One hand trailed down her belly, while the other kept working her nipples. She slipped a finger between her legs.
Just one?
“You disappoint me, Abigail.” I moved so close, I could feel her breath on my face. Her eyes fluttered. “Keep your eyes closed.”
I glanced down, watching the rapid beat of her heart. Could I make it beat even faster?
“You had me stuffed in your mouth last night and now you use a single finger to represent my cock?”
Why, yes, I could. Just look at that heart race.
She slipped another finger inside.
“Another.”
Her breath hitched, but she added a third and slowly started moving them.
And slow just wouldn’t do.
“Harder. I’d f**k you harder.” Because it was the truth. One day soon, I’d show her just how hard.
A faint blush spread across her chest. Yes, she liked it when I talked dirty to her. She liked it dirty and rough and dominating. I felt myself grow harder as I imagined myself in the place of her fingers. My c**k pumping in and out of her. My c**k being the cause of her moans.
She was close. Her breathing got rougher and the flush on her chest darkened. Her lips opened and closed.
I leaned in closer. “Now.”
She let herself go and, damn, there wasn’t a sight on this earth as beautiful as Abigail when she cl**axed—the concentration of her face, the taut lines of her body as release washed over her, the soft moan falling from her lips . . .
Next time, I promised my straining cock. Next time she cl**axes, you’ll be inside her.
She opened her eyes and looked over at me. Her gaze dipped down to my pants.
See? I wanted to say. See what you do to me?
“That was an easy orgasm, Abigail,” I said instead as her eyes came back to mine. “Don’t expect that to happen often.
“I have a previous engagement this afternoon and won’t be here for lunch. There are steaks in the refrigerator you will serve me at six in the dining room.” I looked over her still-flushed body, now covered with a faint hint of sweat. “You need to shower, since you didn’t have time this morning. And there are yoga DVDs in the gym. Make use of them. You may leave.”
Not to brag, but I completely smoked Jackson on the racquetball court. I chalked it up to immense sexual frustration.
“Damn,” Jackson said as we slipped into the booth at his favorite sports bar. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Abigail King.”
“Abigail,” he mused while looking over the menu.
“Abby to you. She lets me call her Abigail, but everyone else calls her Abby.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Just a little thing between us.” I looked at the menu, wanting to change the subject. “You having your usual?”
“Yeah. Why change a good thing?”
The manager came by to make small talk with Jackson. Sometimes it was annoying being related to a celebrity. I checked my phone, scrolled through a few e-mails. Nothing urgent.
“So,” Jackson said when the manager had left with our orders, “tell me about this Abby. Where did you meet?”
“She works at the Mid-Manhattan Library.”
“A librarian? I never knew you had a librarian fantasy.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
He laughed as if he didn’t believe me. “You bringing her to Mom’s benefit?”
“If she agrees. Who are you bringing?”
“I can’t think of anyone to ask. You find someone, you let me know.”
As if I knew so many available women. I thought back to the woman I’d been with right after Melanie—a submissive with the need for hard-core pain. Needless to say, that had been a short relationship.
“Sure, Jackson. I’ll make sure to call you.”
After lunch, I drove by the office. For some reason, I didn’t want to be in the house. I wanted Abigail to have time to acclimate her-self to my home and thought she would stand a better chance if I wasn’t around.
At six, I walked into the dining room to find Abigail waiting with a mouth-watering steak on the plate at my seat.
“Fix yourself a plate and join me,” I said, cutting into the steak. It was the first real meal she had cooked for me, and it didn’t disappoint—the steak was juicy and tender.
She joined me, but we ate in silence. She looked deep in thought, and that worried me a bit. I wondered what had her in such a contemplative mood. Maybe she was thinking about leaving. Maybe she’d had enough. Maybe she didn’t want this after all.
There was only one way to find out.
“Come with me, Abigail,” I said after we finished.
We went out of dining room, up the stairs, and into the playroom. I stepped to the side of the door and waved for her to enter first.
She took three steps inside and spun around to gape at me—exactly the reaction I’d expected.
“Do you trust me, Abigail?”
She glanced from me to the shackles. “I . . . I . . .”
I breezed past her and unbuckled one of them. “What did you think our arrangement would entail? I thought you were well aware of what you were getting yourself into.”
I didn’t expect her to answer, of course. I just wanted to bring the point home that we were not lovers.
“If we are to progress, you must trust me.” Trust me, Abigail. Please. “Come here.”
She hesitated again, and I knew I would have to do something about that sooner or later.
“Or,” I said, wanting to give her another option, “you can leave my house and never come back.”
She walked toward me. She didn’t want to leave.
“Very good. Take off your clothes.”
Her body trembled as she removed her shirt and bra. Without looking at me, she slid her jeans and panties down her legs and stepped out of them.
