The Dominant (15 page)

It was Wednesday and therefore a fitting day to drop by and see Abby at work. The first time I ever saw Abby had been on a
Wednesday. Outside of a library to be exact.

I told myself over and over again that this was just part of my Super Bowl plan. Maybe if I said it enough, I’d start to believe
it. Having sex in public, much less a football stadium, was a huge deal. I needed to ease her into it slowly. First step:
having sex in the just-as-public-but-much-less-likely-to-get-caught-there Rare Books Collection of the New York Public Library.

But it wasn’t just step one in my plan. I knew that. All I had to do was slip a hand inside my coat’s inner pocket to know
my Wednesday visit meant more. For there, tucked away where no one could see, was a perfect cream-colored rose. Just a hint
of pink on its tips.

After Abby left my house on Sunday, I’d Googled the inscription I found inside my parents’ wedding bands. The lines came from
a poem by John Boyle O’Reilly. Fascinated, I’d walked down to the library and found a slim volume of the poet’s work.

I spent the evening reading over several of his poems, but I found myself going back so often to the poem “A White Rose” that
by the end of the evening, the book fell open naturally to that page. I pondered the meaning of the poem, wondered if Abby
would have heard of it.

If I gave her a cream-colored rose tinged with pink, would she guess the meaning behind it? Would she know that my feelings
were growing beyond what I’d ever imagined I could feel? For anyone?

Did I want her to know that?

Fear pounded through me. It was so new. So unexpected. But as scared as I was, I had to know. Had to know if Abby might possibly
feel the same.

In the end, I’d decided to bring a rose to the library with me. I would keep it hidden in my coat pocket. Determine later
if I wanted to give it to her.

I stood inside the library for a few minutes, watching Abby work. Her back was to me and she had a stack of books by her side.
She worked diligently. A man approached her at one point, and she laughed at whatever it was he said. When he left, her hand
trailed absentmindedly to her throat and she fingered my collar.

A wild and shocking spurt of jealousy shot through me.

He’d made her laugh. Had I ever made her laugh? I thought back to our short time together. No, I never had.

With renewed determination, I walked to the front desk.

“I need to see something in the Rare Books Collection,” I said to her back.

She didn’t even turn around. Didn’t even acknowledge it was me. “I’m sorry. The Rare Books Collection is open by appointment
only and we’re a little short-staffed at the moment. I really don’t have time this afternoon.”

Maybe she didn’t recognize my voice.

“That’s rather disappointing, Abigail.”

She spun around at my use of her name. Her mouth hung open and her eyes were wide with shock.

“Is this really such a bad time?” I asked.

“No. But I’m sure you have the exact same books at your house.”

Yes, but you aren’t there. You’re here. I thought that much would be obvious.

“Probably,” I said.

“And,” she said, not really listening to me, “someone will have to escort you the entire time.”

Which is my entire point, Abby. I want you and I want to have you in the public library. Right now.

“I certainly hope so. It’d be rather boring in the Rare Books Collection all by myself.” I took a glove off and shoved it
in my pocket. “I know it’s not a weekend. Please feel free to tell me no. There will be no repercussions.”
You can turn me down
. I gave her a weak smile. “Will you escort me to the Rare Books Collection?”

“Ye-ye-yes,” she said, as understanding dawned in her eyes.

“Excellent.”

But she didn’t move. She stood staring at me. Like I’d disappear.

“Abigail, perhaps that lady right there”—I pointed to another librarian—“can work the front desk while you are . . . otherwise
occupied?”

I wanted there to be no misunderstanding—if she left the front desk for me, I’d be buried inside her in less than ten minutes.

“Abigail?”

“Martha?” she said, slipping out from behind the counter. “Watch the desk for me, will you? Mr. West has an appointment to
see the Rare Books Collection.”

That’s my girl.

We walked toward the stairs. Abby stayed slightly in front of me, and I took a minute to admire her very fine ass.

“Just for my education,” I said, focusing my attention on the curve of her backside, the way it moved as she walked, “does
the Rare Books Collection room happen to have a table?”

“Yes.”

Of course it did.

“Is it sturdy?” I asked.

“I suppose so.”

“Good. Because I plan to have more than books spread out for me.”

We reached the top of the stairs and walked down the hall to a set of double doors. She reached into her pockets and then
fumbled with the keys she withdrew. Finally, she found the correct one and unlocked the door.

“Oh, no. After you,” I said when she pushed the door open.

I locked the door behind us. While taking off my coat, I glanced around the room. In the middle of the room stood a waist-high
table.

That one.

