After all of that, he'd stayed.
"Why are you here?"
Seth cocked a brow at her. "Should I leave?"
"No! That isn't what I meant. I only meant that--"
He sighed. "Abby, there's a difference between calling stop because you no longer wish to submit and forcing a stop due to a panic attack."
"But I don't have panic attacks."
Seth gave a non-committal grunt. "Can you stand?"
"I'm still a bit woozy." Or was it that she was just too comfortable in Seth's embrace?
He encircled her body with his arms and pulled her up with him as he stood. He guided them over to the sink. She shivered as the colder air moved across her skin.
"Didn't I hear the front door?"
"Your neighbor came by because of the screams. I sent him on his way." As he was speaking, he positioned himself behind Abby and slipped the towel from her body. Immediately, she cringed and glanced away from the mirror.
"Look up," he ordered. "What do you see?"
She shrugged. She hated her reflection, hated her looks, hated her scars. "Master, please."
"The mirror, girl, look into it. What do you see?"
She crossed her arms over her chest and sulked into the mirror. Focusing on her face, not looking at her less-than-perfect body, she grumbled her answer. "I see me."
Seth frowned. "Drop your hands."
Sullen, she complied.
"What do you see?" he asked again.
"The same thing you do. I see my fat and my ugly scars."
Seth snorted. "They're hardly visible. You make them ugly with your self-hatred. Look at them, girl, and this time I want you to really look."
She did. Her breasts, carrying bruises and stitches, lines of scars puckering the skin stormed her memory. Perfect little circles where her areolas had been reattached by the surgeon who'd severed them from her body. "I see them. They're still ugly."
"They are not ugly--and no, you may not gainsay me on this topic. It's up to me to decide on the issue of your attractiveness and I'm not very friendly whenever anyone tries to tell me that my judgment is suspect."
Seth sounds so serious. He looks so serious. In fact, he was serious...about everything. His role in her life, his decisions as her life's compass, her body's attractiveness--all were now his to control. She struggled with the changed landscape of her life. "Master?"
"We all have scars, Abby. Every one of us has lived an imperfect life. These breasts"--he caressed them, his thumbs flicking the nipples and making her suck in a sharp breath--"are gorgeous. The woman who carries them is gorgeous--no, you are not permitted to argue my words."
He dropped his hands, revealing her to the lights.
The appreciative gleam in his eyes filled her with peace. "Yes, Master," she said, offering him no argument.
"Repeat after me," he ordered. "These breasts are protected by a hard limit. There will be no breast or nipple play with these breasts."
Abby dutifully repeated the words. They sounded hollow to her ears.
"Again. Mean it this time."
She repeated the words a few more times before Seth was satisfied.
"In the future, should anyone ask use of your body, you would tell them exactly that."
"Yes, Master."
"And should you be pushed to explain yourself, which shouldn't be necessary, you may tell them this: the trauma of my surgery has not fully healed. Say it."
She did, repeating the phrase until Seth nodded his approval. The reflection in the mirror gave Abby chills and in a very good way. Seth loomed over her shoulder, gazing down upon her as he ensured her emotional and physical wellbeing. She, small, soft and under his protection, had never felt more beautiful in her life.
"Master?"
"Aye?"
"What if they won't accept that explanation?"
His expression was remote and chilly. "Should you be faced with such an outright asshole, you'll direct him or her to me."
"Something like, 'Please talk to Seth if you have any other questions'?"
"That'll do." He nodded. "Now, get into something warm and meet me in the living room. I'll make coffee." With a playful tug on a lock of her hair, Seth exited the bathroom.
Compliant, she went to her bedroom and pulled on her pink flannel jammies and her favorite fluffy purple booties, making sure not to glance at the mass of leather and steel on her floor. Fear clenched her stomach at the smell of the harness, and she gave it a good berth as she stepped around it to join him in the living room.
Seth had relaxed onto the cushy sofa. Curling up alongside, she tucked herself against his leg and nudged her head into his lap. He sipped his coffee and started the movie he'd selected. As it began to play, he dropped one hand to her hair and stroked it idly with his thumb. She gave a sigh of contentment and snuggled close.
