The Training (Book 3: The Submissive Trilogy) (14 page)

“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.”

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 look 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.

I sat back in my chair, enjoying the sight of her interacting with Paul and Christine. She had been so nervous that I’d almost called the weekend off. Only the hope that somehow the weekend would help us kept me from doing so. I felt relieved. Everything had gone much better than I’d thought.

Every so often, she would look my way and smile when our eyes met.

Fuck. I want her.

Paul asked her a question about the library, and she turned her attention to him. I settled back into the chair and continued to observe from the sidelines. Sam fell asleep, and she shifted him so he rested more comfortably.

“What are your plans tomorrow, Nathaniel?” Paul asked.

I tore my gaze away from her. “I thought I’d take Abby over to see the Dartmouth campus after breakfast. Show her part of my past. Would you like that?” I asked her.

“Yes, Master,” she said.

Master.

Fuck, what her saying that in front of others did to me.

And from the look in her eyes, she knew.

Before going downstairs the next day, I laid out her clothes. “I want your hair up today. I want you to walk the streets of Dartmouth with your neck completely exposed.” I ran a finger across her collar. “No one else will know what this is, but I want you to know. To feel it.” I kissed her neck. “Every time the wind blows and caresses your skin, I want you to shiver with the knowledge that you wear the mark of my control.”

After breakfast, we bid Paul and Christine good-bye. We promised we’d visit soon and even discussed the three of them coming to New York at some point. Christine and Abby hugged, and Christine whispered something to her. Abby laughed and whispered back. Paul raised an eyebrow to me, and I nodded. Yes, the weekend had been a success.

Once we were in the car, I turned to her. “We’re going to taste something a little different today,” I said. “We’re going to explore my old college haunts and we’ll look like any other couple.” I placed a hand on her bare knee. “Only you and I will know the difference.”

She sat up straighter.

“While we’re walking, you’re to be one step behind me. When we sit, your hand will rest on my knee. You are not to cross your legs or ankles at any point. I’ll not require you to call me
sir
or
master
if others might hear. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master,” she said with a seductive smile.

Minutes later, I pulled into a public parking lot near the campus and parked. I got out of the car and walked to her side to open her door. “You look beautiful, Abigail.”

“Thank you, Master.”

We walked through the main campus, and I pointed out various buildings where my old classes met. We walked past coeds out enjoying the morning sun, perhaps preparing for classes.

At first, she walked carefully, slowly, always checking to make sure she kept in position. Occasionally, her eyes would dart around, as if expecting someone to recognize what we were doing. But gradually, as we continued, she grew more confident, realizing no one paid us any mind.

I stopped at the steps at Webster Hall, near the library I’d studied at frequently while a student, and sat down. She took a tentative seat beside me and placed a nervous hand on my knee.

I placed my hand on top of hers. “I used to sit here and write letters home.” I kept talking, sharing parts of myself with her, remembering parts I’d forgotten. Eventually, she eased into a more comfortable sitting position.

At one point, she shifted her legs, moving as if she would cross them.

I leaned close and whispered, “Don’t make me punish you. We’re relatively inconspicuous now, but if I have to take you over my knee, we’ll definitely draw attention.”

“Sorry, Master.”

“I won’t remind you next time. Move your hand higher.”

Her fingers moved up my leg, and I stifled a groan at her touch. My plan to show her we could interact in public on a weekend was a good one, but it tested my control. Had we been at home, or even at Paul and Christine’s, I’d already have had her bent over something. I looked down at my watch—we still had a few hours before we needed to head to the airport.

I took a deep breath and we talked again. I spoke of inconsequential things—tiny details no one would care about. Yet they were the things I wanted to know about her, the things I enjoyed hearing about her college days and part of myself I wanted to share. So, for the next hour, I reminisced. She laughed at some of the stories I told and opened up, telling me more about her own college experiences. As our time in New Hampshire drew to a close, I knew she finally understood—she could talk to me on a weekend. Even about silly college stories.

For lunch, I took her to an upscale bistro. She bit her lip as she regarded the seating arrangements. I slid into a booth and she followed, sitting close to me and placing her hand on my knee.

“Excellent, Abigail,” I said. “When your food comes, you may use both hands to eat.”

This time
, I wanted to say.

My body was aware of her every breath, every small movement. Every molecule of my body reacted to her. I laid an arm along the back of the booth, so my fingers brushed her shoulder. “Do you see?” I asked. “How it’s possible to interact with others while you wear my collar?”

“Yes, Master,” she said, glancing around and seeing the relatively empty dining area. “To be honest, the entire day has been”—her voice dropped—“well, it’s been a bit of a turn-on. Being with you like this. It’s like we’re keeping a secret from everyone else.”

I reached up and brushed the back of her neck. “Beyond your collar there’s a connection between us that is deeper than what others have.”

She turned her head. “I think so, too,” she said.

I kissed her softly. “Do you want to continue this afternoon in the same way we’ve spent the morning?” I asked, after our lunch was delivered.

“Yes, Master. I’m really enjoying it.”

“A few weeks ago, I wouldn’t have been sure if you were being truthful. But after this weekend, I believe you.”

“Thank you.”

Later, on our way to the airport, I thought ahead to the coming week. With Jackson and Felicia’s wedding on Saturday, Abby would be spending every night at her apartment. Her father would be arriving on Thursday, and we’d planned for him to come to my house for dinner. Saturday night would be the soonest I’d have her in my bed again. It would be the longest we’d slept apart since getting back together.

And Saturday felt so far away.

When we were in the jet, buckled into our seats, and the flight attendant had left to sit with the pilot, I turned to her. “When I say
now
, you have thirty seconds to go into the bedroom, undress, and get into position two, page five. Understand?”

The hand on my knee tightened, the need in her eyes echoing mine. “Yes, Master.”

Once we were airborne and our ascent leveled, I spoke one word. “Now.”

She unbuckled and shot into the bedroom at the rear of the plane. I started counting. When I reached thirty, I slowly undid my seat belt and stood.

She waited in the bedroom for me, on her back, knees bent and spread. I moved into her line of sight. I untucked my shirt and drew it over my head. My shoes, socks, and pants soon joined the pile of clothes on the floor.

I walked to the bed and moved over her, captured her hands in my own, and placed them above her head. “Keep them here. I don’t feel comfortable tying you up in a plane.”

I took a deep breath, trying to control myself. If this would be the last time I had her for the next six days, I wanted to take my time.

“Come whenever you want,” I said. “As many times as you can. And I want to hear you.”

I slid against her, wanting to draw out every ounce of need from both of us. Wanting to heighten her anticipation as much as possible. I nibbled. Felt her. Slipped between her spread thighs and tasted her. Enjoyed the tang and sweetness of her desire.