The Training tst-6 Page 10

  At first my sense of touch felt the most noticeable. The softness of the pillow under me. The movement of air around my bared belly. The hard bones and strong muscles of Nathaniel’s knee under my fingers. Even the silkiness of the blindfold.

  Then came the sounds. The ragged intake of Paul’s breath as Christine did whatever it was she was doing. The whispery words of encouragement, too low to make out, but spoken in a tone I completely understood. From above me, the steady sound of Nathaniel’s breathing. Even my own heart. The once quiet room became a cacophony of noise.

  I could no longer measure the passage of time with anything save my breaths and heartbeat. I tried to find something else and settled on the rhythmic sounds coming from the couple in front of me.

  Christine let out a low whimper of pleasure, and I wondered what was happening. Then I recalled Nathaniel’s whisper and knew what was happening wasn’t what he wanted me to get from the experience.

  You are brave and strong and fierce, he’d said in bed the night before.

  I’d thought them to be romantic words, meant to soothe, to ease me into sleep. But hearing and experiencing the scene before me, they became so much more.

  I saw Christine’s braveness in her supine position on the floor as she waited for Paul’s command.

  I heard her strength in the sounds of Paul’s words as he softly encouraged her and eventually gave in to his own desires.

  I felt the fierceness from both of them with emotions so fiery they damn near lit the playroom with their heat.

  It’s you, I had whispered back to him. You let me be brave and strong and fierce. I’d meant it when I’d said it the night before, and I still believed the words to be true. Yet there was another facet added to my understanding, and as the couple before me continued, I sat in blinded awe of that knowledge.

  Chapter Ten

  —ABBY—

  Nathaniel took my hand and I jumped at his touch, unprepared for the jolt of desire that accompanied his hand wrapping around mine. He placed my hand in my lap.

  “Get in your waiting position,” he whispered, his husky voice sending another wave of longing through me.

  I slipped off the pillow and moved into the position I took when in his playroom. While kneeling on the floor, I strained my ears, trying to hear what was happening. I hadn’t been in Paul’s playroom long enough to know what furniture Nathaniel was near, much less guess what he might be doing or getting.

  And were Paul and Christine still in the room? Were they watching me? Nathaniel said he wouldn’t push my exhibitionism limits this weekend, but would this be considered exhibitionism? I mean, I was just kneeling.

  I tried again to hear, to pick up on any voices, any whisper. Then it hit me—it didn’t matter. Didn’t matter what Nathaniel had planned. He was in control. I gave him that power, and to worry would be second-guessing him.

  If Paul and Christine were in the room, I wanted my submission to be a mirror of what I had just seen play out before me. I realized then that I didn’t even care if Paul and Christine were in the room. I wanted them to see. Wanted to show them how proud I was to serve my master.

  Bare feet padded to me.

  “Stand up, Abigail,” Nathaniel said.

  I scrambled as gracefully as possible to my feet, but the change in position, combined with the blindfold, disoriented me, and I swayed a bit.

  He caught me, slipped his arms around my shoulders. “Steady, my lovely.” He didn’t move his hands, but kept his hold on me. “I need you to trust me.”

  Yes. Anything.

  “Paul and Christine have left. Only the two of us are in here.”

  My heart pounded. We were alone. Alone. Oh, the things he could do when we were alone.

  “You are to answer any question I ask immediately and honestly,” he said. “Understand?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Master.

  The word meant so much more now that I’d watched Paul and Christine.

  Master.

  I shivered in the new appreciation of its meaning. Every time I spoke it, I renewed my commitment to him. Reminded him I was with him by choice. Had given control to him. Confirmed I wanted him.

  Had a six-letter word ever carried so much meaning?

  He took my hand. “Come with me.”

  We walked. I wasn’t sure where we were going. We weren’t leaving, were we? I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay in the playroom. I wanted Nathaniel to take me, to use me, to . . .

  But it was his choice, and if he wanted us to leave, he’d have good reason.

  He pulled us to a stop. I didn’t think it was near the door. It was hard to get my bearings, but I thought we were near the wall opposite the door.

  “Undress,” he said, dropping my hand.

  I’d undressed for him numerous times, as both his lover and his submissive, but it seemed different somehow. More intense.

  I imagined him watching as I hooked my thumbs into my waistband.

  “Top first.”

  I reached behind my back and unhooked my bra. It fell to the floor and, almost immediately, his hands were on me. Walking me backward until my back hit something wooden.

  His thumbs rubbed my nipples, and I bit the inside of my cheek. His mouth ran softly across my neck. “You did so well this morning. I’m so proud of you.”

  I couldn’t tell what made me happier—his hands and mouth on me or his praise.

  “I’m so proud. I decided to give you a little reward.” His hands took one of my wrists and locked it into a soft cuff above my head. He repeated the action to the other wrist, and his teeth grazed my earlobe. “By fucking you good and hard while you’re bound to Paul’s cross.”

  Ah, hell, yes.

  While he talked, his hands moved—over my shoulders, across my chest, tweaking a nipple, stroking my belly. I became a quivering mass of need, spurred along by his deep, husky voice.