A glance out the windows showed a setting sun brilliant against the cloud cover, streaking the clouds with red and purples--and movement in her driveway. She pulled herself into a seated position in order to get a better look. "Is there someone in my driveway?"
Seth cupped her shoulder and guided her back down to her former position. "Your neighbor, no doubt."
"What? Why?"
"He's probably taking down my license plate and vehicle identification numbers."
A glance to his face proved Seth wasn't kidding. "For God's sake, why would he do that?"
He gave his patented lady-killer half smile. "In the event your decapitated body shows up floating in the Willamette River, he'll have info to give to the cops. Just a guess, though."
"Omigod," she squeaked, too shocked to do anything else.
"Don't forget your neighbor arrived in response to your screams."
Horror washed through Abby and she scrambled off Seth's lap. "I need to tell him I'm fine. That I don't--"
Seth caught her arm and hauled her back down to the couch. "We will honor the aged warrior's dedication toward your safety by not interfering with his efforts."
"The wha-- Oh, no..." Abby groaned and covered her face. "He told you he was a marine in Vietnam, didn't he? Said he knew fifty-seven ways to kill a man without making a sound, right?"
Seth tugged up one shirtsleeve to display his own U.S. Marine Corps tattoo. He gave his arm a manly flex and crowed, "Semper Fi, motherfuckers!"
Good grief! Seth and Mr. Foster, both so alike and yet decades apart in age. She couldn't help but smile. "Two of you in my life...oh, joy."
Seth relaxed into the couch in a manner that could only be described as preening. "How'd you get so lucky?"
She settled back onto his lap and offered, in an overly innocent tone, "Gee, I don't know, Master." After a few moments, a thought made her glance at Seth. "What did you tell him? About my screams, I mean."
Seth gave a shrug. "That we were getting busy when a spider landed on your face and hid in your hair. I had to hold you down to get it out. Mood killed."
Abby felt her cheeks warm. Horrid. How on earth would she be able to face Mr. and Mrs. Foster at the next monthly block party? "And he believed you?" She'd have to remember the excuse for when Mrs. Foster made her gentle yet unrelenting inquiries.
"Not really. He was about to come inside and break off some shit when you started calling for me. That stopped him, but he did hit me with the stink-eye as I closed the door."
Her cheeks warmed further as she remembered her meltdown. So horribly embarrassing. "I'm sorry, Master."
"It's done. Over with."
She was almost too shy to ask. "Are you angry, Master?"
"Not a bit," he said. "Now let me watch the movie."
On the screen, space aliens fought space marines. Guns and bombs and green and red blood flashed across the screen. Her surround-sound speakers rumbled. As the action played out on the screen, Seth grunted his annoyance, snorted his disdain, and called out, "Oo-rah, devil dogs!" to the action depicted.
He was so cute.
Again, she glanced up. "Sho
uld I make some popcorn?"
He never took his eyes from the screen. "I hate popcorn. It stinks."
"Then I can't have any?"
"Not while I'm in the house."
Hmm...popcorn or Seth? Not a hard decision to make. She resumed her position, cuddling across his lap, her fingers caressing his knee. Seth's thumb stroked her shoulder. Peace reigned until his cell phone rang from its position on the end table.
Seth caught it up and glanced at the display. He cursed and answered the call with a curt, "Taylor."
Abby watched his face. His expression of mild annoyance moved into incredulity, then smoothed into a blank expression that caused her neck hair to shiver a warning. Seth's body tightened beneath her hand. With a voice that had turned graveyard cold he said, "Repeat that," into the phone.
The swirl of angry energy in his aura leeched a lot of courage from Abby's heart. "Master," she whispered, "what's wrong?"
Seth didn't answer her. Instead, he pushed her off his lap and got to his feet. A muscle on his jaw ticked. "Fine," he said. "I'll be there in thirty."
The call ended.
Seth pulled on his jacket, pronounced, "Gotta go," and then did exactly that.
