On Tuesday, I decided I needed more of a plan. The snow had abated, but not enough for anyone to spend a lot of time outside. That meant another day stuck inside. I had dusted the house and washed the sheets the day before, and I really didn’t feel like cleaning anymore.
Nathaniel cooked pancakes for breakfast, so I was up for lunch. Maybe I’d start lunch.
Lunch…
I walked into the kitchen and dug through the cabinets. Finding what I needed, I set out a cutting board and a few sauté pans.
I went back to the living room, where Nathaniel sat at his desk. He looked up as I entered.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Will you help me with lunch?”
“Can you give me ten minutes?”
“Ten minutes will be perfect.”
Once I returned to the kitchen, I realized I’d forgotten the onions. I opened a far cabinet where I knew the onions were. I squatted down to find them.
What the…?
When Nathaniel walked in later, he found me at the counter, head on top of my hands, looking at two label-less cans.
“Abigail?”
I stared at the cans. “I’m trying to decide what someone like you is doing with label-less cans in their kitchen.”
“The small one is Italian peppers.” He walked closer to me. “The larger one holds the remains of the last nosy submissive who bugged me about my label-less cans.”
I looked up. “Sign?”
“Sign.” He smiled.
“Seriously, what are you doing with label-less cans in your cabinets? Doesn’t that break about a hundred different rules of yours?”
He picked up the larger can. “The small one really is peppers from Italy. The larger one should be tomatoes from the same company. I ordered them online.”
“What happened to the labels?”
“They came that way.” He set down the large can and picked up the smaller one. “They probably are peppers and tomatoes, but I’ve been hesitant to open them and never sent them back. What if they’re pickled cow tongues? I don’t have enough faith, I guess.”
“All of life is faith. Just because something has a label doesn’t mean it’s always going to match the inside. Trust me, sometimes it takes more faith to believe the label.” I took the can from him and shook it. “Don’t be afraid of what’s on the inside. I can make a masterpiece with the insides.”
He cupped my cheek and I watched his eyes as another brick fell. “I bet you could,” he said, then dropped his hand. “Now, what do you need my help with?”
I opened the box of arborio rice. “I want to do a mushroom risotto, but I can’t stir the rice and cook everything else at the same time. Can you stir?”
“Mushroom risotto? I’d be happy to stir.”
“You might want to take that sweater off. It’ll probably get hot in here.”
He raised an eyebrow, but shrugged out of his sweater. He wore a black T-shirt underneath.
Oh yes, much better. Thank you.
“I’ll chop up the mushrooms and onions,” I said. “You start the rice.”
“Bossy little thing, aren’t you?”
I put a hand on my hip. “It’s my kitchen.”
“No.” He pushed me against the counter, a hand resting on either side of me. He rocked his hips and I felt his erection through his jeans. “I said the kitchen table was yours. The remainder of the kitchen is mine.”
Fuck. Me.
“Now,” he said. “What was that about the rice?” He turned the burner on and poured extra virgin olive oil around the pan.
I stood still for several seconds until I could move my limbs again. I took two wineglasses and held up the white wine for Nathaniel to see.
“Yes, please,” he said.
I poured us both a glass and got busy chopping the onions.
“You ready for this?” I said, once the onions were diced, but not really meaning the onions.
“I’m always ready.”
I looked down and could tell he wasn’t talking about onions either. His erection had grown another inch. And he was stuck stirring rice.
I wasn’t.
Poor baby.
I leaned in close, pushed myself under his arm, and poured the onions into the pan. “There you go,” I said, making sure my backside brushed against his groin.
I needed to dice the mushrooms, but I decided to be just a little evil. Okay, scratch that, I decided to be a lot evil.
“What me to get that chicken stock for you?” I reached under his arm and grabbed the fresh stock. I poured a bit into the sauté pan, my arm knocking his bicep for the shortest second.
A line of sweat formed on his forehead and he took a sip of wine.
My evil plan was working.
I slid over to the countertop and started on the mushrooms. Chopping them into little pieces, piling them up nice and neat. Taking an occasional sip from my own wineglass.
A mushroom accidentally fell to the floor. It rolled over to where Nathaniel was stuck at the stove. Stirring.
“Oops,” I said. “Let me get that.”
I strolled over to him and squeezed in between the stove and his body, noticing that time had not helped his little problem at all. I picked up the mushroom and grabbed on to Nathaniel’s waist to help myself back up. The little brush to his groin was another accident.
What can I say? I’m very accident-prone.
But I didn’t say that because Nathaniel was trying really hard to concentrate on the risotto and well, who needed words anyway?
I opened the oven and put in the chicken breasts. They would be ready the same time as the risotto was if everything went as planned. I passed the mushrooms to Nathaniel and took another sip of wine while leaning against the counter. My job was over, so I didn’t have anything better to do than to enjoy Nathaniel’s muscles working.
It really was getting a bit hot in the kitchen. So I stripped off my own sweater, revealing the little white tank top underneath. There was still a lot of chicken broth in the pitcher beside Nathaniel, but the risotto was coming along nicely. Almost done. I sneaked back between the stove and Nathaniel, and lifted the pitcher.
