by S. J. Hooks
“Good evening, Sir,” I murmur.
“What’s all this?” he asks.
“I’m making you dinner … and dessert.” I return to the apples, shivering lightly as I feel him approach me.
“Where’s Luke?”
“At Jo and Thomas’. Per your request, I’ve asked her to babysit. Luke is spending the night over there.”
He lets out his breath, and it tickles the back of my neck, making me hyper-aware of his proximity.
“So it’s j-just the two of us,” I stutter as I feel him gently tugging on a lock of my hair to watch the curl spring back into place.
“All right,” he says softly. “You can set up two place settings in the dining room, and I expect to eat at seven.”
“Yes, Sir.” I close my eyes, drawing deep breaths after he leaves. Two place settings mean I won’t be sitting in his lap or eating off his plate, but it’s better than nothing. He could have said no completely and had me eat in the kitchen, after all.
At seven o’clock sharp, I serve Simon before taking my seat to his right, and we start eating—in complete silence. I feel him glancing at me several times, and I struggle to come up with anything to say.
“Delicious, as always,” he comments after a while, taking a sip of wine.
“Thank you.” God, this is so awkward.
I barely touch my food, the torturous silence making me lose my appetite entirely. Simon doesn’t eat much either, and the meal is over quickly. He stays seated as I carry the dirty dishes into the kitchen.
“Dessert?” I ask, trying for a smile when I return. “I baked a pie.”
He looks up at me, shaking his head, and my heart plummets. This was so stupid of me. I feel ridiculous in my dress and apron and have to swallow hard to keep from bursting into tears. What the hell was I thinking?
“If that’ll be all then, Sir,” I whisper, reaching across the table for his wine glass, willing my hand to stop shaking. I gasp softly as his hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist. He tugs it, forcing me to place my other elbow on the tablecloth to keep my balance. He’s on his feet and behind me before I can react, his hand that held my wrist now on my shoulder, pushing me down so I’m bent over the table completely.
“Is this what you want?” he whispers, placing his other hand on my hip before pushing his very prominent erection against me.
I’m still too stunned to speak, overwhelmed by the show of possession, the way he’s holding me down, slowly rutting against me.
“Hmm?” He skims the side of my body, giving my breast a firm squeeze. “Is this what you want, Abigail? Is this what you need?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Lift up your skirt.”
It’s just like the first time, when he asked me to present myself to him after dinner. I reach down and pull it up, fisting the material as I lean on the table again. Simon sighs behind me, the tips of his fingers caressing my naked skin.
“Close your eyes.”
I exhale, doing as I’m told and trying my best to relax.
“So pretty,” he murmurs, stroking my hair and turning my head to the side. “Suck.”
His thumb pushes past my parted lips at the same time his other hand delivers a firm smack on my backside. He does it again, harder this time. My face heats up as I hear myself moan, long and low, sucking eagerly on his thumb.
“Yes, you like that,” he says. His fingers part me, finding me wet and ready even though he’s barely touched me, and he penetrates me with two long fingers, making me moan again.
“There’s a good girl,” he croons, moving his thumb in and out slowly. “You like to have me in your mouth, don’t you?”
I can’t answer him, but it’s evident that I do from how easily his fingers are gliding. It feels so good having him touch me, and I know I’ll come if he continues.
“Do you want this?” he asks, pressing himself against my hip as he removes his thumb from my mouth.
“Yes,” I gasp as he spanks me again.
“Where do you want it, pretty girl?”
“Anywhere,” I moan, clenching around his fingers. “Anywhere you want, Sir. Please, make me—”
His fingers are gone, and he pulls my upper body up, holding me against him from behind, his mouth at my ear. “My bedroom. Now.”
I nearly trip over my own feet running upstairs, him hot on my heels. Once inside, he’s all over me, overwhelming me with unrestrained kisses. He attacks my neck as he starts tugging at my dress.
“I’ve missed you,” I moan. “God, I’ve missed this. I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”
He stops, slowly lifting his head. “I always want you,” he says.