But I took my time and walked around the room, running my fingers over the other tables, pretending to read a few titles.
I did everything deliberately, giving Abby more time to think about what we were going to do.

“This one,” I said, pointing to the table I’d picked out. The one standing at just the right height. “This one is exactly
what I had in mind.”

Abby had a sly grin on her face.

“Strip from the waist down, Abigail, and hop onto the table.”

She moved quickly, and I watched her bare ass as she climbed onto the table. Damn, I couldn’t wait to bury myself deep inside
her. My erection grew just thinking about it.

I unbuckled my belt. “Very nice. Put your heels and ass on the edge of the table and spread those pretty knees for me.”

The sight of her, legs spread and waiting, made my balls ache.

I grabbed the condom from my pocket and slipped my pants off. I took my time, making sure Abby watched everything. Again,
very deliberate. I rolled the condom on, resisting the urge to stroke myself.

“Beautiful,” I said, because she was. Because she was beautiful in her submission and beautiful offering herself to me.

I slowly made my way to the table and spread her knees farther apart.

“Tell me, Abigail,” I said, wrinkling my brow, studying our positions as if in deep concentration. “Have you ever been fucked
in the Rare Books Collection before?”

Her body shook with anticipation. I grabbed her hips tighter.

“No.”

I looked up at her. “No, what?” I wanted to hear it—either
Master
or
sir
. Either one.

“No, sir.”

I pushed forward, entering her slowly. “Much better.”

Her eyes closed when I held still. She bit her bottom lip with a small moan, and I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. I thrust
roughly, entering her deeply.

I took her hips and pulled her to me. “Lean back on your elbows, Abigail. I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll still be feeling
it Friday night.”

She leaned back, hair falling to the table as she did so, arching her back and taking more of me inside.

I pulled out and thrust again. The overhead light caught the diamonds on her collar and the stones winked at me.

Mine.

She was mine.

She wore my collar.

Mine.

I thrust again and she lifted herself up to take me deeper.

Maybe I never made her laugh, but I could do this to her—make her needy and aching, then fill her, build her need before finally
letting release overtake her. Bring her to the mountaintop and watch as she flew.

“You’re mine,” I growled, thrusting into her again.

She spread her legs wider, taking me farther inside.

“Mine. Say it, Abigail.”

Tell the world.

“Yours.”

I kept a steady pace, thrusting into her as she repeated it over and over.

Yours.

Yours.

Yours.

Mine.

Mine.

Mine.

She let out a little moan and pushed up on her heels again and I knew she was close. I thrust again and felt her explode around
me. I kept driving into her, pressing toward my own release. Then I held still and allowed it to wash over me, coming hard
into the condom.

I pulled out of her, pressing my forehead to her abdomen and catching my breath. Sweat glistened on her body. I kissed a drop
away.

“Thank you for escorting me on my tour of the Rare Books Collection,” I said, in between kisses to her belly.

She dug her fingers into my hair and I stifled a groan.

“Anytime,” she said.

I kissed her belly one more time, wanting to kiss her lower, but not wanting to tempt fate.

Later this weekend, I told myself. You’ll have plenty of time.

I slowly pulled back and slipped my clothes on. Abby hopped down from the table.

Once we were dressed, she took the condom from my hand. “I’ll take care of this,” she said as we headed out into the corridor.

“I’ll see you Friday at six.” I slipped a hand inside my coat pocket, making sure the rose was still there.

“Yes, sir.”

The front desk was vacant when I reentered the main section of the library. I took the rose from my pocket.

Should I leave it? Would she even get it? I was a man leaving a rose for a woman. It was no big deal.

Except that it was.

“Find everything you needed, sir?”

I spun around. Martha stood before me, smiling.

“Uh, yes,” I stammered. “Everything.”

Martha looked down at the rose and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you shouldn’t have.”

“It’s for Abby.”

“Of course it is.”

Did she know what we’d been doing?

“I was going to leave it right here for her.” I set the rose on top of the books Abby had been working with.

“John Boyle O’Reilly?”

Caught.

It was too late to take the rose back. Abby would know.

But what would she know? That I left a rose? That it matched one described in a poem? So what?

My knees trembled.

I could always play it off. Pretend it was nothing. Unless . . . Unless she wanted it to mean what I wanted it to mean. What
did I want it to mean?

Acting far calmer than I felt, I plucked a petal from the rose and winked at Martha. “Of course.”

On Friday night, Apollo started barking at the sound of the cab pulling up the drive. I shushed him and looked out the window.
“Ready to see Abby?”

He cocked his head to the side and whined. I carried the dinner plates to the table and went outside to meet Abby.

