The Submissive

by Erotic Romance

  “Yes.”

  “Do you not think I would have been gentle and patient and caring with my past subs? Anticipated their every need?”

  Of course he would have. “Oh.”

  “I am starting you out slowly, because I see this as a long-term relationship, but there are so many things we can do together.” He ran a finger down my arm. “So many things your body is capable of that you don’t even know yet. And just as you have to learn to trust me, I have to learn your body.”

  I might as well have rolled over and died right there. I was done.

  “I have to learn your limits, so I’m working you slowly. But there are many, many areas we have yet to explore.” His touch grew rougher. “And I want to explore them all.” His hand dropped. “Does that answer your question?”

  “Yes,” I whispered, wanting to explore them all as well.

  “Any other questions?”

  “If your other subs didn’t use their safe word, how did the relationships end?”

  “They ended as any relationship ends. We grew apart and went our separate ways.”

  Okay, that made sense. “Have you ever had a romantic relationship with a woman who wasn’t your sub?”

  He shifted a bit. “Yes.”

  “How did that go?” I asked, wondering if I was walking into Melanie territory.

  “You’re here now.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Was that a rhetorical question?”

  Obviously, it hadn’t gone well. But I just couldn’t let it go. “Melanie?”

  “What did Elaina tell you?” he asked instead of answering.

  Caught. “That Melanie wasn’t your submissive.”

  He sighed. “I would prefer my past relationships remain in the past. What Melanie and I did or did not do has no bearing on you and me.”

  I picked at the uneaten pasta on my plate, still not sure I felt any better about Melanie.

  “Abigail,” he said and I looked up to meet his eyes. “If I wanted to be with Melanie, I would be with Melanie. I’m here with you.”

  My eyes roamed his fabulous body. “Did you ever have a naked picnic with Melanie?”

  He smiled. “No, never.”

  I’m not sure why that made me feel better, but it did.

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-NINE

  I woke on Wednesday with the crazy notion I should look out the window. I felt like an idiot, checking to make sure there was still snow outside, but I did it anyway. I pushed back the curtains and, sure enough, there was the snow. Maybe a bit less than the day before, but still there. Still not melted enough for me to risk going home.

  I let the curtain fall back into place. I wouldn’t be going home today. Tomorrow? Maybe, but what was the point if I’d just be returning on Friday? I might as well stay at his place for the rest of the week. Martha had texted to tell me the library wouldn’t be reopening until Monday anyway.

  I really didn’t think Nathaniel would mind me staying, but decided to ask later and instead headed off to get breakfast started. I took a quick shower and skipped down the stairs. Once the coffee was bubbling in the coffee maker, I focused my attention on the bacon and eggs. The frying pan heated up and I did a quick two-step around the kitchen to the songs inside my head.

  “I’ll say she looks as clear as morning roses newly washed with dew,” Nathaniel said, walking into the kitchen and leaning against the countertop.

  Shakespeare?

  He hadn’t.

  A grin covered his face.

  Except he had.

  I strolled back to the oven and flipped the bacon. “You have witchcraft in your lips.”

  He laughed, clearly enjoying himself.

  “All the world’s a stage,

  And all the men and women merely players.”

  Okay. Fine. He had studied his Shakespeare. I could still outdo him.

  “Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player,

  That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

  And then is heard no more.”

  He walked to the stove, held one hand to his chest and threw the other toward the open window.

  “But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?

  It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

  Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

  Who is already sick and pale with grief

  That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.”

  I giggled. I was such a sucker for Shakespeare. And no one had ever quoted Romeo and Juliet to me before. Still, best not to let him know how it affected me, although I’m sure he could tell.

  “Asses are made to bear, and so are you,” I said.

  “Women are made to bear, and so are you,” he quoted the next line.

  Damn. He knew that one, too?

  “I have no other but a woman’s reason: I think him so, because I think him so,” I said.

  He laughed. A deep hardy laugh. “O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!”

  I looked at him in mock shock. “You called me a villain.”

  “You called me an ass.”

  I could hardly argue with that. “Draw?”

  “This time,” he said. “But I’d like the record to show that I’m gaining on you.”

  “Agreed. But speaking of gaining on me,” I said, “I need to use your gym today. I have a few miles to log on the treadmill.”

  “I need to jog as well,” he said, snatching a piece of bacon from the plate. “I have two treadmills. We could work out together.”

  Which was the only way jogging could possibly be fun.

  After breakfast, I changed and headed to the gym. Nathaniel stood in the middle of the room, stretching. I joined him, slowly working the stiffness from my lower body. I spent a lot of time watching him, following his actions, because, damn it, if he ever decided to quit his day job, he could be a personal trainer. Or a chef. Or a literature professor. Or a lot of things.

  When we made it to the treadmills, he kept pace with me. I thought it was awfully sweet—he could run me into the ground if he wanted to. Briefly, I thought ahead to spring, imagining running outside with Nathaniel and Apollo. Hadn’t he said last night he saw us in a long-term relationship?

