The Training (Book 3: The Submissive Trilogy) (18 page)

“Changed your mind?” she asked, and I realized we weren’t dancing so much anymore, just swaying side to side as the music played.

I moved us forward into more of a dancing motion. “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to thoroughly enjoy taking my time with you.”

“Hmph,” she said, but didn’t argue.

I hid my smile in her hair. She was so fucking cute when she was flustered.

The ride home was a torture of sorts. I kept my hand in Abby’s, and she passed time by drawing tiny figure eights on it. We spoke of the wedding details, laughing over a few slips, discussing various wedding guests and agreeing how nice it was the paparazzi were nowhere in sight for the entire event. It was an altogether simple conversation, especially considering how tightly strung we both were. How each sweep of her finger on my hand seemed to reach directly to my groin.

“I have to take Apollo out,” I said when I pulled into the drive. I loved Apollo, really, but at times, I wished he were potty-trained.

“I’ll wait upstairs,” she said.

“Foyer, please.”

One of her eyebrows rode in the pale silvery light of the house. “Okay.”

I kissed her cheek as I helped her out of the car. “Thank you.”

After I took Apollo outside and we made it back into the house, I locked the door behind me. She waited for me, rocking slightly on her heels.

“Is there a reason you wanted me to wait for you here?” she asked, eyes full of mischief.

I shrugged out of my jacket and dropped it on the floor. “Do you remember the time I had you spend the entire weekend naked?”

“Vaguely,” she teased.

I nodded to the stairs. “And I took you there, on the third step?”

“You remember the step?”

I made it to her and I placed a hand on each of her shoulders. “I remember everything. I remember looking at you, here in the foyer as you waited for me, and realizing even then that you belonged here. With me.”

“That weekend?” Her breath swept warm against my neck.

“Yes. I knew without a doubt, that weekend.”

“I never knew.”

“I know.”

I tipped her head so our eyes met.

I gently undid her hair and dropped the pins to the floor. They echoed as they hit the marble.

She gave a short intake of breath at my recitation of one of her favorite poems, and I smiled at her response. Traced the outline of her lips.

“Nathaniel,” she murmured softly.

I reached behind her and tugged the zipper of her dress down as far as I could. Then I pushed the soft material from her one shoulder.

Her eyes closed and her lips parted. I trailed a line of kisses down her neck.

I slipped the dress down her body, allowing my hands the freedom to run over her form. Everything felt free now. I was free. Free to love her the way she deserved. Free to accept the love she gave me. Everything felt so . . . possible.

“I love you, Nathaniel,” she whispered.

I stilled at her words. It was the first time she’d ever told me she loved me first. How was it possible that four short words made my heart constrict the way they did?

Blood surged through my body in response to her whisper, and I played them over and over in my head.

“God, Abby, I love you,” I whispered back. As urgent as our need had felt hours earlier, the urgency had left, leaving in its wake the desire to reconnect.

Her fingers undid the buttons on my shirt. Slowly. She took her time as well, slipping her hands under the fabric, ghosting her thumbs along my nipples. I leaned down and kissed her again. And for a time we stood there, touching and teasing as we undressed each other. Our simple whispers echoed softly in the moonlit room.

“Mmm.”

“Yes.”

“There?”

“Again.”

“More.”

“Now.”

“Please.”

Until, finally, we agreed together.

“Upstairs.”

We slept in the next day, woke wrapped up in each other, slowly becoming conscious of our bodies as we stirred. Our touches became more and more urgent, moving quickly from caresses to teasing strokes until we both panted with need.

She rolled me to my back, taking my head in her hands and kissing me deeply.

I moaned into her mouth.

She climbed on top, placing a knee on either side of my hips. She’d never brushed her hair the night before, and it fell in wild, sleep-tousled tangles to her shoulders. Without a word, she rose up and then lowered herself onto me. I lifted up to her, forcing myself deeper inside.

She rolled her hips, and I brought my hands to rest right below the dip of her waist. Not to guide, not to control, simply to feel her muscles work under my hands. To enjoy the way she pleasured herself on my body. To enjoy her.

Her head fell back as she rode me, and her breasts thrust outward. I ran my hands up her torso and cupped each breast, pinching her nipples. She increased her rhythm in response.

She was beautiful in her pleasure—from the faint pink hue covering her body to the soft lustful groans she made as she approached her orgasm. Watching her, my own lust grew, and I slipped my hands down, grasped her hips hard, met her thrusts and matched them with my own. Over and over our bodies came together until her jaw dropped and she climaxed with a short shout.

I held her still and drove myself into her faster and harder, feeling my own release approach. She whimpered, and I rubbed my thumb over her clit. Seconds later, I was rewarded by the feel of her contracting around me a second time. With a grunt and a thrust, my own climax shot through me and I released into her.

She collapsed on top of me.

Several minutes passed before we could speak.

“Good morning,” she said finally, not lifting her head from where it rested on my chest.

“I’ll say,” I said. “What was that about?”

She laughed. “Payback for the Thomas Ford you quoted last night.”

“I thought you paid me back for that once we made it up the stairs,” I said, remembering the hours we’d spent the night before.

“Oh no. The Thomas Ford quoting definitely required additional payback.”