  “I do have one of these in my own playroom,” he said, oblivious to my desires, or maybe he knew exactly what he was doing. “Next time we’re in there, I’ll bind you with your back facing me.” His touch grew rougher. “Your ass completely exposed.” He grabbed the fabric at my hips and jerked it down, baring me completely. “Would you like that, Abigail?”

  I gasped as the cool air hit my aching flesh. His fingers grazed my clit.

  “Yes, please, Master,” I said in a half whisper, half groan.

  Fingertips traced lazy circles across my bare flesh, dipping occasionally into my wetness. “You enjoyed the rabbit fur. I think it’s time to move up to suede.”

  I shivered just thinking about offering my backside to his flogger.

  “But for now,” he said, spreading my legs, “we have other business to attend to. Wouldn’t you say?”

  He was deliberately baiting me. Between the promises of what waited for me in his playroom, his hands on my body, and the anticipation of what he was getting ready to do, I could hardly form a coherent thought.

  “Whatever you wish, Master.”

  He chuckled. “I’m so glad you see things my way.”

  With one movement, he picked my legs up and thrust into me. My backside hit the wood behind me with a force that drove him deeper.

  “Don’t hold back,” he said, and I wrapped my legs around him. “This room’s soundproof.” He pulled back, rocked into me again, and I let out a loud moan. “I think.”

  Part of me wanted Paul and Christine to hear. After all, it only seemed fair. I wanted them to know what Nathaniel did to me, how I responded to him, how he commanded my every move, my every thought and, it seemed, sometimes my every breath, during our weekends.

  He thrust into me again, and Paul and Christine left my thoughts completely. I concentrated only on the feel of him as he drove me closer and closer to release. He shifted my legs, angled his hips, and hit that sweet spot deep inside me.

  I couldn’t hold back anything then. I yelled.

  He continued his thrusts, stroking inside
me again and again, until I was dizzy with pleasure. His breaths came in short gasps, and he moved a hand between our bodies.

  I let out another yelp as he rubbed my clit. “Please, Master,” I begged.

  His voice was tight. “Please, what?”

  Oh, God, his fingers. His cock. Being vulnerable and at his mercy. “Please, Master. I can’t hold on anymore.”

  He thrust again. “Come, then.”

  My climax swept through me with the next pass of his hand.

  “Hold on,” he said, taking my hips and pushing me against the wall, legs still wrapped around his waist. With quick, deep movements, he entered me over and over, driving himself toward his own release.

  I felt another climax building and, as he spilled himself deep inside me, his movements caused me to come again.

  For the next few minutes, he rested against me, breathing hard and heavy. When we’d both recovered somewhat, he gently lowered my legs to the floor. He quickly unlocked my wrists and spent several minutes rubbing my arms and shoulders.

  Then, finally, his fingers reached behind my head and the blindfold fell away. I met his eyes for the first time since we’d left the hallway to enter the playroom.

  It was there.

  The intense longing, passion, and love I’d wondered about was there. I sucked in a breath.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes, Master.” I stood and basked in wonder at the emotion in his eyes. “So much more than okay,” I whispered.

  After, he took me back to the guest room. I sat in his arms while he leaned back against the headboard. As much as I wanted to talk after our morning, I was glad he held me—I still felt more comfortable touching as we talked.

  “I want you to be completely honest with me now,” he said, and I relaxed further into his embrace. “What do you think so far?”

  “I have so many thoughts, so much information to process,” I said. “But first, thank you for setting this up. I was worried at first, but it’s been so helpful.”

  “How so?”

  “Everything,” I said, not sure how else to describe it. “Starting with Christine. She’s so confident, so sure of herself.”

  I heard the worry in his voice. “Have you had doubts about yourself?”

  I dropped my head, and my hair fell forward. “Not when I’m with you. It’s when I’m at work, or talking with Felicia. Even when I’m around Elaina and Todd. I used to wonder if there was something wrong with us.”

  “And now?” he asked, voice thick with emotion.

  “I don’t wonder anymore,” I said, wanting to reassure him. “Seeing Paul and Christine, the life they’ve built. I’m not ready for children and everything, but I see now that when I am . . . I’ll be okay.”

  “We’ll be okay,” he corrected.

  My heart leapt at the underlying meaning of his words, and I turned my head to kiss him. “We’ll be okay,” I repeated.

  “Anything else?” he asked, stroking my hair.

  “So much.” I leaned back into his embrace once more. “Christine helped me understand how important it is to give you feedback. I see now it’s not telling you what to do.”

  “I’m glad someone finally got that point across.”

  “I never wanted you to think I was telling you what to do.”

  “There’s a world of difference between telling me what to do and telling me what you like or want more of,” he said in the firm but gentle voice I loved so much.

  “I know. Christine said if it was easier, I could tell you on a weekday what I’d like to do.”

  “Or you could tell me on a weekend.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t imagine doing that.”

  He was quiet, and I wondered if he’d change the subject altogether, but then he spoke again. “What if I gave you another safe word?”

  “What?”

  “We could add ‘green.’”

  “What would that do?”

  He took a deep breath. “If you wanted me to speed up or push you harder.”

