The Dominant (3 page)

I never needed a lot of sleep. Most nights I did fine with four or five hours, which was just as well, because after having
Abigail’s lips wrapped around my dick, there was no way in hell I’d be sleeping anytime soon. I ran my hand through my hair
and tried to concentrate on the detailed spreadsheet on my laptop, but the numbers jumbled up in my brain. I cursed in frustration.

Damn it. What had I done?

I’d forced Abigail to her knees and fucked her mouth without asking what she thought or how she felt or even if she wanted
to.

But, I argued with myself, it was what she wanted. She had free will. She could have told me to stop at any minute and I would
have. I knew that, but the fact was, she hadn’t wanted me to stop. She wanted me to dominate her or else she wouldn’t be in
my house and she sure as hell wouldn’t be sleeping two doors down from my bedroom.

I shut down the laptop and walked into the hallway.

Her door was closed and the light off. She was sleeping.

Further proof of what she wanted.

I didn’t question it again. I went into the playroom and prepared for the next evening.

I finally made it to bed long after midnight and woke up four and a half hours later, at five thirty. I did a few stretches
before walking down the hall to Abigail’s room.

The door was closed—she was still sleeping. I wondered if she’d wake up in time to fix breakfast and thought briefly about
waking her up myself. Then I decided I didn’t want to set a precedent, so I turned and went down the stairs to my home gym.

I finished my jog at six forty and heard Abigail banging around the kitchen. She might have woken up later than she wanted,
but she was bound and determined to have my breakfast ready. I left the gym and took a quick shower. At seven exactly, I walked
into the dining room and found my breakfast waiting.

I observed her from the corner of my eye while I ate. She was dressed casually and her hair was pulled back in a sloppy ponytail.
She probably hadn’t showered. Her breathing was just the slightest bit heavy, but she worked to control it, as if she didn’t
want to let on how she’d rushed through making breakfast. She’d worked hard this morning.

Which meant the rest of the weekend looked very promising.

I took my time eating. There was no need to hurry, and I wanted Abigail to have the time necessary to calm her thoughts.

“Make yourself a plate and eat in the kitchen,” I said once I finished. “Come to my bedroom in an hour. Page five, paragraph
two.”

I called Jackson while I took Apollo outside.

“You aren’t calling to cancel, are you?” he asked.

“No. I was calling to see if you wanted to have lunch after we played.”

“Lunch would be great.” His voice dropped. “Did the date not work out?”

I laughed. Little did he know. “The date worked out fine. More than fine, actually—we made plans for tonight.”

“All right!” he said. “Score one for you.”

If you even knew the half of it.

“So what’s she like?” he asked. “Is she pretty? Does she have a sister?”

I reached down to pet Apollo. “I’ll tell you all about her at lunch.”

As much as I tried to imagine what it would be like to have Abigail spread out on my bed, the sight still left me stunned.
The late-morning sun cast a bright glow over the bed—illuminating her body, making her shine.

Her eyes were closed, allowing me a few seconds to observe her unnoticed. I started at her mouth, at the way her lips parted
slightly—almost as if she were talking to herself. My gaze continued traveling, skirting over her delicate neck. I watched
as she swallowed, how her muscles stirred under her skin. The movement of her hands caught my attention, but she only brushed
her fingers over the bedspread. Her eyes were still closed.

Her breasts were the perfect size to fit in the palms of my hands, and as I watched, she took a deep breath, lifting her chest.
Her nipples were a dusky rose color, pebbled in obvious excitement. I ached to take one in my mouth. To taste her—

Later.

I clenched my fists and moved my eyes downward, along the gentle slope of her belly, down to where she had her knees spread.
My eyes dipped lower, and I saw that she was already wet.

Wet for me.

Ready for me.

My cock hardened at the thought.

Later, West, I told myself. Learn some control.

I knew if I didn’t move forward with my plan, I’d tear my clothes off and take her right then and there. But that was not
my plan, and I always did everything according to plan.

Almost.

Having Abigail in my house broke damn near every rule I’d ever had and every plan I’d ever created.