  We jogged along together, there inside the gym, and my mind wandered. What would spring be like with Nathaniel? Would he even want to spend an afternoon jogging with me? I liked to think he would. Was that wishful thinking on my part?

  The week had brought us closer so far. A few of his bricks had fallen, and even though there were many left to knock down, progress was progress.

  Speaking of progress, I wondered how Felicia was doing. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d gone so long without talking. How was her blizzard time with Jackson? Was she even more in love now than she had been? Was that possible?

  Thoughts of Felicia and the blizzard took me to Linda and the lunch we were supposed to have had the day before. Maybe we’d be able to get together next week.

  Then I wondered what Nathaniel and Todd had argued about in Tampa. Damn, I should have asked Nathaniel about that during our naked picnic. Not that he would have answered.

  “Abigail?” Nathaniel asked, not even sounding winded. “Are you okay?”

  I looked to my side. “Fine. My mind wanders while I jog.” My mind should have been thinking about the delicious masculine specimen to my right, because who the hell cared about spring when you were snowed in with Nathaniel in February?

  I made my way into the kitchen in the late afternoon, trying to decide what to cook for dinner. Maybe some fish? Shrimp? I tried to remember if he had any fish in the freezer. I glanced around the countertops. Maybe roasted potatoes to go with the fish? Something simple. My gaze hit on the cabinets and I thought back to the day after the whipping bench. I never had explored the upper shelves.

  I pulled a chair over to the cabinets and scrambled up to a standing position. I swayed a little bit and grabbed onto the shelf, telling myself to be careful. If I fell and
broke something, how would I get to the hospital? Steadying myself, I peeked into the shelf.

  More cans. I smiled. With labels. I went through them, looking for something interesting to serve with fish, when my eyes fell on a large box at the very back of the cabinet.

  I reached over the cans and pulled the box toward me, moving cans out of the way.

  I held it in my hands in disbelief.

  Chocolate bars?

  Nathaniel had an entire box of candy bars in his cabinets. I thought back to the times we had eaten together. Only at the black tie benefit and the family dinner during Super Bowl weekend had I ever noticed him eat sweets. And he had an entire box of candy bars in his cabinet? A box that had been opened?

  It was golden.

  The vague inklings of a plan formed in my head.

  This was going to be fun.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY

  I walked into the library, the box of candy behind my back. Nathaniel sat at the small desk, thumbing through papers.

  What happened next would end either very well or very badly.

  “Nathaniel West.”

  His head shot up at my use of his full name. I realized that while I’d thought of him as Nathaniel in my head, I’d never used his first name. To him, at least.

  His eyes narrowed. “I assume you will apologize for that slip, Abigail?”

  “I’ll do no such thing,” I said with as much courage as I could muster. I pulled the box of chocolates out, hoping he’d see what I was doing. “What are these?”

  He set the papers down and glared at me very intently.

  Oh, dear. He was angry. Very angry. He wasn’t seeing anything.

  Or else he saw everything and wasn’t amused.

  Wasn’t amused. At. All.

  “They are chocolate bars, Abigail. It says so right on the box.” He stood up.

  Very badly. Odds were this was going to end very badly. “I know what they are, Nathaniel. What I want to know is, what are they doing in the kitchen?”

  He crossed his arms. “What business of yours is it?” he asked in that you’re-in-for-it-now voice.

  Ouch, my backside hurt just thinking about the spanking I’d be getting. And it wasn’t even the weekend. I had one more chance.

  “It’s my business,” I said, shaking the box at him, “because these are not on your meal plan.”

  He blinked.

  Understanding dawned in his eyes.

  I stepped closer. “Do you think I put together a meal plan for you because I’m bored and have nothing better to do? Answer me.”

  His arms uncrossed. “No, Mistress.”

  Mistress. He understood. He was playing along.

  I gave a dramatic sigh. “I had plans for today, but instead we’ll have to spend the afternoon inside, working on your punishment.”

  His eyes darkened. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mistress,” he said in that low, seductive voice.

  “You’ll be sorrier still when I’m finished with you. I’m going up to my room. You have ten minutes to join me there.”

  I spun and walked out of the library, then ran up the stairs to my room. I stripped my dress off and put on the silver robe Nathaniel had once complimented. Then I stood by the foot of my bed and waited.

  He entered slowly. Quietly.

  I crossed my arms and tapped my foot. “What do you have to say for yourself, Nathaniel?”

  He hung his head. “Nothing, Mistress.”

  “Look at me,” I commanded him. When he met my eyes, I continued, “I am not a mistress. I am a goddess.” I pushed the robe from my shoulders. “I will be worshipped.”

  He stood for the span of five seconds, deep in thought. Then something snapped. He rushed forward, lifted me in his arms, and cradled me in his lap on the tiny bed.

  His eyes searched mine, and a million unasked questions flicked across his face. He gently cupped my cheek. “Abby,” he whispered. “Oh, Abby.”

  My heart twisted. Abby. He called me Abby.