I opened the front door and watched her walk up the stairs. She wore a thick brown sweater that matched the brown of her eyes.
Her gaze locked with mine and I smiled. Did she get the rose? Would she say anything about it?

Probably not.

But I wanted so badly to know what she thought about it.

“Happy Friday, Abigail.”

Her eyes lit with excitement. A good sign, surely.

I led her inside and pulled a chair out for her. This was her time. Her time to ease into the weekend, to voice any concerns,
ask any questions.

She didn’t say anything, but occasionally her eyes would glaze over with a faraway look. What I wouldn’t give to know what
went on inside that beautiful head of hers. Maybe one day I’d ask what she was thinking. But for tonight, it was time to move
upstairs.

I hated that Abby’s first taste of a spanking from me had been for punishment. Earlier in the week, I’d thought back on our
first
weekend—to our time in the playroom. She’d thoroughly enjoyed the riding crop. I knew I needed to spank her again. For fun
this time—the pillows were already out on my bed.

“How are you feeling today?” I asked. She would take the question one of two ways—she’d either assume I was asking about the
accident or that I was referring to my statement on Wednesday about how sore she’d still be this evening.

“Sore in all the right places,” she said, smiling.

Excellent.

“Abigail,” I said with mock surprise. “Have you been a naughty girl this week?”

She blinked at me in confusion.

I looked at her, gaze unwavering. “You do know what happens to naughty girls, don’t you?”

Her mouth opened a bit and she shook her head.

“They get spanked.”

Fear clouded her face. “But I did the yoga and I got my sleep and did the walking instead of jogging, just like you said.”
She stopped talking and chewed her lip.

Damn it. Of course she was scared—which was why this was so important.

“Abigail,” I said as soothingly as possible. “How many types of spankings are there?”

She didn’t answer. She just continued to look at me with a confused expression.

“Three,” I said, wanting her to understand my logic. “What was the first one?”

Come on, Abby. Remember for me.

I knew the second she remembered the word
erotic
because her eyes lit up with anticipation, replacing the fear and confusion.

Oh, yes. This would be fun.

“Get your ass upstairs.”

She bolted from the table.

I took our plates from the table and set them in the dishwasher. Since Apollo had been outside before dinner, I let him follow
me up the stairs, leaving him outside my bedroom and closing the door behind me as I entered.

Abby stood naked by the bed, waiting for me. Her hands hung by her side, and I noted the faint tremor running through her
body. Again, her obedience struck me. I’d expected it, of course, but somehow, coming from her, it always meant more.

I unbuttoned my shirt. “On your stomach over the pillows.”

Pillows tonight. No whipping bench. Neither one of us was ready for the bench to be brought out again just yet.

She climbed onto the bed, showing her beautiful bare ass to me. I took a condom from my pocket and set it beside her on the
bed.

Damn, she looked hot. Lying there. Waiting for me.

I slipped out of my pants and walked to the head of the bed. Making sure she watched, I pulled out a tie-down and took her
hands. “We can’t have you trying to cover yourself, can we?”

I secured her wrists, gave a gentle tug to position her on her elbows, and stepped back. Sheer fucking perfection, I thought,
letting my gaze travel across her vulnerable form.

I climbed up behind her on the bed and cupped her ass. “Have you been using your plug, Abigail?”

She didn’t tense up like she had before. She simply nodded.

“Good,” I said, taking her legs and spreading them to give her a more stable stance. “I want you open for me.” I ran a finger
along her exposed slit. “Look at this, Abigail.” I licked the evidence of her arousal from my finger. “So slick already. Does
the thought of me turning your backside red excite you?”

She didn’t answer, but the same tremor I’d noted earlier was still evident. She wanted this. I rubbed the sweet spot of her
ass, brought my hand back and smacked her three times in quick succession. She moaned.

I struck her again, watching as my hand left a faint pinkish tinge on her skin. “The good people of New York pay your salary
so you will work in the library, not sneak off into the Rare Books Collection.” I moved my hand each time, making sure I didn’t
cause any unnecessary pain.

Only pleasure this time, Abby. Only pleasure.

She moaned again and thrust back against me.

I grabbed her ass and squeezed, feeling her arousal as my fingers dipped lower. “You’re so wet.”

I licked the tips of my fingers again and then pulled back to slap her pussy.

She moaned harder.

Hell, yes.

“Do you like that, Abigail?” I asked, smacking her again.

I didn’t expect her to answer. I struck the soft flesh between her legs one more time. Any more might cause pain, and I didn’t
want that for her. With firm strokes, I worked on her backside again, spanking until the skin before me was an even shade.

