w of people on the street far below and decided I needed some air.
I’d always felt there was something to be said for allowing oneself to get lost in the city, to become one with the crush of people. The city was alive, and to mix in and become part of it was to feel that life seep into your soul and revive the sluggish parts.
For the next forty-five minutes I simply walked. The last time I’d gone for a pleasure walk in New York was in December when Abby and I had gone Christmas shopping. Now I walked by a few of Abby’s favorite shops, wishing she was with me. Before I knew it, I found myself going into a rare-book store that she loved.
Though my parents had been avid book collectors and had built the estate’s massive library, it wasn’t until I shared the space with Abby that I truly learned to appreciate it. We had added a few volumes to the collection over the years, but we were always looking for more.
The shopkeeper, Jeremiah, saw me and waved me over. He was an older gentleman with white hair and walked with a hunch. Perhaps from spending so much time bent over one of his beloved books.
“Mr. West,” he said with a grin when I made it to the worn wooden counter. “I was going to call your wife. I had a book come in earlier this week that I think she would like.”
I didn’t doubt him. Before we had kids, Abby and I would visit the shop on weekends and she would go through boxes of books with Jeremiah. I’d enjoyed simply standing nearby and watching her joy at new discoveries.
“What do you have?” I asked, peering over the counter.
“First-edition Lord Byron—1815 Hebrew Melodies.” He stated it with pride.
I looked over the well-kept volume. “An excellent find.”
He craned his neck to look over my shoulder. “Is Mrs. West with you this afternoon?”
“No, unfortunately, she’s at home. Had some work to catch up on.” I was already reaching for my credit card. “But this is just the thing for me to give her tomorrow since I have to stay in the city overnight.”
Jeremiah’s white head nodded as he rang me up and wrapped the book. I, meanwhile, was thinking back to a cold winter night. A night I’d entered the library to find Abby, who’d only been my sexual submissive at the time, combing through the poetry section. What followed was a game of quotes that ended with her naked in my lap and a moment of passion that forever changed me.
“Mr. West?” Jeremiah held the book up.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the package from him and promising to give Abby his regards.
I made my way back to the office and pulled out my notes for the upcoming meeting with Charlene. The trip to the bookstore had made me melancholy and I thought about driving home after we’d finished. Once there, I could take Abby back into the playroom for a different kind of scene from what I’d done last night.
But she had work she had to do, and even though she probably wouldn’t want to admit it, I was willing to bet she was looking forward to some alone time. With two kids, her job, and our playtime, she didn’t have much time that was hers alone. My fingers hovered above my phone and I thought about calling, but a sharp knock on my office door stopped me.
“Charlene,” I said, opening the door. “Thank you for meeting with me on a Saturday.”
“Don’t mention it,” she said, breezing past me. “I’m just glad we were able to work something out before I left town.”
I tried to imagine her from Abby’s perspective. Charlene was a lovely woman, with blond hair and blue eyes. I was sure other men would find her attractive, but she didn’t even compare to my Abby. I’d hired Charlene to run my late uncle’s nonprofit because my involvement had gotten unmanageable and I counted myself fortunate to have found her. She was a hard worker and had done more in a few months than I could have accomplished in a year.
I motioned to the couch near the large window and we sat down.
For the next few hours we went through the accounts and I signed all the papers she’d brought for me. When we finished, I leaned back in my seat.
“Can I get you something to drink?” I asked.
“You can do better than that,” she said, putting her documents inside her tote bag. “I’m free for dinner.”
“I better not.” It was certainly tempting, since I was otherwise eating alone and Charlene was a delightful conversationalist. Still, even though I knew nothing would ever happen between the two of us, there were several reasons it wasn’t a good decision to go out to dinner with her. For one, Abby wouldn’t like it and two, people would see us together.
“Just saying.” She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “A bit of company would be preferable to an empty penthouse.”
“Charlene,” I said with more force than necessary. “I do not enjoy repeating myself endlessly, nor do I like being badgered. I’m having dinner alone tonight. Do you understand?”
Her eyes had grown dark. “Yes, sir.”
It was not unheard of for employees to call me sir. However, I had been a Dominant long enough to know the difference between a business associate using the title and a submissive’s yielding. Our eyes locked and a moment of recognition passed between us as we each acknowledged what the other person was.
Knowledge was a good thing. Wisdom a better thing. And I had the only submissive I wanted or needed in Abby. I nonchalantly reached for my cell phone. “The sir isn’t necessary. You know I prefer Nathaniel.”
She shook herself, as if waking from a trance. “Right. Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Of course, saying not to worry about it is quite different from not worrying about it myself. As I ate dinner in the penthouse that night, watching the lights of the city, I wondered if somehow I had known all along. Had I been drawn to hire Charlene because I somehow instinctively recognized her submissive nature?
I didn’t believe that to be the case. I felt certain that in all my years of business, I had worked with people who identified themselves as submissives and I was none the wiser. After all, I didn’t tell my business associates I was a Dominant.
Which led me to another question: did I tell Abby?
She made no secret of her dislike of Charlene. But I was around submissive women all the time when we met with our BDSM groups, and she had never reacted toward them the way she did toward Charlene. Abby was normally a very sensible woman who rarely made rash judgments.
I stood up from the table, cleaned the kitchen, and took a shower. By the time I got out and dried off, it was after ten. Abby was probably either working on the assignment I gave her or writing the revised piece for the blog. On any other Saturday night, we’d be headed to the playroom. I’d spend the next few hours working her into a frenzy of pleasure, driving us both to the highs we craved so much. I missed her.
I glanced once more at the clock and picked up my phone.
She answered on the first ring. “Hello, Master.”
“Abigail.” My body immediately relaxed at the sound of her voice. “How was your day?”
“Productive, Master. I accomplished a lot. I did the writing assignment you asked for and then I did my new piece for work.”
“You did all that today?”
“Only because I found some things I’d written while researching other posts. I was able to use some of it for the new piece. That cut down on the time I had to spend working.”
“Sounds like you were very productive. I think you deserve a reward.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
She had to be on edge after not being able to come the night before. “Where are you right now?”
“I’m reading in bed, Master.”
“What are you reading?”
“A dirty, filthy erotic novel and thinking about you.”
I was already hard, and hearing her mention the book she was reading made me uncomfortably so. I undid my pants. “What are you wearing?”
“One of your white dress shirts.”
I groaned. My plan was to have her strip, but the image of her in
my shirt had me pushing my boxer briefs down. “Leave it on. Are you wearing panties?”
“Just a tiny pair.”
“Take them off.”