I don’t get a chance to say anything else. He lifts my chin, capturing my lips in a searing kiss that makes my knees go weak.
“Do you want this?” he asks.
“Yes. I just want things to go back to the way they were,” I tell him.
He gazes down at me. “The way things were?”
I nod.
“Being my sweet girl?” he asks slowly. “Like before … everything else?”
Relieved, I smile. I want nothing more than to go back to the way things were before Luke’s party. “Yes, Sir.”
He frowns for a second and exhales through his nose before nodding and taking me in his arms. He leans in, pressing his lips against mine, but before I can deepen the kiss he pulls back, and I watch as his expression changes into something else—something a lot sterner that commands obedience. I recognize that look, and feeling my body react to it startles me—the rush of heat underneath my skin, the way I lower my eyes immediately. God, he really does own me.
Wordlessly, he undresses me and leads me to the bed, holding on to my hand as I crawl on top of the mattress, lying down on my back. Slowly, he holds up the apron I was wearing.
“Remember what I said I wanted to do to you, using this?”
“You wanted to tie me to your bed,” I whisper.
“That’s right.”
He doesn’t do it, though. Instead, he waits for me to lift my arms above my head, and I do, silently giving him permission.
“Do you trust me?” he asks, tying my right wrist.
He asked me that once before, and I said that I wanted to. Now, my answer is different. “Yes, Sir, I do.”
“Good girl.”
I feel him tying my other wrist, and as I tug on my bindings, I realize I can’t lower my arms. I’m trapped now. His.
“How does it make you feel?” he asks. “Knowing that I’m in control, that I can do anything I want to you, and you’re powerless to stop me?” He runs his hands down my torso, palming my bare breasts as I arch up into his touch. “I get to use this sweet body any way I want,” he adds, pinching my nipples.
“It’s a little scary,” I admit, barely holding back a moan as he tugs on them, forcing my back to arch even further.
“But?” he prompts.
“It excites me too. So much.”
“I can tell. And you don’t have to worry. If I do anything you don’t like tonight, just say the word, and I’ll stop.”
“You mean a safeword?” I whisper.
The sound of his deep chuckle makes me blush as he gently massages my breasts. “Have you been reading more dirty stories, sweet girl?”
“Sometimes. Is that okay?”
“Of course.” His hands glide over my naked skin. “But you don’t need a safeword. Just tell me to stop, and I will.”
“I don’t think I’d ever tell you to stop.”
“No, I don’t imagine you would,” he chuckles. “But you have to if I do something you don’t enjoy. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Good. Because I plan on pushing your limits tonight.”
“You do?”
Gently, he spreads my legs. “Yes, Abigail, I do. Tonight, I’m going to play with you.” His fingers tickle my inner thighs before moving upward, making me gasp. “I’m going to make you come so many times
, you’ll beg me for mercy.” His voice is low and gravelly as he pushes two fingers inside me, testing my readiness.
“Please, Sir.” I’m already panting for breath.
“Let’s begin. Remember our conversation about vibrators?”
Hours later, I’m a hot, sweaty, sticky mess. My skin is covered in massage oil, my ass is sore from repeated spankings, and I’m practically delirious from more orgasms than I’ve been able to count. I’m on my front, struggling to stay up on my knees as my legs shake from fatigue. My hands are still tied, and I’m spread open for Mr. Thorne, who’s behind me, taking me with slow, unhurried thrusts. Each time he pushes in, his pelvis bumps the toy he gently coaxed into me, sending jolts of pleasure up my spine. I moan loudly as he grinds against me, gripping my hips.
“You like that? How about this?”
I gasp as he starts pulling the toy out, only to push it back inside me, timing it with his thrusts as he does it again and again. Groaning, I can’t stop my hips from moving with him, silently encouraging him.
“Yeah, you love this, don’t you? You love when I fuck you like this.” His free hand caresses me, lifting my hair to blow cool air across my damp skin, his tender action a stark contrast to his dirty words. The truth is, I do love it. By the time Mr. Thorne brought out this particular toy, I was half-delirious from his teasing of my body, and I heard myself begging for it, for him to work it inside me.