“Your ass is a beautiful shade of pink.” I shifted so she could feel my hardness. “Soon I’ll do more than spank it. Soon I’ll
fuck it.”

I couldn’t wait anymore and I doubted she could either. I ripped the condom open and rolled it on my erection. With one move,
I pushed into her.

She moaned.

I pulled out, aching to slam into her. “No noise tonight or you can’t have my cock.” I spanked her again. “Do you understand?
Nod if you do.”

She nodded frantically.

“Good.” I thrust inside her once again, just as she pushed back to take me deeper. “Greedy tonight, aren’t you?” I asked,
entering her wet heat. “Well, that makes two of us.”

I grabbed her hips and began a steady rhythm—thrusting as
hard and as deep as possible. She responded in kind, working her inner muscles to clench my cock with each stroke into her.
I looked down to where we were joined, watched as I slid in and out of her.

Wonder what she would do if I . . .

I slipped a hand between our bodies and rubbed her clit. She arched her back, her massive orgasm triggering my own.

She slumped off the pillows and I lowered myself to her side, taking the condom off and placing it on the floor. I ran a hand
up her torso, skimmed her breast, and rubbed her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t putting undue pressure on her arms.

She was fine.

“I don’t believe I saw everything I wanted to on Wednesday. Perhaps you would be so kind as to set up an appointment for me
to visit the Rare Books Collection again this coming Wednesday?” I looked up to her. “One thirty?”

“Yes, Master,” she agreed with a wicked grin.

“Oh, Abigail. How very, very naughty.” Her face flushed, and I rose to my knees to untie her. “I think that calls for a little
reward. What do you think?”

I pushed the pillows out of the way and shifted her body so she rested on her back. “I asked you a question, Abigail—what
do you think of a reward?”

“Whatever would please you, Master,” she whispered.

I stretched her arms above her head once again and retied them. “Whatever pleases me,” I mumbled under my breath.

I moved down her body, trailing my hands as I went. First along her arms and across her collarbone, down to her breasts, rubbing
her pebbled nipples, then skirting her stomach until I came to her thighs. I spread them apart. “Guess what would please me
now, Abigail.”

She bit her bottom lip.

“This, my naughty girl.” I blew on her clit. “It would please me
to have you come on my tongue. Show me how much you love your reward. Don’t hold back.”

I licked her hard and deep, working my tongue into her. She lifted her hips from the bed with a small cry. I nibbled on her
tender skin, alternating between tiny nips and rougher bites. With my fingers, I rubbed her clit, starting slow, but eventually
getting faster. Her breaths came quicker and she lifted her hips against me.

“Oh, please,” she moaned as I sucked her clit into my mouth, swirling my tongue around it.

I lifted my head. “Louder, Abigail. I don’t have any neighbors.”

To help her along, I thrust two fingers inside her and twisted them. She cried out in response.

“Better,” I said, lifting her hips to my mouth once more and licking her again as my fingers worked themselves deeper.

Her lower body tensed, and I looked up to watch as she came. Her back arched. I switched so my fingers caressed her clit,
while my tongue slipped inside. The sudden change of sensation sent her over the edge, and she came hard against me.

I set her thighs back onto the bed, watching her pant. I blew on her sensitive flesh, and she moaned as aftershocks shook
her body.

“I trust you enjoyed your reward?” I asked, crawling up her body and releasing her arms.

“Yes, Master, thank you,” she said, eyes closed, still trying to calm her breathing.

I rubbed her arms, starting at her shoulders and making my way to her wrists. I leaned down to whisper in her ear, “You can
thank me soundly next Wednesday.”

After my shower, I turned the light in my bedroom off and waited. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for—Abby hadn’t mentioned
the rose all night. Maybe Martha hadn’t said anything to
her. I felt like a teenager working up the courage to ask a girl out on a first date.

Fucking send her a note, West. Do you like me? Check “yes” or “no.”

I listened for noises down the hall. Nothing.

What do you think she’s going to do? Bust into your bedroom and say, “Uh, excuse me. Did you mean anything by the rose you
left?”

I sat up and punched the pillow.

Idiot.

What I needed was a nice, long jog. Or the piano. Either one. I got up and started pacing, walking from my bed to the window
and back again. Apollo lifted his head from the floor, sighed, and jumped up to rest on the bed.

That’s right, even your dog thinks you’re crazy.

I knelt beside the bed and ruffled his fur. As I stood up, I heard the faint creaking of Abby’s door.

I held my breath. Counted.

She wasn’t coming to my room. Where was she headed?

The answer knocked the breath from my body.

The library.