His head shot up. “No, what?”
“No, sir.”
He pressed his c**k into me the slightest bit. “Much better.”
He waited a minute and thrust in all the way. My h*ps moved back. He reached out to grab my backside and pull me closer.
“Lean back on your elbows, Abigail. I’m going to f**k you so hard, you’ll still be feeling it Friday night.”
He didn’t have to tell me twice. I leaned back and scooted my h*ps forward, moving further onto him as I did.
Nathaniel thrust forward, pounding into me over and over, and I held on as tightly as I could. I pushed up on the balls of my feet so I could meet his thrusts.
“You’re mine,” he said, ramming forward again.
My head dropped back. I was so exposed in this position, everything felt so much more intense. Yes, I wanted to say. Yours and yours only.
“Mine.” He held my h*ps steady as his c**k battered me. “Say it, Abigail.”
“Yours.” I repeated it as he thrust again and again. “Yours. Yours. Yours.”
I started moaning as my cl**ax built. It just felt so good. But I was at work; I bit my lips together as my cl**ax grew and grew, until it spiraled out of control and I let out a little squeak. Nathaniel sucked in a breath and then held still as he came powerfully into the condom.
He leaned over me, breathing heavily, and trailed kisses down my belly. “Thank you for escorting me on my tour of the Rare Books Collection.”
“Anytime,” I said, running my fingers through his hair.
He placed one last kiss on my belly before we straightened our clothes.
I slipped my shoes back on and it hit me what we’d just done. What if someone heard us? What if there were people standing outside? Nathaniel had locked the door, but several employees had keys.
He cocked his head. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I said, wanting to leave the room as quickly as possible. I took the condom from Nathaniel and headed out into the corridor. “I’ll take care of this.”
He nodded. “I’ll see you Friday at six.”
“Yes, sir.”
We went our separate ways, him to leave and me to the bathroom. I felt wobbly and tingly inside—I’d probably be wearing a stupid grin for the rest of the day.
When I made it back to the front desk, there was a rose waiting for me on top of the books I’d been cataloging. A cream-colored rose, tinted at the tips with a blush of pink.
I picked it up and inhaled its fragrance.
Fifty-two hours and counting.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I sat at the front desk, twirling the rose.
“Someone’s got it bad,” Martha sang out, sitting at the desk and placing her chin in her hands.
“Who, me?” I twirled the rose again.
“Obviously,” she said. “But so does that delicious slice of man cake who left the rose for you.” She blinked her eyes dramatically several times.
“Nathaniel West?” I asked, delighting in the sound of his name on my lips. “He’s just someone I’ve been seeing.” Okay, that was a lie. I’d been doing a hell of a lot more than seeing Nathaniel. And the rose was nothing but a thankyou for not turning him down.
Martha stood up. “A cream-colored rose with a touch of pink is serious business.”
“Really?” I stopped twirling. “Why?”
“John Boyle O’Reilly?” she asked. “The Irish poet?”
I shook my head. Never heard of him.
Martha clapped her hands. “This is so romantic. It’s from his poem, ‘A White Rose’—”
“It’s not white.”
Martha shot me an evil look. “I know that, I’m just telling you the title.”
“Sorry.” I waved, interested in seeing where she was going. “Go on.”
She cleared her throat:
“The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
O the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.
But I send you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips.”
I dropped the rose.
It doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t mean A THING. He liked the way the rose looked, is all. It’s all a coincidence.
But when did Nathaniel ever do anything coincidental?
Never.
“Abby?” Martha asked.
A kiss of desire on the lips.
Nothing. It means nothing, Rational Abby whispered. Or maybe it was Crazy Abby. Who knew at this point?
Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Tell yourself it’s just a thing he does every weekend. Whatever. It really doesn’t matter anymore, does it? It means more to you, Crazy Abby said. Or perhaps it was Rational Abby who said that.
“Abby?”
“Sorry, Martha.” I picked the rose up and sat it on the desk. Stared at it. “It’s a beautiful poem. Very romantic.”
A kiss of desire on the lips.
I looked up at Martha. “I think I’m going to visit the poetry section. Check out some more O’Reilly.”
I’d had a crazy fantasy about being Nathaniel West’s submissive. Submitting to his control, being under his will. I’d come to terms with the fact that I’d fallen for him, but what about how he felt about me?
Was it possible he had fallen, too?
I thought Friday night would never come. The minutes dragged by and the hours trudged on forever. Yoga. Work. Walking, instead of jogging.
But Friday did come. I arrived at Nathaniel’s house at ten to six and heard Apollo barking inside the house when I got out of the car.
Nathaniel opened the front door. Damn, he looked good in his long-sleeved button-down shirt and black dress pants. My legs felt wobbly just looking at him. His eyes followed me up the stairs.
“Happy Friday, Abigail,” he said, his voice so smooth I nearly swooned.
It is now.
“Come inside.” He stepped back and let me pass. “Dinner’s ready.”
