“But I’ll be good now, Mr. West.” I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra. Slipped the straps from my shoulders. Dropped the flimsy garment to the floor. “Let me show you how good I can be.”
He adjusted his pants.
Yes.
“I just spanked you for that sort of behavior,” he said.
I shook my head. “I’m not flirting. I’m showing you what a good girl I am.” I hopped on his desk, biting the inside of my cheek at the slight tinge of discomfort. I scooted forward and brought my feet up to rest on the desk, bending and spreading my knees, making sure he saw exactly what he wanted. “Please, Mr. West.”
He moved closer, looking for all the world like a cat stalking its prey. “How good can you be?”
“Come find out. I’ll make it worth your while.”
He unbuttoned his pants as he walked. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
“Oh, Mr. West,” I said, eyeing his cock. “You’re so much bigger than my boyfriend.”
A smile played on his lips. “Am I?”
“Yes,” I said. “But perhaps a wee bit smaller than my master.” I looked up and met his eyes. “He’s huge.”
He laughed softly and stepped out of his pants. With two short steps, he was before me, standing between my legs.
“Let’s get you out of this shirt, shall we?” I asked, my hands making quick work of the first two buttons. I grew impatient at the third, grabbed the material and jerked. “Oops,” I said as his buttons bounced off the desk and floor.
“You ripped my shirt, Ms. King,” he said. “I’ll have to spank you again.”
“I look forward to it, Mr. West.” I slipped the torn shirt from his shoulders, running my hands across his chest.
“Mmm,” he hummed. “You certainly look delicious.”
I leaned back, offering my br**sts to him. “Why don’t you have a taste?”
He answered with action, dropping his head to my neck and running his tongue along the hollow there. His teeth nibbled their way down to one nipple and then the other. He suckled me gently, almost reverently, before trailing kisses back up and whispering in my ear. “Just as I thought. You’re delectable.”
I captured his head with my hands and did my own whispering, surprised at how easily the words came out. “You should taste my pussy.”
He bit my earlobe. “I’m shocked, Ms. King.” But he slid a finger between my open legs, dipping momentarily into me, and brought it back out. He licked it with the tip of his tongue. “Though, how very true.”
I pulled him to me, drawing pleasure from the feel of his chest against mine, his warmth surrounding me. I ran my nails lightly down his back. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me, Mr. West.”
He pulled my legs around his waist. “Then far be it for me to make you wait any longer.”
With one forceful thrust, he entered me, filling me completely. “Fuck, Ms. King.”
We didn’t talk anymore, focusing our attention on the movement of our bodies. Enjoying the way they pulled and pushed against the other. He growled low in my ear, and I responded with my own guttural moans.
Each thrust forced my h*ps to move along the hard wooden desk, and the feel of it, combined with the lingering ache of his spanking, drove me to work faster to my orgasm. He thrust even quicker, even harder, sending currents of pleasure swirling through my body.
“Mr. West,” I gasped, tightening my legs around him.
“You were right, Ms. King,” he said with a powerful thrust, hitting a spot deep within me. “You are good.”
My need to release grew stronger, and I struggled to hold back until he gave permission.
“Can I?” I begged. “I’m going.”
He thrust again. “Yes.”
His head dropped to my shoulder, and I trembled as his teeth grazed my skin.
“Fuck,” I said. “Harder.”
His only response was a sharp nip to my shoulder, but that’s all it took. My cl**ax shot through me, and I came hard. He continued his rhythm, his pace unrelenting as he drove himself to his own cl**ax. The muscles of his back tightened under my hands, and I felt him release inside me.
With a soft sigh, he relaxed. “You have a job here for as long as you want, Ms. King.”
Chapter Twenty-two
—ABBY—
He left for China two weeks later on a Friday night. I drove with him to the airport, wanting to be with him as long as possible. He held my hand the entire way, and the long week apart stretched endlessly before us.
“It’ll be the longest we’ve been apart since March,” he said, staring at the road as we approached the airport.
It’s only a week. It’s only a week.
I wanted to cry just thinking about it.
“I wish I could go with you,” I whispered.
He lifted my hand to his lips, brushing my skin softly. “You’re doing what’s best for you and your career. I have the utmost respect for that.”
I blinked back a tear. “I love you.”
He kissed my hand again and his lips lingered as he inhaled the smell of me. “Abby,” he whispered, his breath as gentle as a caress. “I love you.”
The night before, we’d stayed up making love into the early hours of the morning. He had been slow and reverent in his affection, taking his time and memorizing every detail of me. Even when he finally entered me, he moved unhurriedly, as if we had all the time in the world.As the sun rose and we woke in each other’s arms, we came together again, but with a fierceness and urgency born of the knowledge we’d soon be separated for more than a week. Our hands and voices were hurried, and we pulled and pushed until at last we collapsed together, where we rested before finally forcing ourselves to leave the bed.
At the airport, I stayed with him until his pilot discreetly coughed and nodded toward his watch. Even then I stayed on airport property until the jet disappeared into the sky. Only then did I head to his car for the long, lonely ride back.