Chapter 14
Liz called four times that morning. Unfortunately, she did so after Abby's workday had started, so all of the calls went unanswered until break time. Sitting down in the employee lounge, Abby nursed a cup of peppermint tea and finally called Liz's number. The phone was answered on the second ring.
"Abby! My God," said Liz in a rush. "There's no way I believe it."
"Believe what?"
She slipped off her heels and wiggled her toes. High heels were of the devil. Men should be forced to wear them, along with pantyhose, since they found it so damned important for women to do so in the workplace. Then we'd see how long they'd last, wouldn't we? Wait, didn't men used to wear high heels? Victorian Age, maybe? They didn't exist now, did they? That should say something about the comfort of high heels.
"But if someone asked her who was capable of such a thing, I would have to say Seth."
The comment pulled Abby from her thoughts about high heels. "What are you talking about?" she asked.
A delicate pause hummed over the phone. "You don't know?"
Suddenly concerned, Abby set down her cup of tea. "Know what? Did something happen to Seth?"
"When was the last time you talked to him?"
"Seth? Last night. He left in a rush. Dear God, did he have an accident?" Shoving aside the cup, she snatched up her purse and scrambled for paper and a pen. She tucked the phone between her chin and shoulder and prepared to write. "What hospital is he in?"
"Calm down, Abby. Seth is fine. However, Annabel is not, if we can believe kennel chatter."
Setting the pen down and rescuing the phone from its precarious position, she reached for her tea with a hand that shook. Confusion replaced the sudden terror. "Who is Annabel?"
"A Jezebel if you ask me." Liz sniffed. "She's a cold-blooded bitch Seth trained about a year ago. You met her at the Dungeon Romp. Mike tossed her and her master from our table. Remember?"
Okay, she got that Annabel was Goth Chick, but the rest of the topic remained muddled. "Annabel is not okay? What's that got to do with Seth?"
"Let me backtrack. Last year, that bitch came into the community. Of course, Seth trained her. That's what he does." Liz paused to sip something on her end. She resumed the conversation after swallowing. "He graduated her, yes, but said Annabel needed a ruthless master if she was to develop into a worthwhile slave. She had her eyes on Jeremy, though, unfortunately for him."
"Oh?"
"All she wanted was his money. Jeremy is not what anyone would call ruthless, but he is a moneybags man here in Portland. Seth advised against the collaring. They both ignored his advice. Things progressed into the train wreck Seth expected, and you witnessed at the romp. She's a cold-blooded, material bitch. Did I mention that?"
Frustration nearly made Abby bang the phone against the table. "Yes, you did, but how does that relate to last night?"
"Well, Annabel got into Jeremy's bank accounts--that pussy-whipped jerk caved in to her demands, no doubt. He was warned not to be lenient, but whatever. She's been spending Jeremy into the poor house ever since."
Liz sounded gruesomely cheerful relating the story, but it hadn't been any kind of answer. "Not good, but what does that have to do with last night?" she repeated.
Liz laughed. "Rumor has it Jeremy put some fertilizer on his gonads and grew a pair. He told her to give up the cards. She refused. He threatened punishment, even the possibility of releasing her from his collar, but she laughed and told him he didn't have the balls, which, for the past two years, has been true."
"Wait. I'm confused. Isn't Jeremy the short, bald guy? I'm sure he has..." A quick flick of her gaze proved she was not alone in the lounge. "Well, that he has the necessary tools. And, besides, I thought a"--she caught herself before she violated any obscure codicils of HR's professional conduct policy--"was to obey, period. That was my understanding."
"Seth's trained you well. The problem is that Jeremy is no Seth. Annabel has Jeremy by the short hairs, and we all know it. And she's spending. Cha-ching!"
The situation began to clarify. "Ouch."
"Feeling the pinch from his credit card companies, he confronted her. At her refusal, he called Seth, needing help to deal with her."
"Ah, last night's phone call." She was on the conversational track now. Maybe.
"Understand that Seth's stayed out of this cluster-fuck. He says Jeremy made his choice and the like whenever the topic comes up at meetings and munches. Mike has the same opinion."
Abby nodded. "'Man up and deal with it.' Seth-speak for sure."
