking to see who it was.

“Tell Abby I picked up Felicia.” It was Jackson. “She’s with me.”

“What?” Damn, I needed coffee.

He sighed. “Tell. Abby. I. Picked. Up. Felicia.”

“Jackson.” I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “Why the hell are you calling me at”—I glanced at the clock beside my bed—“five thirty
on a Sunday?”

A long sigh came from the other end of the phone. “Unless it’s slipped your attention, New York’s just been hit with the worst
blizzard in recent history.”

I jumped out of bed and stepped to the window. “What?”

“Happened overnight. Caught everyone off guard.”

White. As far as I could see, there was nothing but white and more white falling.

“When . . . What?” I stuttered.

“Didn’t you watch the news yesterday? They were predicting snow, but nothing like this.”

No. I had not watched the news. I had not logged onto the computer or checked my e-mail. I had been too consumed with Abby.

Fuck.

Well, yes. That too.

“Hello?” Jackson was saying. “Nathaniel?”

I rubbed my eyes again. “I heard you. Yes, I’ll tell Abby.” My head started to pound. “She’s still sleeping.”

“Okay. Have her call Felicia when she wakes up.”

“I will. Thanks, Jackson.”

I slipped into fresh clothes and went downstairs to the kitchen to make the coffee. Snow was piled up against the window—about
four feet high—and still falling.

A blizzard.

No way to leave.

When Abby woke up, I’d have her get dressed so she would be comfortable as we discussed this. This meant new rules, new situations,
new everything.

Abby and me stuck inside my house for who knows how long.

I couldn’t shake the suspicion that this would not end well.

Before talking to Abby, I tried my best to plan the week. We would take turns with meals. Outside of the weekend, she was
not to serve me. She was my submissive, yes, but we were equals in every sense of the word. I would not allow her to serve
me during the week.

Abby didn’t seem upset by the situation. She asked a few questions, but overall appeared at ease. I, however, felt on edge
all day Sunday. To say the blizzard put a kink in my plans would be a serious understatement. I kept my unease buried just
under the surface, though, hopefully hidden away from Abby.

I had no way of knowing how long we’d be stuck—I estimated a week. I could do a week, I told myself. It was a large house
and I was able to work from home.

But so much time with a submissive—with Abby in particular—frightened me. I feared I could not keep my feelings buried for
an entire week. Something would crack.

Probably me.

After I sent Abby upstairs to dress on Sunday afternoon, I went into the kitchen. Homemade rolls and a hearty beef stew sounded
good. The repetitive action of kneading dough helped to occupy my mind. Like playing the piano.

Abby walked into the kitchen at six thirty. She wore a simple outfit of a high turtleneck and blue jeans. I had spent the
entire
weekend watching her naked body move around my house, but she was no less awe-inspiring fully clothed. I gazed at her and,
in my mind’s eye, remembered the places hidden underneath her clothes.

“Ready to eat?” I asked, pulling out a seat for her.

“Yes. Thank you.” She sat down. “Smells wonderful.”

Indeed, the kitchen smelled of freshly baked bread, mingled with hints of garlic, onion, and beef. A perfect accompaniment
to the snow falling outside.

I dimmed the lights in the kitchen and turned the lights on outside. The snow still fell and the lighting cast it in a beautiful
glow. We sat in silence for some time, simply watching the snow.

Do it
, I told myself. I tightened my grasp on my spoon and felt my heart pound.
Do it
.

I cleared my throat. “Did you grow up in New York?”

“Indiana. Felicia and I moved here after high school.” She swallowed a sip of stew. “I like the city. The way it’s always
the same place, but always changing.”

I leaned back in my chair.
See?
I told myself.
You can carry on a conversation
. “I like the way you think,” I told her.

“Do you ever think about living somewhere else?”

I thought for a second. “No, I once thought about Chicago, just to experience life in a different city, but my roots are here:
my home, my business, my family. I don’t want to leave.” I wondered if she ever thought about living somewhere else. The idea
made me sad. “You?”

“No. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

We fell into a comfortable silence and watched the snow. Made small talk about nothing in particular. After dinner, I cleared
the table and put away the dishes. Abby wiped down the table and countertops, even though I told her she didn’t have to.

Afterward, I headed to the living room and she went down the hall to the library. Just as well, I decided. I needed to catch
up on the news. Abby, it appeared, wanted to be alone.

