The_Submissive - Tara Sue Me (2 page)

“I know. Tell me, why do you bother?” I asked as she followed me inside. Settling down on the couch, I started reading the papers Nathaniel had given me. “By the way, I won’t be here this weekend.”

Felicia gave a loud sigh. “You went. I knew you would. Once you get an idea in your head, you just move right on ahead. You don’t even think about the outcome.”

I continued reading.

“You think you’re so smart. Well, what do you think the library will say about this? What will your father think?”

My father still lived in Indiana, and though we weren’t close, I was certain he’d have a definite opinion about my visit to Nathaniel’s office. A very negative opinion. Regardless, there was no way anyone was going to discuss my sex life with him.

I set the papers down. “You’re not saying a word to my dad and my personal life isn’t the library’s business. Got it?”

Felicia sat down and examined her nails. “I don’t got anything.” She grabbed the papers. “What are these?”

“Give those back.” I yanked the papers from her.

“Really,” she said. “If you want to be dominated so badly, I know several men who would be more than willing to oblige.”

“I’m not interested in your ex-boyfriends.”

“So you’re going to march into a strange man’s house and let him do who-knows-what to you?”

“It’s not like that.”

She walked over to my laptop and turned it on. “So what is it like, exactly?” She leaned back in her chair while the screen booted up. “Being a rich man’s mistress?”

“I’m not his mistress. I’m his submissive. Make yourself at home, by the way. Please, feel free to use my laptop.”

She typed frantically on the keyboard. “Right. Submissive. That’s
so
much better.”

“It is. Everyone knows that the submissive holds all the power in the relationship.” Felicia hadn’t done the research I had.

“Does Nathaniel West know that?” She had pulled up Google and was searching Nathaniel’s name. Fine. Let her find him.

All at once, his handsome face filled the screen. He was looking at us with those piercing green eyes. One arm was wrapped around a beautiful blonde at his side.

Mine
, the stupid side of my brain said.

This Friday night through Sunday afternoon
, the more responsible side countered.

“Who’s she?” Felicia asked.

“My predecessor, I suppose,” I mumbled, returning to reality. I was an idiot. To think he’d want me after he had
that.

“You’ve got some pretty high stilettos to fill, girlfriend.”

I only nodded. Felicia noticed, of course.

“Damn it, Abby. You don’t even wear stilettos.”

I sighed. “I know.”

Felicia shook her head and clicked the next link. I looked away, not needing to see another shot of the blonde goddess.

“Hello, baby,” she said. “Now I’d let
him
dominate me anytime.”

I looked up to see a picture of another handsome man.
Jackson Clark, New York quarterback
, the caption said.

“You didn’t tell me he was related to a professional football player.”

I didn’t know. But it’d do no good to tell Felicia any of this—she was no longer paying me any attention.

“I wonder if Jackson is married,” she mumbled, clicking on links to bring up more information on his family. “Doesn’t look like it. Hmm, maybe we can pull up more detail on the blonde chick.”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Nope,” she said. “Nothing to do but sit here and make your life miserable.”

“Show yourself out,” I said, walking into my bedroom. She could spend all night digging up whatever she wanted on Nathaniel—I had reading to do.

I took the papers Nathaniel had given me and curled up on my bed, tucking my legs up under me. The first page had his address and contact information. His estate was a two-hour drive from the city, and I wondered if he had another property, closer to town. He had also given me the security code to get through his gate and his cell phone number should I need anything.

Or in case you come to your senses
, that annoying smart part of my brain chimed in.

The second page had the details of my gym membership, and the exercise program I would have to follow. I swallowed the unease thoughts of running brought up. More details followed on the strength and endurance classes he wanted me to take. At the bottom, in very neat cursive, was the name and number of the yoga instructor.

Page three informed me I’d have no need to bring any bags with me on Friday. Nathaniel would provide all the toiletries and clothing I needed. Interesting, that. But what else did I expect? It also contained the same instructions he’d given me earlier—eight hours of sleep, balanced meals—nothing new there.

Page four listed Nathaniel’s favorite meals. Good thing I could cook. I’d look closer at those later.

Page five.

Let’s just say page five left me hot, bothered, and waiting for Friday.

CHAPTER
THREE

Nathaniel West was thirty-four years old. His parents had died in a car accident when he was ten. Linda Clark, his aunt, raised him after that.

Nathaniel took over his father’s business at the age of twenty-nine. He took what was already a profitable business and made it even more so.