“Need more?” I asked.
“Just a touch.”
I poured a bit into the pan, but, oops, some got on me. White shirt. And double oops, I forgot to put on a bra.
“Damn,” I said. “Would you look at that?”
He was.
“I guess I need to take this off before the stain sets. It could be a problem.” I turned around and went over to the sink, stripping off the shirt as I went.
The oven clicked off the same time the stove burner did. I heard the sauté pan being moved and the oven door swung open.
Two seconds later, Nathaniel grabbed me by the waist and swung me around. “I’ve got a bigger problem for you.”
I looked down. Hell, yes, he did. Those jeans couldn’t be comfortable.
He picked me up and set me on the counter near the stove, pushing cutting boards and cans out of the way. Something crashed to the floor.
He fumbled with the button on my pants and then pulled them roughly off, almost dragging me off the countertop. His eyes grew dark, because, oops, I forgot panties. Again.
His jeans were on the floor in less than two seconds and there he was, naked and magnificently erect.
“Is this what you want?” He came up to me and I wrapped my legs around his waist.
I ran my hands up his shirt to get to his chest. “Yes.”
He cupped my breast and rubbed my nipple with his thumb.
“Please,” I said, drawing him closer. “Please. Now.”
But it was his time to tease and he ran his hands down my body, along my legs and back again.
“I didn’t want…I didn’t think…” he started, but I shut him up by nibbling on his neck, working up his jaw until I made it to his ear.
“You think too much,” I whispered.
It was all he needed. He took my legs, a
nd in one movement thrust inside and, damn, two days had been too long. I groaned as he pushed in deeper.
“Oh, hell, yes,” I said as I took him inside. My eyes fluttered closed as he withdrew. “More. More, please.”
He answered with the force of his body, thrusting into me once again. I bumped my head on an overhead cabinet and didn’t even care.
“Harder,” I said. “Please, harder.”
“Fuck, Abigail.” He took my ass with both hands and pulled me to him as he thrust and we both moaned when his cock hit the back of my cervix.
“Again.” I bit down on his ear. “Damn it. Again.”
We scraped and clawed and bit, him trying to get further inside and me to take more of him. I hit his ass with my heels and he sucked on my neck.
Deeper. We both wanted deeper.
“Yes,” I said when he hit my G spot. “Right there.”
“Here?” he asked, thrusting again. “Here?”
I whimpered as he drove himself into me over and over. His fingers reached between us and he brushed my clit. My orgasm was building and I felt his cock twitch inside me.
“Harder,” I said. “Almost there.”
His fingers rubbed harder and his cock pounded into me.
“I…I…I…” I stuttered, my belly tightening.
I fell apart. He thrust deeply one last time and held still as he released into me.
“Damn,” he said, once he could talk again. “That was…”
“I know,” I said. “I agree.”
He lifted me from the countertop and made sure I could stand before grabbing a towel and cleaning me. “That beats mushroom risotto any day.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
Nathaniel cooked dinner. Usually when he cooked, I stayed in the living room or library, but I decided to sit in the kitchen with him that night. So, he cooked while I sat at the table and drank a glass of red wine. Enjoying the view, if you will.
I think he was cooking a marinara. At least, I suspected that was why he had the large label-less can out. He took out the can opener and I got up to peek over his shoulder.
“Just checking,” I said.
He smiled and hummed as the can opened. With a tentative finger, he lifted the lid. We both held our breath.
“Tomatoes,” we said in unison.
“Drat,” I said. “I was hoping for pickled cow tongue or some incriminating body parts.”
“Rather anticlimactic, don’t you think?” he asked, lifting a tomato out with a fork.
“No. It’s better to know.”
“You’re right, and it’s going to make us a delicious supper.”
He dumped the tomatoes into a sauté pan that already contained onions and garlic.
“Smells good,” I said, standing on my tiptoes to look over his shoulder. I took a big whiff as I did. Not so much to smell dinner, but to smell Nathaniel. Light musk and a hint of cedar. Yum.
“Go sit down,” he said. “I’d like to have one hot meal today.”
“Breakfast was hot,” I protested. “And lunch was hot. At least the part before lunch was hot.”
“Abigail.”
“I’m sitting, I’m sitting,” I said, walking toward the table.
I sat down and took a sip of wine. “You know, you had a breakthrough today,” I said.
His shoulders hitched slightly. “What was that?”
“You opened one of your label-less cans. I think that calls for a celebration.”
He relaxed. “What did you have in mind?”
“Naked picnic in the library?”
“That’s your idea of a celebration?” he asked, setting a large pot of water to boil.
“I should have made bread for dinner,” I said.
“You’ve done quite enough for one day.”
I raised an eyebrow and tried not to giggle. “Yes, it is my idea of a celebration.”
“Okay.” He sighed, as if he were agreeing to something horrid. “Naked picnic in the library. Thirty minutes.”
“I’ll go set up,” I said, getting up from the table.
“Extra blankets are in the linen closet,” he called over his shoulder.
Twenty minutes later, I’d set out several blankets and started a fire in the library fireplace. Four plump pillows completed my impromptu picnic set-up.