She made breakfast the next morning, her special French toast. The snow was still falling, but had slowed. She told me she’d
called Felicia the night before and things seemed to be okay with her and Jackson. I assured her that his penthouse would
be completely safe for her to ride out the storm. They would have plenty of company nearby and Jackson would take care of
her.

When breakfast was over, I took Apollo outside and then went upstairs to my bedroom. I made a few phone calls, read some e-mails,
and sat staring out the window, mindlessly wondering what to make for lunch, when the thumping bass of music came from downstairs.

Abby?

I walked down the stairs, Apollo by my side.

She was dusting. At least, I thought it was dusting. She had a duster in her hand and she twirled to the song coming from
the speakers. Her body moved in time to the music as I stood, mesmerized. I’d known Abby was a beautiful woman, but to see
her move like that, to see her dance . . . it stirred an almost primal urge inside me.

The song went on for several minutes and she cleaned my living room without ever noticing me. Just as well—had she known I
was watching, she’d have probably stopped.

All things must end, though, and the song finally came to its close. She gave my end table one last sweep of the duster and
turned.

She jumped when she saw me. Busted.

“Abigail, what are you doing?” It was hard not to laugh.

“Dusting.”

Dusting. Like an employee.

“I do employ a housekeeper for such tasks.” She was not my employee. She should not be working in my house.

“Yes, but she won’t be able to come this week, will she?”

Okay, she had a point. “I suppose not. Although, if you insist
on making yourself useful, you could wash the sheets on my bed.” The sheets did need washing, especially after our weekend
activities, even though I rather enjoyed them smelling like Abby. “Someone got them all messy this weekend.”

She placed a hand on her hip. “Really? The nerve.”

My cock hardened just thinking about the past weekend. During our talk on Sunday, I’d told Abby I didn’t expect anything sexual
from her this week—that we’d take things naturally. But the truth was, I didn’t think sex would be a good idea. I needed to
keep to our original agreement, and that meant no sex while we were snowed in.

“By the way,” I said as a new thought came to me. “I’m dropping yoga from your exercise routine.”

“You are?” she asked, and I’d never heard her sound so relieved.

“Yes. And adding dusting.” I left her there and went to prepare lunch.

I decided to make chicken salad. The same thing Abby had made the day after her punishment. Her chicken salad had cranberries
and pecans—mine was more traditional, but not as tasty.

“It’s not as good as yours,” I told her as I put her plate on the kitchen table. “But it’ll do.”

“You like my chicken salad?” she asked.

“You’re an excellent cook.” Had I never told her before? “You know that.”

“It’s nice to hear every once in a while.” Her eyes—they laughed at me.

“Yes,” I said, smiling pointedly. “It is.”

For a second she looked puzzled, then realized I was teasing her and said in a rush, “You’re an excellent cook as well.”

“Thank you, but you did compliment my chicken once before.” I thought back to our first weekend and knew I needed to make
my honey-almond chicken for her again.

“I was wondering,” she said after a bite of salad, “if I could take Apollo outside this afternoon.”

I looked up. She had a tiny bit of mayonnaise on the side of her mouth. I wanted to reach out and wipe it away.

Or lick it away.

I could lick the mayo away.

Apollo lifted his head. Right. She wanted to take him outside. “I think that would be a good idea. He needs to get out and
he seems to like you.”

“What’s his story, if you don’t mind me asking? Elaina mentioned something in Tampa that made me think he’d been sick.” She
took her napkin and wiped off the mayo.

Ah, well. Maybe next time.

Focus. She wants to talk about Apollo.

I reached down and rubbed his head. “Apollo is a rescue. I’ve had him for more than three years. He was abused as a puppy
and it made him hostile. Although he’s never had a problem with you—maybe some sort of sixth sense about people?”

We spoke about Apollo some more—his problems with being away from me for long periods of time, how training him had been hard,
but worth it. Abby surprised me with her unrestrained contempt of people who abused animals.

The discussion about Apollo somehow led us to the Bone Marrow Registry and my decision to donate once I’d been matched. Or,
more to the point, how it hadn’t really been a decision.

“Some people wouldn’t feel the same,” she said.

“I like to think I have never been considered
some people
,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

But she mistook me.

“Sorry, sir.” She looked horrified. “I didn’t mean . . .”

“I know you didn’t. I was teasing.”