"Close enough, but get this." Liz's voice dropped to a conspiracy-quiet rumble. "Rumor has it Annabel laughed and told Seth--on that very phone call--he didn't have the balls either to force her to give up the cards."
"Couldn't Jeremy just take her name off the accounts?"
"Not the point, sweetie."
"Ah." It all began to make sense now.
"Anyway," Liz continued, still morbidly cheerful as she related the story, "she allegedly laughed at Seth and told him on the phone to, 'Make me.'"
"Oh, shit," Abby said, then was forced to wave an apologetic hand at colleagues who turned her way and frowned. Hunching into her seat, she dropped her volume and continued her conversation. "He was not happy when he left my place." She retrieved the mug and brought it to her mouth.
"So, a very pissed-off Seth showed up at Jeremy's house. Pouting and temper tantrums are the usual crap delivered from pampered slaves. Pillow Princesses they're called, and both Mike and Seth have no love for the breed. I don't either, if truth be told."
The tea in her hand had cooled. "Topping from the bottom?"
"Exactly, but this is where story takes a turn into crazy town. Are you sitting down?"
"Liz." Abby gave a warning hiss.
"Either Seth broke a chair and used one of its legs to beat her into submission or he locked her in a cage on her knees, until she gave up the cards. Or"--another one of Liz's weighty pauses--"both."
The story took a few moments to clarify in her brain. Such brutality from the man who'd so tenderly wiped the sweat and tears from her face last night? That just couldn't be the same man. "I...I can't believe..."
"Didn't I mention there's a side of Seth you don't want to meet? It's what makes him such a good trainer. Well, alongside his no-complications thing."
She struggled to make the leap, mentally trying to reconcile this story with the Seth she knew, and just couldn't make the connection. "But surely she used her safe word?"
"There is no safe word with Seth, sweetie. He uses a terminating signal when he takes on a slave's training. Well, usually he does...unless you have different information?"
Abby ignored the question. "But why wouldn't she use it? I mean--God, a chair leg?"
&
nbsp; "This wasn't a scene, Abby," said Liz. "It was a pissing contest between Annabel and Seth."
It had become brutally clear. Different rules, she recalled. "Because she'd already won dominance over Jeremy?"
"Exactly, which is why I called you. Since you and Seth are so close these days--"
"Close?"
"I was hoping he'd spoken to you about the alleged happenings at Jeremy's house. Maybe used it as a training example or something."
"'Alleged happenings'? Now you sound like a lawyer."
"No reason to blacken the man's name with a pile of lies. So"--another weighty pause on Liz's side of the conversation--"is it true?"
She'd need to warm up her tea. "Unfortunately, I have no information to give you. I haven't spoken with Seth since he drove off last night. He left in a rush, abandoning his gear on my bedroom floor. That's all I know."
"Well, crap," said Liz, obviously disappointed. "The kennel is dying to know."
"The community kennel?" The one she'd almost been banished from without her knowledge?
"Every single one of us." Liz laughed. "If you get any information, will you let us know?"
"Of course I will, unless he tells me not to share."
"Of course, of course," said Liz. Abby envisioned one of Liz's airy, dismissive hand gestures. "Obey the master is every slave's first rule. Luckily, Seth doesn't bother with kennel gossip. I'm sure it's because he feels gossip is beneath his oh-so-manly concerns."
Abby couldn't miss the laughter in Liz's voice. Well, to be fair, it was some juicy gossip, she reminded herself. Kennel sisters were a girl's best defense from bad Dominants. Seth himself had told her that. Still, he might not be open to having his loss of control broadcast throughout the entire community. But what if it was true?
She needed to think. Was that the kind of master she wanted? Seth was a tasty hunk of man, yes, but what did she really know about him? "My break is over. I've got to go."
"No worries, sweetie. Have a great day. Oh, and this Saturday's munch will be celebratory. Your graduation day is here. Yay."
For her, the day signaled one step closer to losing Seth from her life. She summoned enthusiasm for Liz's sake. "I'm looking forward to it, but I must go now. 'Bye." She ended the call before the threatening tremble in her voice revealed her lie.
In Training Page 9