“In that case,” I said, running a free hand down her back and feeling her shiver under my touch. “I certainly hope I have a volume of his work in the library.”

Later in the afternoon, I returned to the house after taking Apollo out for a quick break. When I left, Abby had been in the living room. It caught me off guard to find her waiting for me in the foyer.

“Everything okay?” I asked as Apollo rushed past her to collapse on his pillow in the living room.

She didn’t say anything. Instead she walked and stood before me.

“Abby?”

She dropped to her knees. Her hands came up to the buttons on my blue jeans and she started to undo them.

Ah, yes.
The insatiable vixen didn’t have enough of me last night or this morning. I felt the exact same way. However, I didn’t want her on her knees.

I stilled her hands. “Let’s continue this upstairs. Or in the kitchen. Maybe with me on the countertop this time?” My cock hardened at the path the conversation seemed headed.

“No.”

No?

Come again?

No, she didn’t want to go upstairs? Or no, she didn’t want me in the kitchen?

“What?” I asked.

“No.”

She was trying to tell me something. I just couldn’t decide what.

“Abby,” I said, squeezing her hands slightly. “I don’t understand.”

“No,” she said, and then she added softly, “Master.”

My jaw dropped, and I hastily closed it.

She sighed and dropped to the floor, sitting in a heap at my feet. “Seeing Paul and Christine last weekend was such an eye-opening
experience, and I want so badly to go back into the playroom with you. Then it occurred to me, with the wedding and everything.” She looked up. “I don’t want you to think I haven’t enjoyed the downtime. I have. It’s just”—she shrugged—“another week?”

I thought about what she said. Yes, the weekend off had been necessary with our responsibilities the day before, and yes, sleeping in had been pleasant, but there was still that need. Shoved aside and ignored, but still there. Tugging at me. Obviously tugging at her as well.

“And you thought this was the best way to go about getting in there again?” I asked.

Her lips curved upward. “It seemed to be the most direct approach.”

“I would imagine it did, but you could have asked.”

“This felt more natural.”

“You do remember what I told you I would do once I had you back in my playroom?” Besides telling her I would bind her to my cross, I had discussed with her various other elements Paul and Christine used in their play. While Abby had told me she wasn’t sure about some of them, I planned to have her experience them. They weren’t hard limits, after all.

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, then.” I walked to the table in the foyer where I kept her collar. “If you want to play today, who am I to deny you?”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You may want to hold off thanking me,
Abigail.
” I took her collar and held it out. “Now come here so we can finish what you started.”

It took just a second for his words to make their way into my subconscious.

Yes, he wanted this, too.

I stood up and made my way to him. His eyes shone with a roguish gleam, and my heart pounded both in dread and wanton longing. What had I unleashed? Did I want to know what rested behind that look?

Yes, damn it. I did.

When I stood before him, I dropped to my knees and waited. Watching.

“I offer you my collar as a symbol of the control I have over you,” he said. “When you wear this, you are to obey any command I give without hesitation and to the best of your abilities. When you disobey, my correction will be fitting and swift. I will honor and respect your submission and will keep your mental and physical well-being at the forefront of my mind, while at the same time shaping you into the best submissive possible.” He lifted the collar. “Do you accept my collar?”

I loved how he asked me each time before he put it on. How it reaffirmed us and our relationship.

“Yes, sir,” I said, and my body shook with anticipation. “I accept your collar and place myself completely in your hands. My body is yours to do with as you see fit.”

The cold metal encircled my neck, and his touch calmed me as he fastened the collar. Afterward, his hands rested on my hair in silent command.

“May I serve you orally, Master?” I asked.

His hands tightened their grasp. “You may.”

Damn, I loved it when he pulled my hair. I reached again to unbutton his pants and thought I heard a faint sigh when I pulled them down.

He quickly stepped out of both pants and boxers, wasting no time as he brought my head to his cock. His grip on my hair tightened further as he pushed himself into my mouth. I closed my eyes and focused on the feeling of him. I had taken him orally the night before, but there was an undercurrent in his touch that was different as I knelt in the foyer.

“Do you like that, Abigail? Like me fucking your mouth?”

I couldn’t answer, of course. Not with his cock in my mouth. So instead, I hummed a response.

“Use more suction,” he commanded, and I closed my mouth around him, creating a vacuum and pulling him deeper.

“Yes,” he said. He slipped his hands from my hair to rest on either side of my face, and his thumbs pushed against my cheeks. “Harder,” he said. “I want to feel my cock as I fuck you.”

His hands were rough and demanding as they dug into my skin. He turned his hips to a new angle, causing his cock to strike my cheek as he thrust. During the week, I could bring him to climax within a matter of minutes. That changed on weekends, when he held out longer. I knew part of his reasoning
was to allow us both time to slip further into our roles, but I wondered if it also had to do with mastering control of his own body.

I used the time to focus my attention on him and his needs. Serving him. Doing what he wished. As I did, I felt the stresses of the last week and the bustle of the wedding slip away until only Nathaniel remained.

When I felt him shudder, I worked even harder, noting his hands went back into my hair. He held my head still while thrusting in and out of my mouth. The feel of him, rough and feral, captivated me.

This. This was what I had wanted. What I had missed.