“Dirty, pretty, perfect girl,” he moans, taking me harder. “Fuck, so good.”
I revel in the decadence, the sheer overpowering lust I feel. Simon never makes me feel ashamed when we’re together like this. Somehow, even now, doing this, he makes me feel cherished.
“I want you to come again,” he tells me, his hand slipping down between my legs. “Come on my cock.”
I bury my face in the pillow, letting out a low whine as he starts rubbing me. I’m so sensitive, I’m not sure I can. Of course, he doesn’t accept that.
“Do it,” he commands, “or I’ll spank your ass and flip you over to use your mouth, and then it’s the vibrator again.”
I can’t take any more orgasms from that thing. They’re too intense, and then I really will be begging for mercy.
“Yes, Sir,” I pant.
“You’re my sweet girl.” He grunts, fucking me harder, his fingers sliding across my slick skin with ease. “You look so good tied to my bed. Maybe I’ll … keep you like this … so I can fuck you whenever I want.”
“Oh, God.”
“Would you like that? Being my little sex slave?”
I nod my head, feeling that familiar tightening in my belly, gasping for breath as he pummels me, causing me to scream out until I come. For a few moments, it’s as though I’ve lost consciousness, and I’m only barely aware of Simon grunting and groaning as he pushes me into the mattress, finishing inside me. He rolls off me, giving me room to breathe, but his hands continue caressing me, gently stroking my tired body.
“You were perfect,” he whispers in my ear. “Thank you.”
I mumble my own thanks, slowly coming back to the surface as he unties my hands and pulls out the toy before leaving the bed. I drift, completely blissed out.
“C’mon,” he murmurs, turning me over onto my back. “Let’s get you taken care of.”
I’m as weak as a newborn kitten as he carries me into his bathroom, lowering me into the filled tub, and I sigh as the warm, fragrant water envelops me. Kneeling next to the tub, he gently bathes me and cares for me, placing a rolled-up towel behind my head.
“Stay,” he orders, leaning down to kiss my lips before he leaves.
My body feels boneless and completely satisfied, and I can’t stop smiling. All of that worry was for nothing. After a while, Simon comes back, dressed in a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt, his wet hair slicked back, some of my clothes in his hands. He must have used one of the other bathrooms.
“Up you go,” he says, helping me out of the tub before rubbing me down.
I stand still, letting him fuss over me, moaning softly as he rubs lotion on my sore backside before covering the rest of my body in it and dressing me in one of my nightgowns. He even combs out my hair, being careful with the tangles, a look of concentration on his handsome face. I’ve never felt so cared for in my whole life.
“Sleep now?” he asks, wrapping his arms around me and kissing me.
“Whatever you want, Sir.”
He grins, stroking my cheek. “Perhaps a movie, then?”
I nod, giving him a smile, knowing he won’t mind if I fall asleep in his arms as I have before. “Let me clean up in there first,” I offer, nodding my head toward his bedroom.
“I’ll do it,” he says. “The toys need sterilizing, and I know how.”
“Oh.” My face heats up. “Of course.”
“You really were perfect.” He leans in, brushing my lips with his. “I’d like some new sheets for the bed, though.”
I nod, drawing a deep breath as he leaves. It doesn’t take more than a few minutes to clean up the bathroom, but Simon is already gone by the time I go back into his bedroom. Smiling, I notice that he’s stripped the bed of the dirty sheets so it’s easy for me to remake it. I grab the apron off the floor and lift it toward the bedside table, my arm stopping abruptly as I see it, my blood running cold.
On the table, leaning against the lamp, is an all-too-familiar-looking manila envelope. I’m sure it wasn’t there when Simon helped me out of the bed because I looked over, my curiosity getting the best of me, wanting to sneak a peek at the toys he’d used. But it’s there now, waiting for me. I take a step back and then another, unable to take my eyes off of it.
No. No, he wouldn’t do this. My stomach rolls, and I have to lean on the wall for a few seconds. It has to be a mistake.