I checked the clock. Ten minutes to spare. I stripped and piled my clothes on one of the chairs.
Nathaniel came in carrying dinner on a large tray. He was already undressed.
“Do you need any help?” I asked, feasting on the sight of him.
“No. I’m fine. Let me set this down and I’ll get our drinks. More wine?”
“Please.”
He returned with two wineglasses and a bottle of red wine. I wondered if he had a wine cellar. Surely he did. Might have to check that out later.
The marinara was delicious. Of course, I expected nothing less from Nathaniel.
“This is superb,” I said after a few bites. “My compliments to the chef.”
“To label-less cans,” he said, lifting a forkful of pasta.
“To label-less cans,” I said. I went to twirl more pasta, but when I lifted my fork I did it too fast and some sauce flew off. And landed on Nathaniel’s…uh…you know.
He looked down in disbelief. “You got marinara on my cock.”
“Oops.”
“Get. It. Off.”
I was fairly certain he wasn’t wearing a sign. I leaned over and took the plate from him. “Lay back.”
“Abigail.”
“You want me to use a napkin?” I pushed down on his shoulders.
He didn’t answer, so I took that as a “no.” He put his head on one of the pillows and I ran my hands down his chest.
“The marinara, Abigail,” he said.
My fingers breezed across his nipples. “I’m getting there.”
“Get there. Faster.”
I licked down his chest. Yum. He tasted good all over. I took a nibble of his lower belly and he gasped in response. Mmmm. Nathaniel was much better than marinara. Even marinara made with label-less cans.
I dipped lower, blowing across the tip of his cock. He twitched. Ahh, yes, there it was. Hello, marinara. Sorry I was so clumsy.
Okay, that was a lie. There wasn’t a sorry bone in my body.
I cleaned the sauce off with one lick. But like I said, he tasted good all over. So until he told me to stop, I decided to stay right where I was. I rolled the tip of him around my mouth, teasing. Occasionally, I would deep throat and take him all the way in, but for the most part, I just played with him. I used my hands, stroking him, holding his cock like it was a lollipop, licking the very tip. A drop or two leaked out and I sucked it right off.
He drew a deep breath in through his teeth. “Fuck.”
“I can stop,” I said, but I wasn’t sure I could.
“Hell, no. Swing those legs up here. I want to taste that sweet pussy.”
I shifted my body, moving us into a sixty-nine position.
He wrapped his arms around my thighs, locking me to him. He wiggled his tongue inside me and gave a lick, ending at my clit.
“Mmmmm,” he said. “Sweeter than the finest wine.” He licked again. “And I’m going to drink from you until there’s not a drop left.”
I took his whole cock in my mouth—two could play that game—and sucked him hard.
He started a rhythm, matching his licks and nibbles to mine. I took him deep in my throat and he rammed his tongue inside me. My teeth scraped his length and his grazed my clit.
My hips started moving of their own will, and before too long he was thrusting into my mouth.
We rolled to our sides, kept the rhythm going, getting more leverage as he fucked my face with his cock and fucked my pussy with his tongue.
He added his fingers, thrusting three up inside me while his tongue moved to my clit. I cupped his balls and ran a finger from his sac to his ass. His cock twitched in my mouth a
nd he thrust harder. Doubled the tempo with his fingers.
As his cock hit the back of my throat, he sucked my clit into his mouth. Our movements became more intense and we both hovered on the edge.
My lower body started to tingle and I moved my head to meet his thrusts, wanting him to come with me. I groaned. I couldn’t help it. It felt so intense, having him in my mouth while his mouth worked me. I came, my body shattering. He bit my clit and I came again as he thrust into my mouth, releasing in several strong streams. I swallowed frantically, not wanting a drop to escape.
He pulled me up his chest and I tucked my head under his neck.
“Dinner’s cold,” I said, snuggling into his arms.
“Screw dinner.”
We eventually got back to eating—propped up on pillows, lazy and relaxed.
I took a bite of cold pasta. It wasn’t so bad. “How long have you been a dom?”
He swirled his own pasta. “Nearly ten years.”
“Have you had a lot of subs?”
“I suppose that depends on your definition of ‘a lot.’”
I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean.”
He sat his fork down. “I don’t mind having this conversation, Abigail. This is your library. But keep in mind that just because you ask a question, it doesn’t mean I’ll answer it.”
I swallowed the bite of pasta in my mouth. “Fair enough.”
“Then ask away.”
“Have you ever been a sub?”
He nodded. “Yes. But not for any extended period of time, only for a scene or two.”
Okay, that was interesting. I’d put that aside for later. “Have you ever had a sub use her safe word before?”
He watched me carefully as he answered. “No.”
“Never?”
“Never, Abigail.”
I looked down at the plate.
“Look at me,” he said, and all traces of weekday Nathaniel were gone. I was talking with Dom Nathaniel. “I know how new you are to this, and I ask you, have I ever come close to pushing you beyond what you could handle?”
“No,” I said honestly.
“Have I been gentle and patient and caring?” he asked. “Anticipated your every need?”
The Submissive Page 16