The Submissive (The Submissive 1)

I risked a peek at him and his face almost stopped me in my tracks. His teeth were clenched and his expression…his expression was a picture of pain. As if he were on the whipping bench.

In that second, I knew what he was doing. Trying to prove to himself that we were only about sex. And that made me angry, because last night had been beautiful. We could be beautiful. He just wouldn’t admit it. He could be my dom, I could be his sub, and it could be beautiful.

He twitched inside me and I knew he was close. I sucked him harder and when he came in my mouth, I swallowed frantically.

I felt him relax and the hands on my head loosened. He must have felt better about himself, because he looked more peaceful when he lowered a hand to help me up.

His nimble fingers made quick work of my shirt and pants. Honestly, I’m not even sure why I bothered getting dressed, it was a complete waste of time. The clothes never stayed on.

My eyes traveled to the bed and I saw a tube of lubricant off to the side—I’d missed seeing it before. My body tensed.

“Look at me, Abigail,” Nathaniel took both my hands. “I want you to answer my questions,” he said, drawing me to the bed. “Where are we?”

“Your room.” I climbed onto the bed and scooted to the middle, focusing my attention on him.

He crawled to me, still looking in my eyes. “Where in my room?”

“Your bed.”

He ran a hand up and down my side. “What happens in my bed?”

My stomach grew all tingly. “Pleasure.”

“Yes,” he said, bending down to kiss my throat, lowering me to the bed.

I closed my eyes as the sensations rippled through me. His lips, his tongue, his teeth. He nibbled, licked, and sucked.

“Just feel, Abigail,” he whispered. His hands dipped and brushed through my curls, stroked lower still to where I ached for him. But instead of moving on top of me, he moved again. His mouth nibbled the slope of my stomach, his tongue dipped into my bellybutton.

His finger entered me slowly, swirling around my entrance, dancing in and out. I rocked my hips.

“Yes,” he soothed. “Just feel.”

He moved between my thighs, bent my knees, and pushed them apart. I lifted my hips, begging for friction.

“Wait,” he said against my wetness and the vibration of his voice felt so good, I moaned. “Wait.”

His tongue replaced his fingers, right where I needed him. Then, in one swift move, he hitched my legs over his shoulders and his tongue slipped in and out of me. Slowly. Too slowly. I pushed against him, needing him, wanting more. One of his fingers drew lazy circles around my clit.

I was so close. I teetered on the edge.

His hands left and some part of me knew what he was doing, but the bigger part of me didn’t care because his tongue had replaced his finger, going around and around, but never giving me exactly what I needed.

Slick fingers came back, circling my lower opening, matching the rhythm his tongue continued. He pushed a fingertip inside at the same time he licked my clit.

I gasped.

“Pleasure, Abigail,” he said, slowly moving his fingertip in and out, while his voice did that wondrous vibration thing. “Just pleasure.”

His finger slowly went deeper and deeper while he continued licking and nibbling at my growing ache. He slipped his tongue inside me, in and out, in and out. His finger moved slower.

My body once more teetered on the edge and, damn it, I never expected what he was doing to feel good, but it did. So much better than the plug. So much better than I thought possible.

“Relax,” he whispered, but it must have been in jest, because I couldn’t have been more relaxed. He added a second finger and I felt a stretching pain, but his tongue was back. Swirling. Licking. Teasing me. Keeping me from my release. And his fingers moved in and out.

He moved his mouth so that his tongue was thrusting in and out while his teeth grazed my clit. And his fingers kept up their rhythm.

I lifted my h*ps to get some of him, any of him, further inside.

“That’s it, Abigail,” he said. “Let it go. Let me make it good.”

I believed him. He could make it good. He would make it good. I had no more doubts.

His teeth grazed across my cl*t roughly, right as his fingers thrust deeply inside.

My cl**ax washed over me, throwing me off the edge completely.

When I came back to my senses, Nathaniel was looking down at me, a touch of smugness on his face.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Mmmmm,” I mumbled.

He lay down beside me and took me in his arms. “Can I take that as a yes?”

I nodded and pushed my head into his chest. And there, for just a second, I had him back.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Nathaniel surprised me when he visited the Rare Books Collection that Wednesday. Surprised me in a good way.

“I’ve been giving some thought to what you said about the car issue,” he said, zipping his pants up.

“You have?” I slipped my socks on quickly, wanting to be dressed completely if we were going to fight. There was no way, no how I’d ever agree to him buying me a car.

He straightened his tie. “I’ve decided not to press the issue.”

“What?”

“The idea made you extremely uncomfortable, and though part of me still thinks it’d be safer for you to drive, your mental wellbeing is just as important to me.” He walked over and stood in front of me. “I won’t have you ever thinking you’re a whore.”

I was a little surprised he’d drop the subject without further discussion, but pleased that he wasn’t going to push his will on me. “Thank you.”

“Give and take, Abigail, that’s what relationships are.” He took his coat on his way to the door. “I appreciate you being honest with me about your feelings. I have difficulties with that myself.”

No shit, Sherlock.

I slipped down from the table and slid my shoes on. “Maybe we can work on that together.”

