by Tara Sue Me
I squeezed his knee. Thank you.
He returned the squeeze. You’re welcome.
“I’d better head home,” Felicia said two hours later, when the last dish had been put in the dishwasher, following the high-spirited dinner. “Abby promised to help me finish the table seating arrangements.”
Jackson leaned against the countertop. “Explain to me again why we care where people sit?”
Felicia huffed and picked her purse up from beside the refrigerator. “We just do.”
“But, baby, you’ve gone over the table arrangements five times already.” He winked at me, obviously enjoying pushing this particular button of Felicia’s. “We’ll be just as married if the Tompkinses sit beside the McDonalds or not.”
She ignored him. “When did you say your dad was getting into town?” she asked me.
“Thursday before,” I answered, slipping my hand inside Nathaniel’s. He had mentioned how much he was looking forward to meeting my dad. A thought flitted through my head: will he mention the collar if I have it on?
She put her hands on her hips. “Think he’d like to sit with the Tompkinses?”
“Even I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Nathaniel said. Of course he wouldn’t think that would be a good idea. Who wanted his current girlfriend’s parent to sit next to and have dinner with his ex-girlfriend’s parents?
“In that case, I guess Abby and I have a lot of work to do,” Felicia said.
Nathaniel pulled me to the door. “I’ll take you home.” He nodded to Jackson. “We still on for dinner tomorrow night?”
His cousin had eyes only for his fiancée. “If I make it to tomorrow. I’ll make you a deal,” he said to Felicia. “I won’t say another word about table arrangements if you let me keep the trophies in the living room.”
Her hands were still on her hips as her lips curled. “As long as you know I still think they would look better in your office.”
He moved to her, a twin smile covering his face. “And as long as you know I still don’t know why we care where everyone sits.”
He’d made it to her. Their arms came around each other. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear. She giggled and pressed closer to him.
Nathaniel and I walked out of the kitchen, still holding hands, and left through the front door.
“Meet me for lunch tomorrow?” he asked.
“Sushi?”
“I can always do sushi,” he said. “Though I do prefer when you and I make it.”
We’d made it to his car. “Then how about we do sushi Tuesday night and do something else for lunch tomorrow?”
“Tuesday night sounds great,” he said. “Do you have plans for tomorrow night?”
I picked at an imaginary piece of lint on his shirt, just because I wanted to touch him. “Final dress fitting.”
“Fun.”
“Not really, but I’ll survive. Especially if I have Tuesday to look forward to.”
He smiled. “Tuesday night we make sushi.” His voice dropped. “Will you stay the night?”
I leaned toward him. “Yes,” I said, and I felt his breath on my cheek.
His lips grazed mine. “Thank you.”
“If I can’t apologize”—I put my arms around him—“you can’t thank me.”
His laugh was warm and deep in my ear. I pulled back and smiled. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
As he, once more, moved close to me, I shut my eyes and breathed in the scent of him. He smelled dark and woodsy.
Our lips touched, gentle at first. I sighed and ran my fingers through his hair. He moaned and parted his lips, deepening the kiss. Then what was gentle grew passionate and what was soft became laced with need. But we both knew we could not give in to our need. It wouldn’t progress beyond the kiss.
When our lips parted, he sighed against my cheek. “I love you.”
Chapter Seven
—ABBY—
I turned the rice cooker on and walked to where Nathaniel stood cutting cucumbers, carrots, and avocados. I reached under his arm and grabbed a peeled carrot.
“Hey.” He spun around. “I was just getting ready to use that one.”
“You have plenty.” I took a small bite, enjoying the satisfying crunch.
He narrowed his eyes and watched me with mock ire as I chewed and swallowed.
“FYI,” I said, shaking the carrot at him. “I will never pick peas over carrots on a Tuesday night. Unless they’re cooked. I hate cooked carrots.”
His eye crinkled up at the edges and his mouth gave way to a beautiful smile. “Point taken.”
