The Training (Book 3: The Submissive Trilogy) (10 page)

“What has you thinking so intently?”

My eyes flew back to the yard. I’d missed seeing and hearing Nathaniel return to the house. I turned to face him.

He still wore his suit pants from work and, though he’d taken off his tie, he hadn’t changed out of his white dress shirt. His lips
turned up at the corners at catching me off guard, and he walked closer.

“I was thinking how, in less than a month, this will be our room,” I said.

“Our room.” He made it to me and placed a hand on either one of my shoulders. “I like the way that sounds.”

“Do you?” I asked. “You’ve lived alone for so long, I worry I’ll be in your way. Somehow invade your privacy.”

“I’ve lived my entire adult life thinking there was something wrong with me. Feeling like less than a man because of who I am.” He brought a hand to my cheek, and one long finger traced my collarbone. “To have found you. To have you with me like this? And to have you want me?” His finger moved to skim my lips. “I don’t want to be alone anymore. I want you. Here with me.”

I closed my eyes as he drew me close for a soft kiss.

He pulled back. “You look beautiful, by the way. I meant to say that before you distracted me with the talk of
our
room.”

I felt positively delighted he noticed the gown. I’d picked it out just for our first night together after the weekend. It wasn’t anything outrageously expensive, but it was the silver color he liked on me and its cut showed off my curves to my advantage.

“Did you see the back?” I teased. The back dipped low, with tiny straps crossing this way and that.

“When you were by the window. I very nearly didn’t say anything, just so I could stand and admire you.”

He wasn’t the only one doing some admiring. I started at the top of his shirt and worked my way down, unbuttoning one button at a time.

“As much as I enjoy admiring you in your white shirt,” I said, “I’d much rather admire you with it off.”

I took my time undressing him, enjoying the thought that we
had the entire night before us. Hours of time to enjoy each other, to love each other, to reconnect with slow, sweet touches. I felt heady with the knowledge that very soon, we could be like this every weeknight. Would I ever look at this room, with him in it, and find it familiar?

His hands caressed me. With leisurely tenderness, he took the gown and pulled it over my head.

“You in the moonlight,” he said, his hands moving on me. “So beautiful.”

It was him. He made me beautiful. His words. His touch. His love.

Before I could say anything, his lips were on mine and he was kissing me.

We were both naked by the time he pulled back the covers and we climbed into bed. Then he was over me, kissing the hollow of my neck and tasting me. I ran my hands down his back and felt him shiver as my nails grazed his skin.

Feeling bold, I pushed on his shoulder and sat up. When he turned to his back, I straddled his body, brushing his nipples, first with my fingertips, then with my lips. I’d nearly forgotten how sweet he tasted—all male combined with a hint of the deep woods.

I kissed my way down his stomach while my hands stroked lower. I avoided all contact with his cock, focusing instead on the other parts of him—the dip of his navel, the dusting of hair on his lower belly, the sensitive skin right above his groin.

“Fuck, Abby,” he said as I nipped the skin of his inner thigh. I was so close to his erection, I knew he could feel my breath. He lifted his hips in a vain attempt to find friction, but I wasn’t finished exploring him yet.

“Look at
you
in the moonlight,” I said, pulling back and watching how the pale light played against his skin. I sat up and
trailed a finger from his shoulder to upper leg, once more skirting where he was most needy. I ran my hand low and cupped his balls. “The shadows here.” My fingers danced along his thigh. “The brightness here.”

“Come here,” he said, reaching for me.

“Not yet.”

“I want you.” His hands brushed my upper arm.

“Wait.”

I dropped lower on the bed and licked his knee. Picked it up and kissed the underside.

“Now you’re just being cruel,” he said.

“Mmm,” I said, concentrating on memorizing the muscular curve of his calf. I ran my hands down his leg and lifted his foot. I was after the spot right under his anklebone. I found it and kissed the soft skin there.

He sighed.

“What?” I asked.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever kissed me there before.”

I kissed the spot again, running my tongue over it. “How very negligent.”

