The_Submissive - Tara Sue Me (14 page)

“Felicia,” I said. “My subconscious heard you. It wasn’t nothing.”

She bit her lip. “I was just shocked that Nathaniel was already there. I’m your best friend. I should have been there first. It’s stupid. Like I said, nothing.”

I tried to think back. It was hard. The memories were fuzzy. “When did you get to the hospital?”

“When they brought you to your room. Right after your CT scan.”

That made sense.

“When did Nathaniel get to the hospital?”

She sighed and plopped down on the sofa. “He was in the trauma room with you. The nurses had to kick him out.” She raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you ask him?”

I ignored her. “Why did you call him a fucking animal?”

“Because I thought he was one. You’re his, like, sex-slave or something. You fill one need for him and he comes running to the hospital when you’re injured as if his world was falling apart. It ticked me off.”

“But you like him now?”

“I wouldn’t use the word
like
, but yeah, I’ll put up with him.” She walked to the door. Conversation over. “You going to the Super Bowl with him?”

“Yes. He mentioned something about it.”

On Wednesday afternoon around one-thirty I was working the front checkout desk. I had my back to the front door while cataloging new releases.

“I need to see something in the Rare Books Collection.”

Heaven save me from dimwits who don’t know library regulations. “I’m sorry,” I said, not even bothering to look around. “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.”

“That’s rather disappointing, Abigail.”

You know how what you expect to happen clouds what you see and hear? Well, it never occurred to me that Nathaniel would wander into my branch of the New York Public Library at one-thirty on a random Wednesday afternoon. Which was why I didn’t grasp who he was until he said my name.

I spun around.

He stood in front of me, bundled in a woolen overcoat with only a hint of tie seen above the collar of his coat. Smug grin firmly in place.

Nathaniel West was in my library. On a Wednesday.

I tilted my head.

To see the Rare Books Collection?

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

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

“Probably.”

“And,” I continued, still not understanding what he was doing, “someone will have to escort you the entire time.”

“I certainly hope so. It’d be rather boring in the Rare Books Collection all by myself.” He slowly pulled his gloves off, one finger at a time. “I know it’s not a weekend, please feel free to tell me no. There will be no repercussions. Will you escort me to the Rare Books Collection?”

Oh. My. Word.

“Ye—ye—yes,” I stammered, watching as he stripped the other glove off.

“Excellent.”

I stood frozen.

“Abigail,” he said, pulling me from my stupor. “Perhaps that lady right there,” he pointed over my shoulder, “can work the front desk while you are…otherwise occupied?”

Gah.

“Abigail?”

“Martha?” I called, moving away from my post. “Watch the desk for me, will you? Mr. West has an appointment to see the Rare Books Collection.”

Martha waved.

“Just for my education,” Nathaniel said as we walked, “does the Rare Books Collection room happen to have a table?”

A table? “Yes.”

“Is it sturdy?”

“I suppose so.”

“Good.” He followed me up the stairs. “Because I plan to have more than books spread out for me.”

My heart doubled its tempo.

I scuffled with the keys, trying to find the one that fit the lock to the Rare Books Collection room. I finally found it, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.

“Oh, no,” Nathaniel said, holding the door. “After you.”

I walked into the Rare Books room, eyes scanning the space. It was empty and, unless something unexpected came up, would remain that way for the foreseeable future.

Nathaniel closed the door behind me and locked it. He took off his coat and slung it over the back of a chair, then walked around the room, inspecting the various shelves and tables.

“This one,” he said, pointing to a waist-high table in the middle of the room, “is exactly what I had in mind.”

I was going to have sex in the Rare Books Collection.

With Nathaniel.

“Strip from the waist down, Abigail,” he said. “And hop onto the table.”

Shutting out the part of my brain that warned I shouldn’t do so, I slipped out of my shoes and undid my pants. Slid them and my panties past my hips and onto the floor. Nathaniel watched as I scrambled onto the table.

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

The temperature in the Rare Books Collection was kept lower than in other parts of the library. I was usually cold when I went in there, but now I was hot. Burning hot. And getting hotter watching him unzip his pants and boxers and step out of them. He rolled a condom onto his already erect cock.

“Beautiful.” He walked to the table, spread my knees further apart, and then looked down, moving me ever so slightly, lining me up with his cock. Teasing me. Making me savor the anticipation.

“Tell me, Abigail,” he said. “Have you ever been fucked in the Rare Books Collection before?”

“No.”

His head shot up. “No, what?”

“No, sir.”

He pressed his cock into me the slightest bit. “Much better.”

He waited a minute and thrust in all the way. My hips moved back. He reached out to grab my backside and pull me closer.

