The Dominant (27 page)

I looked over Abby’s head to the alarm clock on the nightstand—two o’clock. Roughly four more hours before I needed to leave
her bed.

I closed my eyes and tried to commit her entire being to memory. I breathed deeply and inhaled the sweet scent of her hair,
dipped my head lower and delighted in the floral smell of her skin. I ran my hand down her back, remembering how she arched
against me in an attempt to draw me closer as we made love, how her body shook as wave after wave of pleasure washed over
us both.

Now her body was relaxed in the stillness of sleep, though my hand moved up and down with her steady breathing. I ran my hand
back up and rested my palm at the nape of her neck. Her skin was so soft, so flawless. Perfect, just like everything else
about her.

Her lips formed a perfect
O
as she slept. I brought my head to where my lips nearly brushed hers, but I stopped myself—I didn’t have a right to her lips
anymore. Not with what I planned to do in a few short hours. Instead, I lightly kissed her neck. She tasted of sex and sweat—a
bittersweet reminder of what we had experienced together.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered against her skin. “I won’t mean a word of it. I only hope . . .”

I stopped.

Hoped what?

That she would understand? I couldn’t expect that.

That she would forgive me one day? Perhaps. Perhaps, maybe, years from now.

Did I hope she wouldn’t hurt? I wasn’t so blind or foolish that I thought I wouldn’t hurt her. I knew she would hurt.

Or did some small part of me hope that she would know I didn’t mean it? I was certain she would fight me, but in the end,
I knew what it would take to make her leave. I hadn’t earned my reputation as a hard-ass without learning a few things.

I shut my eyes against the onslaught of hot tears threatening to overtake me. How could I bear to do this to myself? How could
I do it to her?

Because it was for the best. I wasn’t sure of anything after the previous night—if I should continue my lifestyle, what Abby
would do if I told her the truth—told her how I’d tricked her, lied to her, played on her naïveté.

I didn’t dare ask her to remain with me as I tried to sort it out. It would be better for us both if she left. If I forced
her to leave.

It would be the most despicable thing I’d ever done, but I’d do it for Abby.

She sighed in her sleep and cuddled closer into my embrace. I glanced at the clock again—two more hours. Two more hours to
relish the feel of her in my arms.

At six o’clock, I slowly extracted myself out from under her and settled her back on the bed. I stood beside her and watched
as she burrowed deeper into the covers.

I brushed my lips against her forehead and choked down the words I desperately wanted to say.

Forget it. You don’t have the right to tell her
.

But I shouted it in my head.

I love you
.

I love you
.

I love you
.

I walked down to the kitchen and put on the coffee. Not because I wanted any, but because the normal, everyday act calmed
me. I took Apollo out the front door and into the yard. My yard crew had been by the day before and had cleared away the melting
banks of snow, so Abby should be able to make it home.

The paper had even been delivered. I took it inside and sat at the dining room table, then stared at the front page for half
an hour before realizing I hadn’t read a word. I closed my eyes and focused on what I needed to do, what I would say.

Not much later, I heard the sound of her feet overhead. I listened as she walked down the hallway, and then, seconds later,
descended the stairs. She would go to the library first. Most mornings the past week, that was where I’d started my day—anxious
to be in her room and near anything that was hers.

She was closer now. I heard her in the kitchen. Her footsteps stopped. She would be in the dining room next. I opened the
newspaper to a random page and pretended to read.

She was seconds away from me.

“Hello,” she said from the doorway.

I closed my eyes. Show time.

I turned down one side of the newspaper. “There you are.”

The sight of her stunned me. She was even more beautiful in the morning light—hair slightly disheveled, lips full and swollen.
I wanted to drop the paper, take her in my arms, and kiss her into oblivion.

“I was just thinking that you should be able to make it home today,” I said.

Her forehead wrinkled. “What?”

I set the paper down. “The roads are clear. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting to your apartment.”

The wrinkle deepened. I could see her trying to work out what I was saying. “But why would I go home?” she asked. “I’ll just
be back tomorrow night.”

I focused on the spot in between her eyes. “About that. I’ll be at the office most of the weekend, digging out from this storm.
It would probably be best if you didn’t come over this weekend.”

It was a lie. I had phone calls to make, but nothing that would keep me busy all weekend.

“You have to come home at some point,” she said.

“Not for any length of time—” I stopped.
Say it. Make her leave
. “Abigail.”

She sucked in a breath as if I’d punched her. “Why did you call me that?” she whispered.

“I always call you Abigail.” The words just came out. I was dead inside.

“Last night you called me Abby.”

Last night . . .