I paid the same amount of attention to his other leg and ankle, finally working my way back up his body. Somehow, enjoying him had heightened my arousal. He sat up, and when he brushed the tips of my nipples with his thumbs, I very nearly came on the spot.

He watched my response with a sly grin. “Eager?” He lowered his head and sucked a nipple into his mouth.

I tightened my grip on his hair. “Oh, God, yes.”

“Too damn bad,” he said, switching to the other side.

He lowered me to the bed, his mouth never leaving my skin. I was under him, and his touch was soft and light, his mouth and lips skimming the valley between my breasts, tongue flicking out occasionally to tease me.

When he made it to my belly, I let out a moan. He moved lower and licked the skin right above my clit. Then he blew a soft stream of warm air across the wetness, laughing softly at my muttered curse.

I tugged at his shoulders, wanting him to cover me, wanting to feel his weight on me. He didn’t make me wait, but crawled up, gently spreading my legs with his knees. I wrapped my arms around him and he dropped his head to my neck.

He entered me slowly, letting me feel every inch of him. Or perhaps feeling every inch of me. When he was fully seated inside me, I slid my hands to his backside. His hips flexed just a bit, in preparation for his thrust.

“Wait,” I said, stilling him with my hands.

“Fuck,” he grunted in my ear. “Why?”

“I want to feel you for a minute,” I said, enjoying the slight stretch of having him so deep inside.

He mumbled something under his breath, but held still.

Soon it became too much—having him so close but not giving in to the urge to move and find relief. His breathing grew ragged; his body tense.

“Okay,” I said, when I couldn’t bear it anymore. I moved my hands up to his shoulders.

“Thank God.”

He pulled out almost all the way and thrust back inside me with a long, slow stroke. We moved in unison—my legs came around his waist and I lifted myself to him with each thrust. Even then, our joining was unhurried. Neither one of us wanted to rush; instead we took our time, enjoying the way we fit together, the way we moved with and against each other.

My release slowly built, starting as a low ache deep in my belly and spreading lower. He must have felt the same, because he picked up his pace and entered me deeper. Harder.

I tried to hold on to the feeling, wanting to draw it out, make it last longer, but I couldn’t. I tightened once around him and allowed my climax to overtake me. He followed shortly after, coming inside me with a soft groan.

For several long minutes, we were still. Then he lifted his head and kissed me, long and deep. I rolled us so I lay on his chest, his arms wrapped around me.

I wanted to stay awake, to lie in bed and talk about nothing and everything. But the emotions of the day had taken their toll, and I felt my eyes grow heavier with each second that passed.

I didn’t realize I’d spoken out loud until I felt his chest vibrate under me with laugher.

“Go on to sleep,” he whispered, stroking my hair. “There’ll be plenty of time later.”

Taped moving boxes lay scattered around the apartment when I met Abby for dinner at her place on Wednesday night.

“Someone’s been busy,” I said. We sat at the kitchen table, enjoying grilled chicken and corn.

“Jackson has a moving van coming this weekend to pick up most of Felicia’s stuff. She had a few extra boxes.”

“Will you be lonely after she leaves?”

Her eyes danced as her fork stopped its upward path. “I don’t plan on spending a lot of time here after the wedding.”

My breath caught. I knew she wanted to live with me. Knew it was more than just a matter of convenience, but to hear her say it . . . It got me every time.

“Is she upset you won’t be here to help move this weekend?”

“No,” she said. “She knows better than to try and dictate our weekends.”

Our weekends.

“That’s good,” I said, teasing her slightly. “I’m the only one allowed to dictate our weekends.”

“She’s so much better,” she said. “More supportive this time.”

“I’m glad. I’d hate to think she was harassing you about us.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t say she’s understanding, but she’s accepting.” She pushed her corn around her plate. “She even said the diamonds in my collar would go well with the dress.”

The diamonds and the dress?

“Why would she say that?” I asked.

She stopped pushing the corn and looked at me. “It’s a weekend.”

“What is?”

“Their wedding day, Nathaniel,” she said, as if what she was talking about made complete sense.

“I know that. I’m just trying to decide what . . .” I started, and then it hit me. “She thought you’d wear the collar to the wedding?”

