“Turn around,” I said.
She turned slowly, almost embarrassed.
“Good,” I said, running a hand over the pale skin of her backside. She didn’t flinch. “It won’t bruise.”
I slipped off my robe and took her hand, leading her down into the tub.
“It’ll sting a bit,” I warned her. “But that should disappear soon.” I needed to get her in the water, needed her to relax a little.
She gasped as she entered the pool. I could imagine the brief sting it might cause, but I knew what her body needed. Knew she’d feel better after.
“No pain today. Just pleasure,” I said, drawing her to sit cross-ways on me, so there was no pressure on her backside.
Her sitting on my lap was more than I deserved. More than I had any right to. But I was a greedy bastard and I wanted more. I wanted her to touch me. Wanted her hands on me.
I nibbled her neck. “Touch me,” I whispered. Touch me. Tell me we’re okay. Tell me we can move past last night.
Please.
A tentative hand ran down my chest, and I groaned with pleasure.
Yes.
Her hands brushed lower, and she grabbed me. I sucked in my breath. “Two hands.”
She took my c**k with both hands then and gave me a tight squeeze. Fuck, she knew me well.
“You learn fast.” I spun her gently so she straddled me, careful to make sure the position didn’t put unnecessary pressure on her bottom.
I felt heady with delight. Delight that she was still with me and delight that we could once more be together like this.
I stroked her arms. “Are you okay? We can just sit here if you want.”
She shook her head.
“Talk to me,” I begged. She was positioned right above my c**k and it was too damn hard to think straight. If she just wanted to sit, she better tell me soon.
“I want—” she started, and I rejoiced at the sound of her voice. “I want you to touch me.”
She wouldn’t have to ask twice. I ran my hands down her back, rubbing and massaging as I went. Her muscles were tense and tight, and I wanted nothing more than to feel her relax under my hands. To bring her body pleasure.
Her lips parted as I slowly circled her br**sts and stroked the outline of her rib cage. She looked at me questioningly.
“What is it?” I asked. “Talk to me.”
She licked her lips. “May I touch you?”
I smiled and brought her hands from the side of the tub to my chest. “All you want.”
For the next several minutes, we explored each other with our hands using gentle caresses, both above the water and under. I took my time, and slowly her body relaxed for me. Eventually, the tension and the pain left, leaving only the burning ache of need. And as her body responded to my touch, I felt my own pain dissolve. Felt my own need rekindle.
I could do this, I told myself. I could be her dominant. We had made it through her first punishment and could move on.
I slipped a finger inside her, and she bucked against my hand. “Ready, are you, Abigail?” I teased.
“Yes, please,” she whispered.
I took her h*ps and slowly lowered her onto my cock. She felt even warmer than the water. I raised and lowered her with my hands, making sure I didn’t touch her backside. She wrapped her hands around my neck and pushed herself farther onto me. I held her h*ps so she wouldn’t have to move and thrust gently in and out of her.
“Let me do the work, Abigail. You just feel.”
She dropped her head forward, digging her hands into my hair and whispered a soft “Okay.”
I worked my h*ps up to hers, teasing her, taunting her. Making sure she felt every ounce of pleasure possible. She felt weightless in the water. I saw the sweat start to break out on her face, and I thrust harder, wanting to bring her release. Wanting nothing more than to replace the pain of the night before with pleasure.
“Come for me,” I said as I shifted my h*ps and slid in deeper. “Let me see you come.”
She bit her lip in concentration and let out a moan as she contracted around me. I thrust into her again, feeling her release trigger my own, and I emptied myself into her.
Her head rested on my shoulder as we relaxed. I finally took her and sat her across my lap once again, enjoying the steam and heat of the tub, relishing the aftermath of our joint pleasure.
“Let’s just sit here for a little while and rest,” I told her, suddenly tired from both the emotional turmoil of the previous night and the conflicting emotions of the morning.
We sat in silence, neither one of us ready for any deep conversation, both of us needing only the reassurance that we were still okay.
After we sat for some time, I noticed her face heating and I knew she needed to get out of the tub. I rose first, grabbing a towel and holding it out for her. “Abigail.”
I wrapped her in the towel after she stepped out of the tub and dried her gently. Then I took my own towel.
“How are you feeling?” I asked, drying off my legs and working up my body.
She yawned. “Tired.”
Of course she was tired—she probably hadn’t slept much the night before, and any sleep she had gotten was probably restless.
“Would you like to take a nap?” I asked.
A look of surprise covered her face, and she smiled. “Yes.”
I led her back to the house and held the door open for her. “Go rest, then, and don’t worry about dinner tonight. I’ll cook.”
Chapter Twelve
On Sunday night, I thought back to how the remainder of the weekend with Abigail had gone. How rested she’d appeared to be Saturday night. Her delight at the dinner I’d prepared. Most of all, I thought back to the conversation I had with Paul Saturday night. He was calmer and no longer threatened me with the forty lashes. But I still knew I deserved them.