  He glanced down at my mouth, traced my lips with his thumb. “A kiss of desire…”

  “…on the lips,” I finished in a whisper.

  His fingers shook. Ever so slowly, he leaned forward and my eyes fluttered closed as he narrowed the space between us. His chest heaved in a shuddering breath. Then his lips pressed tenderly against mine.

  Just a touch, but I felt the electricity spark between us. His lips came again, longer this time, but just as soft. Just as gentle.

  Nothing more than a whisper.

  I knew then that while Nathaniel knew many things and was right about most of them, he was completely wrong in this respect. Kissing on the lips wasn’t unnecessary, it was the most necessary thing there was. I could live without air sooner than I could give up the feel of his lips on mine.

  He sighed—a warrior’s defeat at the end of a long-fought battle. Then he framed my face with both hands and kissed me again. Even longer. His tongue lightly traced my lips, and when I opened my mouth, he entered slowly, as if memorizing the feel, the very taste of me. I could have wept with the sweetness of it all.

  I ran my fingers through his hair, pulling him to me, not ever wanting to let go. He groaned and our tongues swept over each other’s as the kiss deepened.

  He broke away and stood to step out of his pants, looking deep in my eyes the entire time.

  “Love me, Nathaniel,” I said, holding my arms open to him.

  “I always have, Abby,” he said as he gently gathered me to him. “I always have.”

  Then he lowered me to the bed and his lips were on mine again for another long, slow, open-mouthed kiss. And kissing Nathaniel was so much better than fantasizing about it. His lips were smooth and strong, and his tongue stroked mine with a passion and yearning that curled my toes.

  And we weren’t dom and sub, we weren’t master and servant, we weren’t even man and woman. We were lovers, and when he finally entered me, it was sweet and slow and tender.

  And I’m not sure, but I think, somehow, in the seconds before he released into me, I felt a tear fall from his eyes.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-ONE

  That was the first night I slept in Nathaniel’s arms. Because the bed was small, he kept me on top of him with his arms around me, my head on his chest. We could have slept anywhere and I wouldn’t have cared. His arms were the heaven I never wanted to leave.

  I woke alone the next day, but wasn’t too surprised. Nathaniel never slept much, from what I’d seen. Still, it was a bit disappointing. The perfect ending to the night would have been waking up in his arms in the morning.

  I jumped out of bed and threw some clothes on. Today we’d discuss how this would change our relationship. How to weave together the Dom Nathaniel and the Weekday Nathaniel. I was certain we could make it work.

  I peeked into his bedroom, but it was empty. No one in the library, not even a fire. No sounds from the gym. I walked into the kitchen. The coffee was on, but no Nathaniel. At least he had been in there recently.

  Whose turn was it to cook breakfast? I’d had dinner duty last night, but we never made it back downstairs for dinner. My mind wandered back to Nathaniel…the way his mouth fit mine…

  Focus, Rational Abby shouted at me.

  Right. Breakfast.

  I decided it would only be fair if I cooked breakfast. After all, I had skipped my turn. Maybe after breakfast, we could go outside. Have a snowball fight. Quote more Shakespeare.

  Kiss.

  Where was he?

  I stuck my head into the dining room and my jaw dropped.

  There he was—reading a newspaper, for crying out loud.

  What should I call him? ‘Nathaniel’ seemed too casual for the dining room.

  “Hello,” I said, instead.

  That was better. Don’t call him anything.

  “There you are,” he said, looking up. He wasn’t smiling. Why wasn’t he smiling? “I was just thinking that you should be able to make
it home today.”

  “What?”

  He sat his paper down. “The roads are clear. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting to your apartment.”

  I was confused. I didn’t know how to properly address him. How to talk with him. Everything was so upside down. And why was he talking about going home? How could he think such things after the night before?

  “But why would I go home? I’ll just be back tomorrow night.”

  “About that,” he said, looking at me with veiled eyes, “I’ll be at the office most of the weekend, digging out from this storm. It would probably be best if you didn’t come over this weekend.”

  Not come over? What?

  “You have to come home at some point,” I said.

  “Not for any length of time…Abigail.”

  Abigail.

  My heart sank. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

  “Why did you call me that?” I whispered.

  “I always call you Abigail.” He sat completely still. I wasn’t sure he was moving. Maybe he wasn’t breathing.

  “Last night you called me Abby.”

  He blinked. That was the only move he made. “It was the scene.”

  What the hell was he talking about? The scene? “What do you mean?”

  “We switched. You wanted me to call you Abby.”

  “We didn’t switch,” I said as realization sank in. He was pretending it didn’t mean anything. That last night was some sort of scene where he was the submissive.

  “We did. It was what you wanted when you came into the library with the candy.”

  Damn, I couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t figure out what he was doing.

  “That was my original intention,” I said. “But then you kissed me. You called me Abby.” I looked deep into his eyes, desperately searching for the man I loved. “You slept in my bed. All night.”

  His hands slipped off the table and he took a deep breath. “And I have never invited you to sleep in mine.”

  Oh, no.

  Oh, please God, no.