I find him in the kitchen by the sink with his back turned to me, but he hears me enter and turns to smile at me. It washes clean off his face in seconds.
“Abigail? Is everything all right?”
“The envelope,” I manage, holding it out to him.
He approaches slowly, taking it from my hands. “Is it not enough?”
I stare at him. Not a mistake, then. “Enough?” My voice has a hint of hysteria to it, even to my ears. “Enough? I didn’t look inside!”
His eyebrows draw together, creating a deep crease between his eyes—I recognize it as his worry line. “Please …” He holds it out. “Take it.”
It’s as though my right arm works independently from the rest of me, and I watch as it slaps the envelope out of his hand, causing it to skate across the well-waxed floor. Simon looks stunned.
“I. Don’t. Want. Your. Money.” The tone of my voice is startling to my ears. I never knew I could sound like that. I never knew I could feel like this. He made me feel like this. “You’ll never see me as anything but a whore,” I whisper, turning on my heel and sprinting toward my room.
I slam the door shut and lock it, standing in the deafening silence that follows, unable to move as everything crashes down around me. His sweet kisses, his thoughtful gifts, his texts, his arms around me, eating dinner with Luke and me, and every conversation we’ve ever had—has it all been a lie? Have I been lying to myself, reading meaning into everything he’s said and done?
“Abigail.” There’s a light knock at the door. “Abigail, please open up.”
I finally find my voice. “No!”
“Please?” He sounds so solemn, so sad. Unable to help myself, I unlock the door, opening it to him. He looks tired, anguished. Did I do that to him?
“Why?” I whisper.
“I thought it was what you wanted.”
I stare at him. “How could you think that?”
“You said you wanted things to go back to the way they were before.”
“That’s not what I—”
“It’s better this way.” He interrupts me, running his right hand through his hair. In his left, he’s holding the envelope. “Less complicated.” He n
ods. “Everything you let me do to you tonight, you should be compensated for that.”
Now I don’t want to slap the envelope out of his hand. I want to slap him.
“Excuse me, but I didn’t let you do anything to me!” I half-yell. “I did all of that stuff with you because I wanted to, because it felt fucking good. The only thing you’ve done to me that I didn’t love was when you handed me that goddamn envelope!”
We stare at each other, me breathing heavily, him as calm as ever.
“Don’t you get it?” I whisper. “Don’t you understand anything?”
He sighs softly, taking a step back before lowering his eyes. “I’ll see you when I get back from my trip.” He takes another step back, his gaze on the floor. “I hope you and Luke have a good time in California. Use your card as much as you’d like.”
With that, he turns and starts walking away.
“I regret it now,” I tell him, unable to keep the venom out of my voice.
He stops, keeping his back to me. “What?”
“Trusting you. You said I wouldn’t regret it—but I do.”
His broad shoulders move up and down as he draws a deep breath and lets it out. Then he buries his hands in his pockets and slowly walks away.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The trip to Disneyland is bittersweet. Everyone is excited and I do my best to hide the fact that my emotions are in turmoil. At the hotel, we’re shown to one of the deluxe suites and given the royal treatment with free passes to everything, with a full Thanksgiving dinner already set up for the following day. It only serves to confuse me all the more about the man who’s responsible for all this, for giving my son and my friends this experience. Why would he go through all this trouble and money if he doesn’t see me as more than an employee? It makes no sense to me at all.
For the rest of the day, I try to push away my thoughts and simply enjoy the vacation, but it’s impossible. I have no idea what will happen when this trip is over. Simon said he’d see me when he gets back from Europe in a few weeks, so I don’t believe I’m fired. But I don’t think I can keep working for him under these circumstances. Part of me thinks it might be better to simply move out and cut my losses, but that’s a scary thought. We can stay with Jo and Thomas, but for how long? I know they’d say we can stay as long as we need, but it’ll be crowded, and we’d be an economic burden. I can’t risk jeopardizing my friendship with them. There’s also the fact that I don’t want to leave. We were happy before Luke’s birthday. I know we were. If we could only get back to that place somehow, I think we could make it work.