She looked down at her plate. “It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

“Maybe I should wear a sign next time.” She still didn’t look up. I stretched my arm across the table and gently lifted her
chin. “I’d rather you not hide your eyes when you’re talking to me. They’re so expressive.”

I couldn’t look away once I met her eyes. In their depths, I found the answer to every question my heart had ever asked. I
saw my own longing and loneliness mirrored back at me.

Oh, Abby. Have you been missing your one percent?

I dropped my hand.

Could I possibly be what she’d been looking for? What could I offer her? How could I complete her?

It was absurd. It was wonderful.

It was frightening.

She looked away first and asked about Kyle.

A safe subject. Kyle wasn’t dangerous to anyone.

“We’re close,” I told her. “I took him to a few baseball games last year. I actually hoped he’d be able to go to the Super
Bowl. He’d been looking forward to it.”

I felt a sense of accomplishment whenever I spoke of Kyle. Of course, it wasn’t anything I’d done—it was simply the luck of
my bone marrow being a match for his. Anyone would have done the same.

“Why wasn’t he able to go to the Super Bowl?” Abby asked.

“He was sick,” I said, remembering the disappointment in his voice when I talked to him the day Abby and I left for Tampa.
“Maybe next year.”

“Felicia said something about Jackson retiring. Will he play next year?”

“I think so, but it might be his last season.” I thought back to a conversation I’d had with Jackson last week. “
Don’t tell me it’s too soon, man
,” he’d said. “
I don’t even want to hear it
.”

“He’s ready to settle down,” I told Abby. “If Felicia is amenable, that is.”

“Are you ready to deal with Felicia as a member of the family?”

Not really.

“I will for Jackson’s sake.” I met her eyes once more. “And she does have the most amazing best friend.”

I went back to my bedroom after lunch. I wanted to call my employees, to ensure they were all safe. Not an easy task with
the number of people I employed, but the peace of mind it would afford outweighed the time it would take.

I had made a good-sized dent in my list when I heard laughter coming from outside. I got up and went to the window. Abby and
Apollo were playing in the snow. As I watched, she made and threw a snowball. Apollo took off after it, only to stop in confusion
when it disappeared.

She belongs here
, I thought.
She is my one percent
.

Hell, even my dog thought so.

She won’t like it when she finds out the truth. She’ll hate you
.

Maybe not. Maybe she wouldn’t care.

I glanced at the list of phone numbers on my desk and then back outside at the embodiment of my every need.

My employees were going to have to wait.

I changed into warmer clothes and started a fire in the library before heading outside. Abby and Apollo still stood by the
garage, playing. She looked carefree and uninhibited. I wanted to feel that way too.

“You’re confusing my dog,” I said when she threw another snowball.

She turned and smiled. “He loves it.”

Apollo took off after another ball, determined to get it, and she giggled when he skidded to a stop.

“I think he loves the person throwing them.” I decided to try
my hand at her new game. It worked—Apollo looked back, saw that I threw the snowball, and danced in circles.

“You’ve stolen my game,” she said. “Now he won’t want to play with me.”

I watched, delighted, as she balled up a handful of snow and threw it in my direction. I’d grown up with a cousin who went
on to become a professional football player—I’d actually expected her to hit me. But the ball went wide and missed.

“Oh, Abigail,” I said, moving toward her. “That was a big mistake.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be wearing a sign, would you?”

I scooped up a handful of snow. “Not on your life.”

She backed away from me, holding up her hands as if in surrender.

“You threw a snowball at me.” I tossed my own ball from hand to hand. Her eyes followed its movement.

“I missed.”

“You still tried.” I pulled my arm back, pretending I was about to throw the snowball at her, but at the last minute threw
it to Apollo instead.

It was too late, though. She’d yelped and run off before the ball left my hand and, the next thing I knew, fell facedown in
the snow.

I jogged the short distance to her, anxious to ensure she wasn’t hurt. What if she had broken something?

As I approached, she rolled over and moaned.

“Are you okay?” I held out my hand to her. She looked fine. Wet, but fine.

She shivered. “Nothing hurt but my pride.”

The library would be nice and warm by now. The fire had been going for a good while. She took my hand and climbed to her feet.

“Time to go inside?” I asked. “Something warm by the fire?”

I shut down the various images that sprang to mind—Abby and me by the fire, limbs intertwined, the way the firelight would
play off her skin.

Remember the plan, I told myself. No sex this week.

The plan was very slowly, but very thoroughly, going straight to hell.