Oh, God . . .

I braced myself.

“It was the scene.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“We switched.” I’d thought the lies would be easier as I told them, but they were not. Each one struck my heart and killed
part of me as it came from my mouth. “You wanted me to call you Abby.”

“We didn’t
switch
.”

Blackness. Blackness and death consumed me. “We did. It was what you wanted when you came into the library with the candy.”

“That was my original intention,” she said, and I knew she was nowhere near giving up. “But then you kissed me. You called
me Abby. You slept in my bed. All night.”

End it. Now
.

I slipped my hands from the table and clenched my fists as tightly as I could.

Do it
.

I took a deep breath. “And I have
never
invited you to sleep in mine.”

My words hit their mark. Pain rippled across her face. “Fuck it. Don’t do this.”

“Watch your language.”

“Don’t fucking tell me to watch my language when you’re sitting there trying to pretend last night didn’t mean anything.”
She balled her fists. “Just because the dynamic changed doesn’t make what happened bad. So we admitted a few things. So what?
We move on. It’ll make us better together.”

“Have I ever lied to you, Abigail?” I was lying now. Just calling her Abigail was a lie. But I was winning. The damage had
been done. Soon now. Very soon.

She wiped her nose. “No.”

“Then what makes you think I’m lying now?”

“Because you’re scared. You love me, and it’s scaring you. But you know what? It’s okay. I’m a little scared too.”

“I’m not scared.” Another lie. “I’m a coldhearted bastard. I thought you knew that.”

Her eyes closed and her shoulders sagged. It was over. She’d given up easier than I thought she would, but in the end, it
was probably better that way.

I saw her determination. Her hands went to her neck, and I braced myself again.

The collar fell to the table with a metallic clink. “Turpentine.”

The words I read weeks ago echoed in my head.

Turpentine
.

Turpentine in a fire
.

I saw them all consumed
.

I had planned it. I’d anticipated it. Still, there was something so final about her removing the collar and the way it looked
so broken as it lay on the table.

I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Couldn’t bring myself to look at Abby with a bare neck.

She’s not yours anymore
.

I closed my eyes against the pain. I couldn’t think about it just yet. I still had a part to play.

“Very well, Abigail,” I said, finally looking at her. “If that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” she said. “If you’re going to pretend last night was nothing but a damn scene, this is what I want.”

She knew. She knew I was pretending. Maybe that would make it easier for her to handle later.

I nodded. “I know many dominants in the New York area. I would be more than happy to give you some names.”

The previous night, I had run through various names in my head. I knew she would need a dom sooner or later, but I hadn’t
been able to decide on anyone good enough for her. I hoped she didn’t call my bluff—I had no names ready to give.

“Or I could give them yours,” I added.

I intended my offer to be a kind one, but the look she gave me—so hurt, so sad. She didn’t understand. Did she not know
how much it pained me to offer her the names of my friends? To imagine, even for a moment, her being with someone else?

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she spat out.

I sat there, silent, not moving.

“I’ll go get my things.” She turned and left.

When I heard her footsteps on the stairs, I dropped my head into my hands. Oh, God. She was doing it. She was leaving me.
Would I see her before she left or would my last sight of her be the pained look on her face as my words cut her open?

Apollo got up from his place by my feet and cocked his head at me.

“Go,” I whispered. “Go to her.” He remained by my side.

Minutes later, she walked down the stairs. Apollo heard and scrambled out to meet her.

“Oh, Apollo,” she said from the foyer. “You be a good boy.”

I dropped my head and pulled at my hair. It was worse than my worst nightmare.

“I’m going to miss you,” she said to my dog. “I can’t stay here anymore, so I won’t see you again. But you be good and . .
. promise me you’ll take care of Nathaniel, okay?”

A sob ripped from my chest. Her last thoughts were of me. The front door opened and closed.

I pulled together all the strength I could and rose to my feet. I had one last task as Abby’s dom—to see her safely home.

Hours later, having driven behind her all the way to the city without her knowing, I walked back into my empty house.

It was done. She was gone.

I walked into the foyer, my footsteps echoing in the stillness. Even when Abby left on Sundays, the house never felt so desolate.

It was because she’d never be back. The house would always feel empty now.

I couldn’t bear the emptiness; I needed to make it go away.

Apollo looked behind me, as if expecting Abby to enter, but I only gave him a glance as I walked straight to the library.

Various bottles sat on the bar. I went straight for them, didn’t even bother to look around at the rest of the library. I
couldn’t handle looking just yet. The brandy was forty percent alcohol; it shouldn’t take too long to do the trick.