“Now.” I reached for the peeler and took another carrot. “Since I’ve deprived you of your peeled carrot, the least I can do is peel another one for you.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, his hand brushing my shoulder just slightly before moving away from me. “The very least.”
I knew he was working hard, trying to let me dictate our weekday time. He had been hesitant at lunch the previous day, a change from the cookout with Felicia and Jackson when he’d touched me almost constantly.
I turned to him and stroked his hand. “I like it when you touch me. Don’t stop just because you’re afraid I’ll take it the wrong way or will feel obligated.”
His smile grew even larger. “You know me so well.”
I lifted to my toes and gave him a small kiss. “Sometimes.”
The look in his eyes told me he didn’t believe me. I decided not to pursue it further. Besides, there was something else I wanted to talk about. I turned back to the counter and began peeling the carrot.
“You wanted to ask me something about this weekend?” I asked.
He took another carrot and we worked side by side.
“You’ve heard me talk about Paul?” he asked.
Paul was Nathaniel’s mentor. I knew that. The man who had been his instructor. Nathaniel told me once that Paul was the only person he’d ever subbed for. My mind still couldn’t wrap itself around that—Nathaniel subbing for someone. Even if there wasn’t any sex involved, it still confused me.
“And Christine?” he asked.
Paul’s wife. And submissive. They had a three-month-old son, Sam. Paul had e-mailed Nathaniel pictures of the pudgy baby. Sam was cute as a button and had a precious toothless grin.
“Of course I remember you talking about Paul,” I said. “Hard to forget that one.”
The image of Nathaniel willingly submitting himself to anyone wasn’t anything I could easily forget.
“I spoke to him,” he said. “He’s invited us to New Hanover this weekend.”
This weekend?
“I told him I’d talk to you about it, get your thoughts,” he said. “You could talk with Christine some. She’s a submissive, and I think it would be a good idea for you to talk with someone you can relate to like that.”
I kept peeling the carrot. Someone to talk to? Someone who wasn’t Nathaniel? Would that be weird? How did one start that conversation, anyway? Hi, I’m Abby and I crave domination?
“He also mentioned the two of them playing for us,” Nathaniel said. “Perhaps something on your soft limit list.”
Watch people have sex?
The peeler slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor.
He dropped down and picked it up. When he stood, he gently cupped my face. “You have ‘watching others’ listed as willing on your checklist. I would never violate your hard limits. Ever.”
My mind spun in a hundred directions. Would we be in Paul’s playroom? How did that work? Would Christine care?
“You have ‘forced nudity around others’ and ‘exhibitionism among friends’ listed as soft limits.” He didn’t move his hand. “I won’t push those limits this weekend. You will remain clothed, and I will not ask you to play in front of anyone.”
We were both silent for several seconds, and his unspoken words rang in my head. A reminder he would push my limits at some point.
He smiled. “A
nd it’s Tuesday, Abby.”
Tuesday. Abby.
He waited until Tuesday to bring the weekend up because he wanted my honest opinion. I understood immediately why he hadn’t asked me on Sunday, not when I’d very nearly called him master in front of Jackson and Felicia. He knew my answer might be hindered by wearing his collar so recently if he’d asked any earlier.
“Wow,” I said. “When I marked that down, I guess I wasn’t thinking anything would happen this fast.”
“Do you not want to go?”
I tilted my head. “No. It’s not that. I just have to think a minute.”
I went back to the vegetables, making sure everything was ready for when the rice came out. He walked to the refrigerator and pulled out the tuna and eel—giving me space, allowing me time to think through my answer.
“Have you ever had sex with Christine?” I asked.
“What?” He looked up from unwrapping the fish. “No.”
“Have you ever played with her?” I asked, rethinking my question.
“No.” He took a knife and cut the tuna into strips. “I have watched them before.”
“That would have been my next question.”
“I thought as much.”
I separated the vegetables into little piles—my pile and his—and thought more about his question. Would it be odd to sit down for dinner with a couple after seeing them in a playroom?