This is not about you, I told myself. Not much anyway. Just give her what she needs.

I unclenched my fist and walked to the bed. “Keep your eyes closed.”

She jumped. She’d been so inwardly focused, she hadn’t heard me enter.

“I like you spread out like this. Take your hands and pretend they’re mine. Touch yourself.”
Show me what you like, what you want
.

She hesitated. Again.

“Now, Abigail.” I had to be more patient than usual. She was new to this, after all.

She moved her hands to her breasts and, while she was gentle at first, her touch grew rougher, harder, as she rolled the tip
of one nipple and then the other. She took one and pinched it, eliciting a small gasp of pleasure in the process.

Fuck, yes. She liked it rough.

One hand trailed down her belly, while the other kept working her nipples. She slipped a finger between her legs.

Just one?

“You disappoint me, Abigail.” I moved so close, I could feel her breath on my face. Her eyes fluttered. “Keep your eyes closed.”

I glanced down, watching the rapid beat of her heart. Could I make it beat even faster?

“You had me stuffed in your mouth last night and now you use a single finger to represent my cock?”

Why, yes, I could. Just look at that heart race.

She slipped another finger inside.

“Another.”

Her breath hitched, but she added a third and slowly started moving them.

And slow just wouldn’t do.

“Harder. I’d fuck you harder.” Because it was the truth. One day soon, I’d show her just how hard.

A faint blush spread across her chest. Yes, she liked it when I talked dirty to her. She liked it dirty and rough and dominating.
I felt myself grow harder as I imagined myself in the place of her fingers. My cock pumping in and out of her. My cock being
the cause of her moans.

She was close. Her breathing got rougher and the flush on her chest darkened. Her lips opened and closed.

I leaned in closer. “Now.”

She let herself go and, damn, there wasn’t a sight on this earth as beautiful as Abigail when she climaxed—the concentration
of her face, the taut lines of her body as release washed over her, the soft moan falling from her lips . . .

Next time, I promised my straining cock. Next time she climaxes, you’ll be inside her.

She opened her eyes and looked over at me. Her gaze dipped down to my pants.

See? I wanted to say. See what you do to me?

“That was an easy orgasm, Abigail,” I said instead as her eyes came back to mine. “Don’t expect that to happen often.

“I have a previous engagement this afternoon and won’t be here for lunch. There are steaks in the refrigerator you will serve
me at six in the dining room.” I looked over her still-flushed body, now covered with a faint hint of sweat. “You need to
shower, since you didn’t have time this morning. And there are yoga DVDs in the gym. Make use of them. You may leave.”

Not to brag, but I completely smoked Jackson on the racquetball court. I chalked it up to immense sexual frustration.

“Damn,” Jackson said as we slipped into the booth at his favorite sports bar. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Abigail King.”

“Abigail,” he mused while looking over the menu.

“Abby to you. She lets me call her Abigail, but everyone else calls her Abby.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Just a little thing between us.” I looked at the menu, wanting to change the subject. “You having your usual?”

“Yeah. Why change a good thing?”

The manager came by to make small talk with Jackson. Sometimes it was annoying being related to a celebrity. I checked my
phone, scrolled through a few e-mails. Nothing urgent.

“So,” Jackson said when the manager had left with our orders, “tell me about this Abby. Where did you meet?”

“She works at the Mid-Manhattan Library.”

“A librarian? I never knew you had a librarian fantasy.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

He laughed as if he didn’t believe me. “You bringing her to Mom’s benefit?”

“If she agrees. Who are you bringing?”

“I can’t think of anyone to ask. You find someone, you let me know.”

As if I knew so many available women. I thought back to the woman I’d been with right after Melanie—a submissive with the
need for hard-core pain. Needless to say, that had been a short relationship.

“Sure, Jackson. I’ll make sure to call you.”

After lunch, I drove by the office. For some reason, I didn’t want to be in the house. I wanted Abigail to have time to acclimate
her-self
to my home and thought she would stand a better chance if I wasn’t around.