The glasses went down easier the more I drank. To be honest, I lost count after three. If I drank enough, got drunk enough,
maybe it wouldn’t hurt so badly. Maybe it wouldn’t feel like my heart had been pulled from my chest.

Of course, it didn’t help. It only made the pain worse.

Apollo sat beside me and whined.

“S’kay, Apollo,” I mumbled as I poured another glass. “It’s better this way. Trust me.”

The room spun slightly, so I stumbled over to the leather couch and collapsed. More. I needed more. The brandy didn’t even
burn as it went down.

I heard the glass fall to the floor and then . . . nothing.

The sunlight coming through the window blinded me and I squinted. Something moved at the curtains. Turned toward me.

“Abby?” I choked out.

Unparalleled joy coursed through my body.

I sat up. “Abby!” My voice sounded stronger.

She smiled at me.

“I knew you wouldn’t believe me. I knew you wouldn’t. And you came back. Oh, Abby. I love you so much. I’m sorry I didn’t
tell you before.”

I stood up to take her in my arms. Finally. Finally, I would tell her everything.

She walked to me, still smiling.

I watched her, mesmerized. The sunlight shimmered around her. Her dress was beautiful and it floated around her as she walked.
She moved so gracefully, it was as if she walked on air.

When she stood before me, I lifted a hand to her cheek. Her skin. So perfect. I stroked it. “You forgive me?”

She nodded.

I fell to the ground before her. “I’m sorry, Abby. So sorry.” I stroked her feet and kissed them. “Thank you. Thank you for
coming back.”

The possibilities of what we could be, how we could be, ran through my mind. However we were together, however we worked it
out, would be fine. The important thing was, we were together. In the end, that was all that mattered.

I gave one last sob and wiped my eyes. I peeked up at her, and there she stood—looking down on me and smiling.

I slowly rose to my feet. “Abby.”

Our lips came together softly. She tasted even sweeter than I remembered. I moaned and pulled her closer. She melted into
my embrace, wrapped herself around me.

Was it odd that she wasn’t talking? Shouldn’t she be talking? We could talk later, though, right? We had plenty of time to
talk.

I kissed her deeper, taking her head in my hands and tangling my fingers in her hair. Why didn’t she smell like anything?

Her fingers danced along my back, teasing me. I pulled back.

I took my place on the couch and patted the empty spot beside me. “Here. Sit down. Let me tell you everything.”

She shook her head.

“Please, Abby.”

She took a step back. “It’s too late.”

“You said you forgave me. You came back.”

“Too late, Nathaniel.”

Another step back.

“But I want to tell you,” I pleaded. “I need to tell you. Wait. Don’t leave me.”

She took another step back—almost to the window—and shook her head again.

“Abby?” I asked, but she had disappeared. “Abby?”

The curtains swayed.

“Abby, come back! Abby, I love you!”

Something warm and soft and wet licked my cheek. I shook myself awake and sat up. Apollo whined and licked me again.

I looked around the library.

Empty.

It had been a dream.

A damn dream.

She hadn’t come back. She believed me, and she was never coming back.

I pushed Apollo away and reached for my glass. Where was it? I stood up, and my shoes crunched broken shards of glass. Fuck.

I left them and went to pour another glass of brandy. I took a long sip and dropped that glass to the floor too. Watched it
shatter into hundreds of pieces.

Just like my life.

Just like my heart.

Just like I’d shattered Abby.

I poured a new glass and drained it within minutes. I looked again to the window—to where Abby had stood in my dream. Like
I expected her to be there. To appear out of thin air. Like she’d just breeze into my house and make her way back into the
library as if I hadn’t ripped her fucking heart out.

It was as if I looked at the library through a thick haze. Everything was blurred and distorted. My mind, though—my mind worked
with the utmost clarity, for I remembered every second Abby and I had ever spent in the library.

There, on the floor, where we had our naked picnic.

There, on the couch, where she had stripped herself bare for me.

And there, on the piano bench, where she’d taken me after I played for her.

I grabbed my hair and pulled. Maybe, if I tried hard enough, I could rip the memories right out of my head. The pictures in
my mind blurred together—Abby and me in the library, playing the piano for her, Abby reading, standing in the poetry section,
the rose I gave her . . .

She had never asked me about the rose.

Why not?

Would it have mattered?

She had to have known something about the rose. She fucking knew everything. She knew about Melanie, for fuck’s sake.

My cell phone vibrated. I took it from my pocket and squinted at the screen.

Jackson?

I didn’t want to talk to him. I dropped the phone to the floor and my eyes scanned the library. The fireplace was empty.

I saw them all consumed
.