I took her arms and chained them above her head. I moved slowly, wanting to savor every minute. Wanting her to savor every minute. I stood before her to undo my shirt, and she watched me with excited, wild eyes.No, I didn’t want her watching yet.
I went back to the large table to my right and opened a drawer. There it was—a heavy black scarf. That would take care of her watching me.
I held it out so she could see, so she would know what I planned. “Your other senses will be heightened when I blindfold you.”
I tied the scarf around her head, making sure her eyes were covered. Yes, that was better. I ran my eyes over her vulnerable form. She was now completely at my mercy. Bound and waiting for what I would do to her.
Oh, Abigail, the things I want to do to you. The things I will do to you . . .
I went back to the table and took my favorite crop.
With soft steps, I walked behind Abigail and brushed the hair from her neck. She jumped at my touch. I wondered when she would stop jumping every time I touched her.
“What do you feel, Abigail?” I asked. “Be honest.”
“Fear. I feel fear.”
Of course she felt fear. What reasonable person wouldn’t?
“Understandable, but completely unnecessary,” I tried to reassure her. “I would never cause you harm.”
I moved to the front of her. Her breathing was heavy; she was trying so hard to hear what I was doing. But she didn’t trust me yet.
I circled the tip of her breast with the crop. She gasped at the sensation.
“What do you feel now?”
“Anticipation.”
Much better. I circled her breast again. “And if I told you this was a riding crop, what would you feel?”
It’s one of my favorite toys. Let me show you what I can do with it. How it can make you feel good. Let me show you the pleasures of my world.
She took a hard intake of breath. “Fear.”
I brought the crop back and flicked it gently with my wrist so it landed sharply on her breast. Some things were better explained without words.
She gasped, but it wasn’t a gasp of pain. More like one of surprise.
“See? Nothing to fear. I won’t cause you harm.” I slapped her knees lightly. “Spread your legs.”
No hesitation this time. She obeyed immediately.
Excellent. I studied her face—excitement, wonder, and eagerness.
I brought the crop from her knees to her wet sex, never letting the leather tip leave her skin. “I could whip you here. What do you think about that?”
Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “I . . . I don’t know.”
Let me help you find out.
My wrist snapped, flicking the crop against her swollen, ready flesh.
One.
She sucked her breath in again.
Two.
She released the breath in a moan.
Three.
“And now?” I asked, although I really didn’t need to—her face was an open book. But I wanted her to know I cared about how she felt, that I would always keep her thoughts and wants in mind.
“More. I need more.”
I circled the crop around her again and then slapped it against her clit. She couldn’t hold her response back, and she cried out, pulling against the chains.
Her reaction surprised me. I never would have guessed how responsive she would be. How much she enjoyed what I was doing. How she seemed to crave it.
I wanted to keep her in chains all night, to bring her to the edge of pleasure again and again before allowing her to fall over. But I reminded myself how new she was to this, how she might question her response in the morning, and I knew I shouldn’t push her too much.
“You look so good chained before me, pulling against my restraints, in my house, moaning and crying for my whip.” I trailed the crop back up to her breast. “Your body is begging for release, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she moaned.
“And you’ll have it.” I slapped the crop against her cl*t once more because I couldn’t help myself. “But not tonight.”
I walked away and put the crop back on the table, took some salve from the drawer and placed it in my pocket. I heard the chains rattle behind me.
Someone was just as sexually frustrated as I was.
“I’m going to unchain you now,” I said, walking back to her. “You will go straight to bed. You will sleep n**ed and you will not touch yourself at all. There will be severe consequences if you disobey.” I undid the chains and removed the scarf. “Do you understand?”
She swallowed. “Yes, sir,” she said, and I saw that she did.
“Good.” I took the salve from my pocket and opened it. I gently rubbed the ointment on one of her wrists and then the other. I didn’t think she’d pulled too hard on the chains, but it was best to err on the side of caution.
“All done,” I said, once I finished. “You may go to your room.”
I watched her slim, nude figure walk out the door and knew I was done for. I’d do whatever it took to keep her with me.
Chapter Five
I was going to do a bad thing.
And while I hated myself for it, I knew I’d do it anyway.
I was going to give Abigail a fake safe word.
I got up from my bed and started pacing. It was wrong. So very wrong. With my previous submissives, I had used the standard green/yellow/red safe-word system. The relationship-ender safe word I planned to give Abigail was deceptive. And it was wrong. So wrong, I’d be ostracized from the community if word got out.
But how would word get out? Abigail wasn’t going to tell anyone.
I sure as hell wasn’t going to tell anyone.
I’d never had a submissive use a safe word before. I told myself I could read Abigail’s signs easily, so I’d never push her too far. I’d check in with her often. If you thought about it that way, who needed safe words anyway?
Safe, sane, consensual people.
But I could be safe, sane, and consensual without a safe word. I knew I could. And Abigail would think twice about using the safe word if she thought she’d have to leave. It was the perfect way to ensure she stayed with me.