At six, I walked into the dining room to find Abigail waiting with a mouth-watering steak on the plate at my seat.

“Fix yourself a plate and join me,” I said, cutting into the steak. It was the first real meal she had cooked for me, and
it didn’t disappoint—the steak was juicy and tender.

She joined me, but we ate in silence. She looked deep in thought, and that worried me a bit. I wondered what had her in such
a contemplative mood. Maybe she was thinking about leaving. Maybe she’d had enough. Maybe she didn’t want this after all.

There was only one way to find out.

“Come with me, Abigail,” I said after we finished.

We went out of dining room, up the stairs, and into the playroom. I stepped to the side of the door and waved for her to enter
first.

She took three steps inside and spun around to gape at me—exactly the reaction I’d expected.

“Do you trust me, Abigail?”

She glanced from me to the shackles. “I . . . I . . .”

I breezed past her and unbuckled one of them. “What did you think our arrangement would entail? I thought you were well aware
of what you were getting yourself into.”

I didn’t expect her to answer, of course. I just wanted to bring the point home that we were not lovers.

“If we are to progress, you must trust me.”
Trust me, Abigail. Please
. “Come here.”

She hesitated again, and I knew I would have to do something about that sooner or later.

“Or,” I said, wanting to give her another option, “you can leave my house and never come back.”

She walked toward me. She didn’t want to leave.

“Very good. Take off your clothes.”

Her body trembled as she removed her shirt and bra. Without looking at me, she slid her jeans and panties down her legs and
stepped out of them.

I took her arms and chained them above her head. I moved slowly, wanting to savor every minute. Wanting her to savor every
minute. I stood before her to undo my shirt, and she watched me with excited, wild eyes.

No, I didn’t want her watching yet.

I went back to the large table to my right and opened a drawer. There it was—a heavy black scarf. That would take care of
her watching me.

I held it out so she could see, so she would know what I planned. “Your other senses will be heightened when I blindfold you.”

I tied the scarf around her head, making sure her eyes were covered. Yes, that was better. I ran my eyes over her vulnerable
form. She was now completely at my mercy. Bound and waiting for what I would do to her.

Oh, Abigail, the things I want to do to you. The things I will do to you . . .

I went back to the table and took my favorite crop.

With soft steps, I walked behind Abigail and brushed the hair from her neck. She jumped at my touch. I wondered when she would
stop jumping every time I touched her.

“What do you feel, Abigail?” I asked. “Be honest.”

“Fear. I feel fear.”

Of course she felt fear. What reasonable person wouldn’t?

“Understandable, but completely unnecessary,” I tried to reassure her. “I would never cause you harm.”

I moved to the front of her. Her breathing was heavy; she was trying so hard to hear what I was doing. But she didn’t trust
me yet.

I circled the tip of her breast with the crop. She gasped at the sensation.

“What do you feel now?”

“Anticipation.”

Much better. I circled her breast again. “And if I told you this was a riding crop, what would you feel?”

It’s one of my favorite toys. Let me show you what I can do with it. How it can make you feel good. Let me show you the pleasures
of my world.

She took a hard intake of breath. “Fear.”

I brought the crop back and flicked it gently with my wrist so it landed sharply on her breast. Some things were better explained
without words.

She gasped, but it wasn’t a gasp of pain. More like one of surprise.

“See? Nothing to fear. I won’t cause you harm.” I slapped her knees lightly. “Spread your legs.”

No hesitation this time. She obeyed immediately.

Excellent. I studied her face—excitement, wonder, and eagerness.

I brought the crop from her knees to her wet sex, never letting the leather tip leave her skin. “I could whip you here. What
do you think about that?”

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “I . . . I don’t know.”

Let me help you find out.

My wrist snapped, flicking the crop against her swollen, ready flesh.

One.

She sucked her breath in again.

Two.

She released the breath in a moan.

Three.

“And now?” I asked, although I really didn’t need to—her face
was an open book. But I wanted her to know I cared about how she felt, that I would always keep her thoughts and wants in
mind.