  “Really?” I asked, excited about the prospect.

  “Yes. If you feel more comfortable saying ‘green’ instead of telling me directly,” he said. “But I will still ask for you to give me detailed feedback later.”

  I wondered why he hadn’t given me green weeks ago when we discussed the safe words, but then decided he probably hadn’t thought I’d ever want him to push me or that I’d feel comfortable using it.

  “I like it,” I said. “Let’s use it.”

  “What else did you and Christine talk about?” he asked, instead of talking further about safe words.

  “Listening to her talk about the twenty-four-seven relationship she had with Paul made me curious. I wonder how something like that would be.”

  He stiffened behind me.

  “Just for a week or so,” I hastened to add. “Not for an extended period or all the time.”

  He spoke carefully. “If, at some point in the future, you still want to explore something like that, I would not be opposed to extending our weekend play. But only for a specified period of time and only when you can prove to me you’re able and willing to give me feedback.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “It’s not something I’m particularly interested in. But if you want to try, I’ll do it for you.”

  I was starting to see the benefits of giving feedback. “Thank you.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but anything else?”

  “The scene with Paul and Christine. I never realized how it looked. How”—I stopped for a second—“beautiful it was.”

  “Beautiful?”

  “Mmm,” I said, tracing his fingers, intertwined with mine. “The trust. The control. How they played off and balanced each other.”

  “Almost overwhelming.”

  “The way he looked at her . . .” I stopped.

  “Yes?”

  “To think of you watching me. Looking at me like that.”

  He moved his hands to my shoulders. “Look at me.”

  I turned in his lap.

  Met his eyes.

  Gasped when I saw the truth of his next words.

  “I do,” he said. “Always.”

  Chapter Eleven

  —NATHANIEL—

  I stared into her eyes and saw she finally got it. Finally understood. At least in part. She gasped, and I hoped she found what she was looking for in my eyes.

  “Does it make sense now?” I cupped her cheek, stroked her skin. “Do you understand, just a bit, how I feel when I see what you give me?”

  “Yes,” she said, still searching my eyes. “I see it now.”

  “Good.” I drew her close and kissed her, my lips hard and urgent. I wanted to taste her. Feel her under me.

  She moaned into my mouth and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. For just a minute, I let myself go and gave in to the need I’d held back since seeing her amazement in the playroom. Only when she pulled me toward her, trying to bring me down on top of her, did I stop.

  “No,” I said, pushing back from her. “We can’t. Paul’s ordered lunch.” I honestly wanted to tell him we’d eat later and spend the next few hours alone with her in bed, but we couldn’t. We were guests in Paul’s home, and he’d been nice enough to ask me when he should plan to have lunch delivered. I felt I should honor the time frame I gave him.

  She sighed. “Yes, sir.”

  “Later,” I whispered to her.

  She smiled in response. Her fingers danced along my shirt. “Can I ask you one more question?”

  “Anything.”

  Her fingers didn’t stop. “Your other submissives,” she said. “Did they . . . and you . . . ?”

  I dug my fingers into her hair and pulled them through the softness. I understood why Paul had a rule that hair be up in his playroom, but I didn’t feel the same. As soon as we left the playroom, I took hers down.

  “Did I look at them the same way I l
ook at you?” I asked.

  “I understand if you did. I mean, I see more now.” Her fingers traced the neckline of my shirt. “Although I guess I’ve seen only you and Paul. And Christine and I are . . . well.” Her hands dropped. “Ah, hell. I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

  “I do.” I took her face in my hands. “And no, I can’t think for a minute I ever looked at anyone the way I look at you. You’re my one percent.”

  Her eyebrows wrinkled. “Your what?”

  “Before you came to my office that first day,” I explained, “I felt complete and at ease with my life ninety-nine percent of the time. But it was the missing one percent that haunted me. Then I found you—my missing one percent.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Oh.”

  “It’s you. It’s always been you. When you left me, it was you. When you came back, it was you. It will never be anyone else.” I brushed my lips across her cheek. “So when you ask if I ever watched anyone, submissive or otherwise, the way I watch you, the answer is a resounding ‘no.’” I pulled back from her once more. “And, as much as I’d like to keep you here in bed for several hours and prove it to you repeatedly, I did promise Paul we’d be down for lunch.”

  She looked crestfallen.

  “Later,” I whispered. “I promise.”

  After lunch, the four of us sat in the living room. I’d explained to Abby earlier that since Christine had given birth less than three months ago and was breastfeeding, Paul took extra time and attention when providing aftercare.

  “And inverted suspension is particularly intense,” I’d said. “Even without the other circumstances.”

  Christine looked completely content and relaxed, sitting on the couch with Paul’s arms around her. Her mother had dropped Sam back off and, after feeding him, Christine handed him to Abby.

  I was unprepared for the feelings that struck me when Abby held Sam. Before she came into my life, I’d never given any thought to getting married or having children. Somehow, having her in my life made anything seem possible.

  I thought back to the day I found my parents’ wedding bands, how I’d slipped my father’s on and how strange it had felt. Maybe it wouldn’t feel strange anymore.