He held the door open for me. “Maybe.”

I met him at the private airport terminal at four o’clock Friday afternoon. He stood waiting by a beautiful private jet. At least, I assumed it was beautiful—it’s not like I’d ever seen a private jet up close before, so I had nothing to compare it to.

“Good afternoon, Abigail,” he said. “Thank you for making arrangements to leave work early.”

I nodded and took the outstretched hand he offered to help me up the stairway into the plane. The interior was spacious and sleek. It looked like a fancy apartment: it had a bar, leather couches, even an open doorway leading to a bedroom and, of course, leather chairs.

The pilot waved when he saw us enter the main cabin. “We’ll be ready for take-off shortly, Mr. West,” he said.

Nathaniel motioned toward the chairs. “We should be seated.”

I sat beside him, butterflies in my stomach, while the handful of staff prepared for flight. I was nervous for several different reasons—seeing Nathaniel’s family again, concern over the expectations Nathaniel had of me, wondering just how the game would go, and, okay, I won’t lie, I was driving myself crazy over what Nathaniel’s plans involved.

In no time at all we were airborne. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

“I want to discuss the weekend with you,” Nathaniel said. “Your collar will remain on. You are still my submissive. But my aunt and Jackson have no need to know of our private life. Also, you will not address me as Master, sir, or Mr. West. If you try, you can avoid using my name at all.” He met my eyes. “You will not call me by my given name unless it is unavoidable.”

I nodded.

“Now, today,” he said, “you’re going to learn about control.”

An older lady walked into the cabin. “Can I get you or Ms. King anything, Mr. West?”

“No,” Nathaniel said. “We’ll page you if we need anything.”

“Very good, sir.”

“She’ll spend the remainder of the flight with the pilot unless we need her,” Nathaniel said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Which we won’t.” He held out his hand. “Come with me.”

We walked to the bedroom and Nathaniel closed the door. “Remove your clothing and get on the bed.”

I did as he said, watching him move around the small room. I estimated we had about two hours. Thinking of the things he could do to me in two hours made me giddy.

I got on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Anticipation bubbled in my belly as I wondered what he meant by ‘control’.

I didn’t have to wait long. Nathaniel, fully dressed, walked around the bed, and stretched out my arms so they were perpendicular to my body. My legs he left alone. “Stay like this and I won’t tie you up.”

He sat on the bed, holding what looked like a bowl in his hand. “This is a battery-operated hotplate,” he said. “Normally, I’d use a candle for this, but the pilot won’t allow it.” He gave a small smile. “And rules are rules.”

A candle? Was there wax somewhere?

He took a blindfold from his pocket. “This works better blindfolded.”

Soon, I was wrapped in darkness. Once again n**ed and waiting.

Nathaniel spoke in that smooth, seductive voice. “Most people find the sensation of the heat very pleasurable.”

I hissed as a drop of wax landed on my upper arm, surprised at how good it felt.

He rubbed it in. “This is special candle wax. It turns to body oil once heated.”

Another drop landed on my other arm, followed again by the gentle feel of Nathaniel’s hand. The uncertainty of where the wax would land next had me tense and waiting. Then it would come—dribbled down my belly, across my upper thigh, down between my breasts. The initial heat gradually subsided into a warmth that left me weak and jelly-like. After every drop, Nathaniel would rub the oil into my body with long, sensuous strokes.

The heat landed on my nipple and I gasped.

Ohhhhh. Damn, that felt good.

Again he followed with his hand, rubbing the oil in.

“Do you like the heat, Abigail?” he asked, his breath hot in my ear as another drop landed on the opposite nipple.

I could only moan.

He dribbled a stream of wax over both breasts. The bed moved and I felt Nathaniel straddle me, both hands rubbing up my torso, cupping my br**sts and running the length of my arms.

“Control,” he said. “To whom do you belong? Answer me.”

“You,” I whispered.

“That’s right,” he said. “And by the end of tonight, you’ll be begging for my cock.” His thumbs rubbed over my nipples, pinching, pulling. “If you’re good, I might just let you have it.”

The bed moved again and he left. I felt weak with anticipation. Still naked, still at his mercy and, suddenly, very much alone.

Our hotel was a five-star resort in Tampa. I’d wondered over the week what the arrangements would be. Would I share Nathaniel’s bed at last? Would he make me sleep on the floor? Would we have two separate rooms?

I stood with him as he checked in, acutely aware of his body next to mine. I could almost feel the electricity coming from him. I wondered how the hotel clerk kept from fanning herself. Of course, he hadn’t massaged her less than an hour ago with hot body wax.

“Here you go, Mr. West,” she said. “The Presidential Suite is ready for you.”

She glanced at me.

Yes, I wanted to say, I’m with him. Deal.

“How many keys will you need?” she asked.

“Two, please.”

She handed the keys to him and he stuck both of them in his pocket. “Your luggage will be up shortly,” she said.

He thanked her and we made our way to our room.

“I booked us a suite so you could have your own room and bathroom without the hassle of being down the hall or in a separate room from me.” He handed me a key. “You might need this.”