Her eyebrows crinkled. “Won’t I?”

Fucking hell. I’d done it again. Assumed she knew.

“I didn’t plan to have you wear the collar next weekend,” I said.

“You didn’t?” she asked. “Why?”

We should have had this conversation weeks ago, maybe even when we first discussed how often she would be collared.

“Do you remember why I didn’t want you to wear the collar all week in the first place?”

She nodded. “You said it put me in a certain mind frame.”

I reached across the table and took her hand. “And now that you’ve worn it for a weekend and removed it on a Sunday afternoon, would you agree with me?”

I could practically see her mind work as she thought. I imagined
her replaying Sunday night—the almost slip at Jackson and Felicia’s.

“Yes,” she said.

“And do you think I’d want you in that mind frame at your best friend’s wedding? When you’re the maid of honor?”

“Oh,” she said simply.

“Conversely,” I said. “Do you think I want to be in the mind frame I’m in when you wear my collar? When my cousin is getting married and I’m the best man?”

“Oh,”
she said, as the reality of both sides hit her.

“I should have brought this up sooner.” I shook my head. “It just never occurred to me you might think you’d wear it.”

“So it’s like a weekend off?”

“It’s a give-and-take relationship.” I stroked her knuckles with my thumb. “We make it work for us. Rearrange it as needed.”

A sly smile covered her face. “There goes my fantasy of you spanking me with a coat hanger in the closet.”

I blinked.

Twice.

“You had a fantasy of me spanking you with a coat hanger?” I asked.

She nodded, clearly enjoying her upper hand. “And going down on you at the reception.”

“You know, it’s not just kinky people who enjoy closet time at wedding receptions.”

“Or engage in a little under-the-table action?” she asked with a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“You are so, so evil.”

She slipped her hand out of mine and coolly took a sip of white wine. “So I’ve been led to believe.”

“Whatever will I do with you?”

She lifted the damn wineglass to her lips and took another sip. I couldn’t look away. “I’m sure I have no idea,” she said.

“On the contrary,” I said, watching her lips and imagining them wrapped around my cock. “I’m sure you have several.”

“Maybe.”

“Perhaps we should discuss these ideas of yours?” I nodded toward her bedroom. “In a more . . .
comfortable
location?”

“Perhaps.” She slowly stood up. “But clear the table first. I hate leaving dishes in the sink overnight.”

I took both our plates and walked toward the kitchen. Before leaving the room, I looked over my shoulder. “And, Abby? Just so there’s no misunderstanding, if it were anyone else’s wedding?”

She stopped, halfway to her bedroom.

“The collar would be on,” I finished.

She met me at the airport on Friday afternoon at five thirty. I waited for her outside the jet.

“How was your day?” I asked, kissing her cheek and taking her hand.

“Long.”

Yes, my lovely. I know exactly what you mean.
Her collar was waiting inside. I planned to collar her after we reached a comfortable cruising altitude.

Once we were seated and on our way, I turned to her. “I want to talk for a few minutes before we do anything else.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Of course,” I said. “I just wanted to set expectations before I collared you.”

“Give me an opportunity to voice any concerns?”

I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re a fast learner.”

“I try.”

I knew she did and I wanted to help her in any way possible.

“I want you to feel comfortable this weekend,” I said. “I want you to feel free to talk with Paul and Christine. I want you to feel free to talk to me.”

“Really?”

I nodded. “Look at Paul and Christine’s house as one big library or kitchen table. You are still to address me as ‘Sir’ or ‘Master’ since there’s nothing to keep from Paul or Christine. There will be additional expectations for his playroom, but we can go over those tomorrow. Okay so far?”

“Yes.”

“If I decide to make changes, I’ll let you know.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

I was glad she questioned me. I’d intentionally made the statement vague, simply to see if she’d ask for clarification.

“If I decide library time is over, that I don’t want you acting freely for whatever reason—that I want to play—I’ll let you know.” I watched her face for understanding. “Is that more clear?”

“If you decide you want to spank me with a coat hanger?”