And what a dinner it was. Coq au vin served at the kitchen table. Delicate chicken br**sts in a savory wine sauce. Every bite was scrumptious. While we ate it hit me that Nathaniel and I shared a passion for cooking. What would it be like to work in the kitchen with him?
Chopping and dicing. The steamy heat of a simmering pot. Tiny sips to test spiciness. Subtle touches here and there. Brushing against him as I moved around the counter. Reaching over his head to grab something.
A replay of the library table, but this time on the kitchen countertop.
Yours. Yours. Yours.
“How are you feeling today?” Nathaniel asked, bringing me back to reality as we finished eating.
I remembered his words from Wednesday: You’ll still be feeling it Friday night.
I smiled. “Sore in all the right places.”
“Abigail,” he chided. “Have you been a naughty girl this week?”
I blanked.
He, very precisely and intentionally, sat his fork by his plate. “You do know what happens to naughty girls, don’t you?”
I shook my head.
“They get spanked.”
Ah, hell no!
“But I did the yoga and I got my sleep and did the walking instead of jogging, just like you said.” This couldn’t be happening. I broke the rules last time. I got that. But this week—this week—I’d done nothing wrong. Damned if I’d be splayed out on that whipping bench again. I’d have to use my safe word.
Damn it.
“Abigail.” Nathaniel was calm and collected. He didn’t look angry or disappointed. Not at all like last time. “How many types of spankings are there?”
What? Who cared how many there were, they all hurt.
“Three,” he said, answering his own question. “What was the first one?”
I was missing something, what was it? My brain frantically ran back to that night. What had he said? Warm-up, chastisement, and erotic.
Erotic.
Oh.
He raised an eyebrow. “Get your ass upstairs.”
I pushed back from the table and ran up the stairs. To be honest, I actually expected the whipping bench to be out. I let out a sigh of relief that it wasn’t—there was just a stack of pillows in the middle of Nathaniel’s bed.
Nathaniel’s bed.
Fear has no place in my bed. I believed him. Tonight would be about pleasure. He would see to it. Excitement ignited in my belly.
I stripped off my clothes and waited. Nathaniel came into the room seconds later. He nodded toward the bed and started unbuttoning his shirt. “On your stomach over the pillows.”
I crawled on top of the bed and positioned myself over the pillows so my butt was high in the air. Nathaniel walked to the head of the bed and pulled out a tie-down.
“We can’t have you trying to cover yourself, can we?” he asked, tying my hands together and pulling them so I rested on my elbows.
The bed shifted as he moved behind me. I felt his hands run over me. “Have you been using your plug, Abigail?”
I nodded.
“Good.” He pushed my legs apart. “I want you open for me.” His finger skimmed my throbbing entrance. “Look at this, Abigail. So slick already. Does the thought of me turning your backside red excite you?”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
He rubbed me and then gave me three smacks in quick succession. They stung, but it was the tingly yes-sir-may-I-please-have-another type of sting.
“The good people of New York pay your salary so you will work in the library, not sneak off into the Rare Books Collection.” He smacked me again and again, his hand landing on a different area each time.
But instead of pain, I felt a growing pleasure. Instead of hurt, I felt a warmth that spread from his hand and throbbed through my lower body. I needed him. Needed him to touch me. Needed him inside me.
“You’re so wet.” He dipped a finger into me briefly and then spanked me right where I was slick and aching.
I moaned.
“Do you like that, Abigail?” He struck me again.
There. Yes, please. There.
Smack.
I shifted my h*ps back toward him. He started smacking my backside again.
“Your ass is a beautiful shade of pink.” I felt his c**k press up against me and I held my breath. “Soon, I’ll do more than spank it. Soon, I’ll f**k it.”
A wrapper ripped open and he shifted to slide right into where I was wet and ready.
I couldn’t help groaning.
He pulled out. “No noise tonight or you can’t have my cock.” He smacked me again. “Do you understand? Nod if you do.”
I nodded.
“Good.” He plunged inside me forcefully and I pushed back to meet him. “Greedy tonight, aren’t you? Well, that makes two of us.”
He started thrusting long and hard and deep, and I squeezed my inner muscles around him each time he entered. Over and over he pushed. And I answered each thrust by pushing back onto him, drawing him deeper.
Deeper.
Deeper.
He reached to where we were joined and rubbed my clit. And he’d never done that before. My body exploded with pleasure and he jerked against me, joining me in my release.
Afterward, I rolled off the pillows and Nathaniel lay beside me, catching his breath.
His hand skirted up my side and over my breast to cup my shoulder, still pulled above my head.
“I don’t believe I saw everything I wanted to on Wednesday,” he said. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to set up an appointment for me to visit the Rare Books Collection again this coming Wednesday?”
Yes and Sir.
Late that night, I crept out of my bedroom and walked down the hall to the steps. The half-moon’s golden light illuminated my path, giving everything a surreal glow. The door to Nathaniel’s room was closed as I sneaked past. He’d never told me I couldn’t explore in the middle of the night, but I didn’t want to be caught.