Once there, I stepped into the foyer and threw his keys on the table. I’d never stayed at Nathaniel’s house—my house, I corrected myself—alone before. I walked through rooms, checking the alarms, even though Nathaniel had done so before he left.
When I was satisfied I was safe, I made my way upstairs to our bedroom. It wasn’t until I passed the playroom that I remembered Nathaniel’s words from earlier that day.
I won’t be able to collar you this weekend, he had said at lunch. But I do have certain tasks for you.
He said he’d have envelopes waiting in the submissive bedroom. Although I want you to sleep in our bedroom, if you wish.
Yes, I knew, I did wish to sleep in our bedroom. Even though he wouldn’t be in our bed, I could sleep with his pillow, and perhaps the sheets still carried his smell.
I stopped briefly in the small bedroom. A stack of envelopes waited for me. On top was a package wrapped in brown paper and labeled with his neat script.
Friday night.
I took a peek at the envelope underneath.
Saturday, 8:30 a.m.
Since the package didn’t have a time on it, I carried it to our bedroom and placed it on the bed. I returned to it once I’d taken a long, hot shower. I’d decided to sleep in one of Nathaniel’s dress shirts, so I clambered up on the bed and tucked my legs under its hem, and then I slowly unwrapped the package.
It was a leather-bound journal.
I turned it to the first page, and my heart leapt when I found his inscription.
I know you often have difficulties expressing your feelings with spoken words. I thought, perhaps, you might feel more at ease writing them down.
I want you to use this journal as a place to write your fears, your doubts, and your heartaches, as well as your joys, your hopes, and your dreams. I’d like to see you use it as a place primarily to detail your submissive journey, though I understand there will be some crossover from our daily lives as well.
To start you off, I will give you several assignments. My only request is that you be completely honest with your writings. Nothing you put in this book will ever be held against you.
You’ve given me so much. I know you will give me this as well.
I ran a finger over the ink, somehow feeling closer to him with that simple act. I flipped through the empty pages. Christine told me she kept a journal, but I’d never gotten around to picking one up for myself.
Leave it to Nathaniel . . .
I reached for the envelope that had fallen out of the journal and lifted the flap. A single sheet of paper was inside.
We discussed earlier this week that once I returned from China, we would attend a play party together. Write down a list of your fears, and for each one suggest a way to counteract it. On another page, make a list of benefits you hope to obtain by attending.
We’ll discuss upon my return.
Was he serious? It was like an assignment a teacher would give me.
Would he grade it?
If he felt I failed, would he punish me?
I giggled at the thought, but then remembered how scared I’d been the first time he suggested the party and decided writing my fears down might be a good idea. I reached across the bed to my nightstand and dug through the drawer before finally finding a pen trapped underneath a bag of toys.
It was surprising how freely the words came once I started writing. I felt unrestrained and uninhibited. I wrote without stopping, just putting down what came to mind and filling page after page with both my fears and what I hoped to accomplish.
When finished, I looked at the clock, surprised at how quickly time had passed. The flight to Hong Kong took sixteen hours, so I didn’t expect to hear from Nathaniel anytime soon.
Yawning, I turned off the light and slipped under the covers. Apollo jumped up to rest beside me. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep the night before, but I drifted off within minutes.
Saturday, 8:30 a.m.
I turned the envelope around in my hand, anxious to see what it held. Would it be another writing assignment? I slipped my finger under the flap and opened it.
It’s 8:30 on Saturday morning and I’m still in flight. I hope you had a restful night’s sleep and that Apollo kept you company. I gave him a stern talking-to before I left.
I smiled at his words. He’d made a lot of progress in the last few months, and I loved seeing the funny, playful side of him.
I rubbed Apollo’s head and continued reading.
We’ve been in the playroom countless times in the last few months, but we haven’t come close to exploring all the different ways we can play. This morning, I want you to go into the playroom and look around. Find a toy, item, or piece of equipment we haven’t used but that you would like to experiment with next time we play. Write it down in your journal so we can discuss later.
I might decide to use it.
P.S. You have only an hour. Felicia will be by at nine thirty to take you shopping and out to lunch.
I took a quick glance at the next envelope.
Saturday, 3:30 p.m.
Plenty of time to enjoy a few hours with Felicia.
I read the eight thirty letter again. I’d never spent much time exploring the playroom by myself. Nathaniel and I had gone through it together before he’d collared me, months ago, and cleanup was now my responsibility, but I still felt it was his domain.
Since I’d already showered and had breakfast, I went upstairs into the playroom. Once inside, I skipped over the whipping bench, padded table, and cross, making my way to the far wall. Handmade cabinets held a multitude of floggers. A few he had used—the rabbit fur and suede. He had others, of course, leather and some braided leather ones; they looked heavier and I wondered how they would feel.
Mmm. Maybe.
The cabinets stood above a large table, made of the same rich wood and filled with multiple drawers. I opened one and saw his collection of plugs and vibrators. Fun toys, but I didn’t see anything that stood out in particular.