After Abigail left, I went to Linda’s house for dinner. Once a month, Jackson, Todd, Elaina, and I all met at my aunt’s for dinner. That particular night, we’d be discussing the upcoming weekend in Philadelphia.
I wanted to surprise Abigail, so I hadn’t mentioned Philadelphia to her. When she arrived on Friday evening, I’d drive her to the airport and we’d take off on my private plane. We’d spend the weekend in Philadelphia, watch the game on Sunday, and jet back to New York on Sunday night.
A perfect weekend.
Elaina was waiting for me inside the foyer of Linda’s house.
“Where’s Abby?” she asked as I hung my coat in the closet.
Just the sound of her name made me smile. “She had other plans tonight.” I didn’t ask her, I wanted to say. Didn’t want to make her feel obligated. “Did Jackson bring Felicia?”
She rolled her eyes. “Jackson’s not back yet.”
“Well, then,” I said. “It would have put Abigail in an uncomfortable position, right? Knowing she was with us while Felicia stayed behind.”
“How is Abby this weekend?”
“Doing well.” It was the truth. She’d looked more like herself when she left my house earlier. I thought back to our goodbye.
“Have a nice week, Abigail,” I’d said, brushing her arm with my fingertips.
“Thank you.” She looked down.
“Look at me,” I commanded. When she met my eyes, I smiled. “Six o’clock Friday?”
Her eyes grew wide. “Six o’clock.”
“I’ll see you then,” I said, opening the front door and then watching as she climbed into the waiting car.
Five more days.
“Nathaniel?” Elaina asked.
“Hmm?” I said. “Sorry. I was, uh, just thinking about Abigail’s French toast.”
“Uh-huh. French toast. Is that what the single people call it these days?”
I blinked. “No, real French toast. Abigail’s a great cook.”
“I was kidding. Jeez, lighten up.”
We went through into the dining room. I hugged Linda and kissed her cheek.
“Nathaniel,” she said. “I was hoping you’d bring Abby.”
“Maybe next time. Do you need any help?”
“No. Todd’s helping me.”
Todd walked in carrying a platter of delicious-looking Cornish game hens, and we made our way to the massive dining room table.
“Nathaniel.” Elaina sat down. “Didn’t you say Abby worked at the midtown branch of the city library?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She put her napkin in her lap. “I’m going to invite her to lunch on Thursday. Do you think she’ll come?”
Some part of me wondered how much Elaina knew about my lifestyle. I thought I’d kept it well hidden, but there was something in the way Elaina looked at me. Some of her comments made me wonder.
“I’m sure she’d love to have lunch with you,” I said. “Would you like her number?”
“No. I’ll just surprise her.”
Elaina called me on Thursday afternoon. “I just talked to Abby. We’re meeting at Delphina’s in half an hour. I’m going to tell her all your deep, dark secrets.”
“You do that.” I laughed, certain there was nothing Elaina could tell Abigail that would scare her away. Not after the previous weekend. “Tell me how it goes.”
I sat at my desk and thought about taking Abigail to Delphina’s. Had I locked myself into a relationship with her that would always be defined by our sexual natures? Could I ask her out and expect her to want me as a man? As well as a dominant?
Paul and Christine made it work, but Paul and Christine didn’t have the history I had with Abigail. They had started out clearly defined as dominant and submissive, and their relationship gradually grew into more.
As opposed to what? I asked myself. Mooning over some girl you never had the balls to approach as a regular man?
But I wasn’t a regular man. I knew I could never be a regular man. I would always be a dominant. Maybe I could one day mesh the two desires together, but did I really want to try it with Abigail?
Would she want me to mesh them?
No, I told myself. It was better to think of Paul and Christine’s life as something out of a storybook—something I could never have. It was safer to imagine what could be instead of trying and failing.
I had failed with Melanie. The experience still haunted me.
I told Melanie early in our relationship about my sexual nature. She knew all about my past submissives, both collared and uncollared. She was fully aware of my past experiences and thrilled that I wanted to try something more traditional with her.
Sex with Melanie was just sex. It was there. It happened. There wasn’t much to say about it. I chalked it up to my dominant nature and told myself sex would grow better with time. I just needed to get used to being more normal.
I never mentioned to Melanie how our sex life left me unfulfilled, but I suspected she knew. At times, she’d urged me to tie her up or spank her. I always smiled and said maybe later, knowing full well “later” would never come.
For five months, I tried to deny myself, and for five months, the need became more pronounced. I found myself growing restless. More short and unkind.
I waited for a Thursday. On Thursday nights Melanie always ate dinner with her parents and spent the remainder of the evening at the assisted-living facility her grandmother lived in. I waited until seven o’clock and then took the key to my playroom and entered the room I’d avoided for five months.
I’d walked around, touching my equipment. Remembering. I’d felt tempted to call someone over and scene with them—just once—but I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t do that to Melanie. And playing again would make me a failure. I had told Melanie my past was behind me and I’d meant it.
Then why did I still have a playroom? Why hadn’t I thrown everything away?
Because I knew I couldn’t give it up.