The library needed a fire.

Fucking consume everything—the piano, the couches, the fucking poetry. Everything.

I laughed. Wouldn’t take much. The brandy on the floor would help.

Now. Where to get matches?

I staggered into the kitchen, not quite sure why the floor kept moving the way it did. Made it hard to walk. I yanked a drawer
out and the contents poured onto the floor.

Something pounded in the other room.

I looked up from the mess. Abby?

No. Abby was gone and would never come back.

The ache in my heart would never get better. Had to fix it myself.

Ah, yes. My fingers wrapped around the matchbox. Just what I needed.

I took the matches and started walking back to the library. Just needed a little help from the wall so I could make it down
the hall. I heard footsteps behind me.

“Nathaniel?” Jackson called.

I laughed. He could join me in the fire.

I pretended not to hear him and kept walking.

“Nathaniel?”

Damn, he was fast. How’d he make it to me so quickly? I turned. We were right outside the library.

“Con . . . congra . . .” I waved the matches in the air. “Besss wisssses on your . . .” What was the word? “Yeah.”

“Holy fuck,” the blob that was Jackson said. “You’re trashed.”

I turned and stepped into the library.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Burning.”

“Burning what?” He trotted along beside me.

“Lib . . . rary.”

He grabbed my shoulders and spun me around. “What the hell are you doing? What have you done to this place?”

I laughed.

“Nathaniel . . . fuck.” He shook me. “Stop laughing. You’re scaring me.”

I stopped laughing and tried to focus on his face. I had to get this next part out. “She . . . left . . . me.”

The pain in my heart exploded, and I stumbled toward the couch but ended up slipping on the brandy. The glass cut into my
knees.

Yes. That was better. The pain in my knees. Not as bad as the pain in my heart, though.

I pressed my hand to the floor to help me stand, but that just jabbed glass into my palm.

I held my hand up to Jackson.

“Damn it, Nathaniel.”

I shook my head. “She’sss not ever coming back.” I watched as blood spilled out of my hand. “Never . . . coming . . . baccckkk.”

The room dissolved into darkness.

It was dark when I woke again. For a split second, all was well with my world, but then everything crashed down on me again.

Abby was gone. Forever.

I couldn’t decide which hurt more—my head or my heart.

“Nathaniel?” Jackson asked from somewhere.

My head hurt like the devil, but my heart was definitely injured worse.

I tried to sit up, but the room spun too fast and I lay back down. Where was I?

I turned my head. The living room. Jackson must have carried me into the living room.

“You awake?” he asked.

“I think that’s generally what it means when one has their eyes open.” It hurt to open my eyes, though, so I closed them again.
“Where’s my drink?”

“I put it all away, and I—”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

I opened one eye. “Why did you put my drink away?”

“I think you’ve had enough.”

“I’ll decide when I’ve had enough.” I opened the other eye. Ah, yes. There he was—sitting in an armchair.

“When I came inside, you were trying to burn down the library.”

“And you stopped me?” Had I really tried to burn down the library? I didn’t remember that.

Abby was gone and there was a big gaping hole in my heart.

I remembered that.

“That’s why I’m not letting you drink anything else.” He picked up my remote and changed the channel on the television.

“You ever have a woman leave you?”

He looked out the side of his eye at me. “No more brandy.”

“I’ll alternate with red wine, then,” I said. “It’s heart healthy.”

He didn’t try to stop me. For the next few days, I spent most of my time in a drunken haze. It felt better that way. If I
drank enough, I fell into such a deep stupor, Abby didn’t visit my dreams.

The worst was when I was awake. When I was awake, I saw her everywhere. Unlike my dreams, I knew she wasn’t really in the
house, but I could sense her. Could sense her everywhere—in the kitchen, in the living room, in the foyer. She had left her
imprint on nearly every room of my house.

I never set foot back in the library after that first day, and I refused to sleep in my bedroom. Since Jackson insisted on
staying with me, I let him have my bedroom and I moved into the guest room across the hall from both my room and Abby’s room.
At least there, I had no memories of Abby.

Jackson called Sara for me on Monday and told her I wouldn’t be in for a few days. I wasn’t sure what excuse he used. I didn’t
really care. Fucking company could run itself. I knew he talked to Linda—I heard him sometimes. She never came by, so I could
only imagine what he told her.

I hated it when he talked to Felicia in my presence. Hated it and loved it. Loved it because it was a connection to Abby.
Hated it because it was a connection to Abby.

I wondered how she was doing. Jackson never said and I never asked. He never mentioned Abby’s name to me. When he saw me listening
to his conversations, he walked out of the room or hung up.