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

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I leaned back and scooted my hips forward, moving further onto him as I did.

Nathaniel thrust forward, pounding into me over and over, and I held on as tightly as I could. I pushed up on the balls of my feet so I could meet his thrusts.

“You’re mine,” he said, ramming forward again.

My head dropped back. I was so exposed in this position, everything felt so much more intense.
Yes
, I wanted to say.
Yours and yours only.

“Mine.” He held my hips steady as his cock battered me. “Say it, Abigail.”

“Yours.” I repeated it as he thrust again and again. “Yours. Yours. Yours.”

I started moaning as my climax built. It just felt
so good.
But I was at work; I bit my lips together as my climax grew and grew, until it spiraled out of control and I let out a little squeak. Nathaniel sucked in a breath and then held still as he came powerfully into the condom.

He leaned over me, breathing heavily, and trailed kisses down my belly. “Thank you for escorting me on my tour of the Rare Books Collection.”

“Anytime,” I said, running my fingers through his hair.

He placed one last kiss on my belly before we straightened our clothes.

I slipped my shoes back on and it hit me what we’d just done. What if someone heard us? What if there were people standing outside? Nathaniel had locked the door, but several employees had keys.

He cocked his head. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I said, wanting to leave the room as quickly as possible. I took the condom from Nathaniel and headed out into the corridor. “I’ll take care of this.”

He nodded. “I’ll see you Friday at six.”

“Yes, sir.”

We went our separate ways, him to leave and me to the bathroom. I felt wobbly and tingly inside—I’d probably be wearing a stupid grin for the rest of the day.

When I made it back to the front desk, there was a rose waiting for me on top of the books I’d been cataloging. A cream-colored rose, tinted at the tips with a blush of pink.

I picked it up and inhaled its fragrance.

Fifty-two hours and counting.

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

I sat at the front desk, twirling the rose.

“Someone’s got it bad,” Martha sang out, sitting at the desk and placing her chin in her hands.

“Who, me?” I twirled the rose again.

“Obviously,” she said. “But so does that delicious slice of man cake who left the rose for you.” She blinked her eyes dramatically several times.

“Nathaniel West?” I asked, delighting in the sound of his name on my lips. “He’s just someone I’ve been seeing.” Okay, that was a lie. I’d been doing a hell of a lot more than
seeing
Nathaniel. And the rose was nothing but a thankyou for not turning him down.

Martha stood up. “A cream-colored rose with a touch of pink is serious business.”

“Really?” I stopped twirling. “Why?”

“John Boyle O’Reilly?” she asked. “The Irish poet?”

I shook my head. Never heard of him.

Martha clapped her hands. “This is so romantic. It’s from his poem, ‘A White Rose’—”

“It’s not white.”

Martha shot me an evil look. “I know that, I’m just telling you the title.”

“Sorry.” I waved, interested in seeing where she was going. “Go on.”

She cleared her throat:

“The red rose whispers of passion,
          And the white rose breathes of love;
      O the red rose is a falcon,
          And the white rose is a dove.

But I send you a cream-white rosebud
         With a flush on its petal tips;
     For the love that is purest and sweetest
          Has a kiss of desire on the lips.”

I dropped the rose.

It doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t mean A THING. He liked the way the rose looked, is all. It’s all a coincidence.

But when did Nathaniel ever do anything coincidental?

Never.

“Abby?” Martha asked.

A kiss of desire on the lips.

Nothing. It means nothing
, Rational Abby whispered. Or maybe it was Crazy Abby. Who knew at this point?

Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Tell yourself it’s just a thing he does every weekend. Whatever. It really doesn’t matter anymore, does it? It means more to you
, Crazy Abby said. Or perhaps it was Rational Abby who said that.

“Abby?”

“Sorry, Martha.” I picked the rose up and sat it on the desk. Stared at it. “It’s a beautiful poem. Very romantic.”

A kiss of desire on the lips.

I looked up at Martha. “I think I’m going to visit the poetry section. Check out some more O’Reilly.”

I’d had a crazy fantasy about being Nathaniel West’s submissive. Submitting to his control, being under his will. I’d come to terms with the fact that I’d fallen for him, but what about how he felt about me?

Was it possible he had fallen, too?

I thought Friday night would never come. The minutes dragged by and the hours trudged on forever. Yoga. Work. Walking, instead of jogging.

But Friday did come. I arrived at Nathaniel’s house at ten to six and heard Apollo barking inside the house when I got out of the car.

Nathaniel opened the front door. Damn, he looked good in his long-sleeved button-down shirt and black dress pants. My legs felt wobbly just looking at him. His eyes followed me up the stairs.