“Abby?” he asked, washing his hands. “Paul and Christine are highly regarded in the community, and they’re quite used to dealing with jitters. It may be slightly uncomfortable at times, but this is something they’re both used to. He told me Christine gets turned on by being watched.”
I thought about that. Remembered back to when Nathaniel and I had sex at the Super Bowl. There was still an undercurrent of excitement that ran through me whenever I thought about it.
“Christine would be a good person for you to talk with,” he said. “She would understand and help you with any questions you have but aren’t comfortable talking to me about.” He walked to me and stroked my cheekbone. His expressive eyes betrayed the even tone of his voice. “And she married her dominant.”
Married her dominant.
Would Nathaniel and I one day be at that point? Would he want that? Would I?
I thought about how close I was to Felicia and pondered how nice it would be to have a girlfriend in the lifestyle I could talk with. Then I thought about my checklists and the items I had marked as soft limits. Would I be willing to modify my checklist afterward? Would watching one of my soft limits play out before me change my interest?
“Let’s go.” I smiled. “Let’s do it.”
I thought he would ask me if I was sure, but instead he kissed me softly. “I’ll call Paul tomorrow.”
After dinner, we took Apollo outside to play a bit of catch. He knew what we were going to do and ran out before us, practically dancing in his excitement.
Nathaniel and I walked outside, our arms brushing every so often. He threw a tennis ball to Apollo when we’d made it out to the cherry trees. Apollo growled low in his throat and took off at a run to catch the ball and bring it back for another round.
I giggled when Apollo nearly tripped over his feet as he turned back to us. He looked as if he were laughing when he returned.
“What a ham,” I said.
“He likes to show off for you,” Nathaniel said, throwing the ball again.
The three of us played fetch for a few more minutes. The weather had finally turned warm, and even though it was still more than a week away, it looked as if Felicia and Jackson would have nice weather for the wedding. I wasn’t sure how Felicia did it; I’d never be able to handle planning an outdoor wedding. Too much uncertainty.
“When does the lease on your apartment run out?” he asked.
His question rattled me, and I messed up on my throw of the ball. Fortunately, Apollo didn’t care.
“Mid-June,” I said.
“Are you going to renew?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
I heard him take a deep breath from where he stood beside me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he said.
I steeled myself. Was he going to ask me to move in with him? What would I say? How would I answer? I threw the ball to Apollo again, and I noticed my hand shook.
“Will it bother you to be alone once Felicia’s not next door?” he asked.
I’d asked myself that same question numerous times. “I don’t know.”
“I’m not sure I like you being there by yourself.”
“Because Felicia offered me so much protection? I am a big girl, you know.”
“I know you are. I just worry.”
“Maybe I’ll get a dog or take Apollo with me or get a really big can of Mace or—”
“Or you could move in with me.”
My breath caught, and I shifted my gaze to follow Apollo. “I suppose that depends.”
“On?”
“On if you want me to move in because you want me or because you’re worried about me.”
His eyes were soft and pleading. “You doubt I want you?”
“It didn’t seem like that was your primary motive in asking me to move in.”
“I messed up,” he confessed. “Let me try this a different way.” He took my face in his hands and lifted my chin so our gazes met. “I want you in the morning when your hair’s a mess and you’re grumpy until you’ve had your coffee. I want you in the evening so you can tell me about your day while we make dinner together. And I want you at night because I love nothing more than to fall asleep knowing you’re closer than my next breath.” His lips lightly brushed mine. “Will you move in with me?”
My mouth was dry. I couldn’t speak.
“Abby?”
“Yes.”
Smiling once more, he took my hand and we walked back inside the house.
Hours later, I stood in his room, watching as he took Apollo out one last time. Through the large picture window in his bedroom, I could see Apollo roaming the yard, nose to the grass. Nathaniel stood at his side, looking up at the moon, deep in thought.
I scanned the expanse of his yard, following the long path of his driveway until trees obscured it. It didn’t seem real that in about three weeks, this would be my new home. This house. This yard. This room.
“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.”