I’d known about him for ages. Knew of him in that society-page way that those in the lower classes know of the upper class. The papers painted him as a hard ass. A real bastard. But I liked to think I knew a bit more about the real man.

Six years ago, when I was twenty-six, my mother got into a really bad situation over credit card debt, following her divorce with Dad. She owed so much, the bank threatened foreclosure on her house. They would have been well within their rights to do so. But Nathaniel West saved the day.

He was on the bank’s board of directors and convinced them to allow Mom a way to save her house and get out of debt. She died of heart disease two years later, but for those two years, every time his name was mentioned in the papers or on the news, she would retell the story of how he’d helped her. I knew he wasn’t the hard ass the world thought he was.

And when I heard about his more…delicate tastes, my fantasies started. And kept on. And kept on, until I knew I had to do something about them.

Which was why I found myself pulling into the driveway of his estate in a chauffeur-driven hired car at five forty-five that Friday afternoon. No luggage. No bags. Just my purse and cell phone.

A large golden retriever stood at the front door. He was a beautiful dog, with intense eyes that watched as I got out and made my way to the house.

“Good boy,” I said, holding my hand out. I wasn’t overly fond of dogs, but if Nathaniel had one, I needed to grow used to him.

The dog whined, walked toward me, and pushed his nose into my hand.

“Good boy,” I said again. “Who’s a good boy?”

He gave a short bark and rolled over so I could pet his belly. Okay, I thought, maybe dogs weren’t so bad.

“Apollo,” a smooth voice said from the front door. “Come.”

Apollo’s head lifted at his owner’s voice. He licked my face and trotted to stand beside Nathaniel.

“I see you’ve made Apollo’s acquaintance.” Nathaniel was dressed casually today—a light gray sweater and darker gray pants. The man could wear a paper bag and look good. It really wasn’t fair.

“Yes,” I said, standing and brushing imaginary dirt off my pants. “He’s a very sweet dog.”

“He’s not,” Nathaniel corrected. “Normally, he doesn’t take kindly to strange people. You’re very fortunate he didn’t bite you.”

I didn’t say anything. Nathaniel turned and walked into the house; he didn’t even look back to make sure I followed. I did, of course.

“We’ll have dinner tonight at the kitchen table,” he said as he led me through the foyer. I tried to take in the decor—a subtle mixture of the antique and contemporary—but it was hard to take my eyes off Nathaniel as he strode along in front of me.

We walked down a long hallway past several closed doors, and all the while he talked. “You can consider the kitchen table your free space. You’ll take the majority of your meals there, and when I join you, you may take it as an invitation to speak freely. Most of the time, you will serve me in the dining room, but I thought we should start the evening on a less formal basis. Is all this clear?”

“Yes, Master.”

He turned and there was ire in his eyes. “No. You have not yet earned the right to call me that. Until you do, you will address me as ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. West.’”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “Sorry, sir.”

He resumed walking.

Forms of address were a gray area, and I hadn’t known what to expect. At least he hadn’t seemed too upset.

He pulled a chair out from a finely carved table and waited for me to sit down. Silently, he sat across from me.

Dinner was already on the table and I waited for him to take a bite before I ate anything. It was delicious. Someone had baked chicken breasts and topped them with a delectable honey almond sauce. There were also green beans and carrots, but I hardly noticed them, the chicken was so tasty.

It dawned on me, eventually, that there was no one else in the house, and dinner had been waiting. “Did you cook this?” I asked.

He inclined his head slightly. “I am a man of
many
talents, Abigail.”

I shifted in my seat and we resumed eating in silence. I was too nervous to say anything. We’d almost finished before he spoke again.

“I am pleased you do not find it necessary to fill the silence with endless chatter,” he said. “There are a few things I need to explain. Keep in mind, you can speak freely at this table.”

He stopped and waited for my response.

“Yes, sir.”

“You know from my checklist I’m a fairly conservative dom. I do not believe in public humiliation, will not participate in extreme pain play, and I do not share. Ever.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Although as a dom, I suppose I could change that at any time.”

“I understand, sir,” I said, remembering his checklist and the time I’d spent completing mine. I really hoped this weekend hadn’t been a mistake. My cell phone felt reassuring in my pocket; Felicia knew to call the police if I hadn’t checked in within the next hour.

“The other thing you should know,” he said, “is that I don’t kiss on the lips.”

“Like
Pretty Woman
?” I asked. “It’s too personal?”

“
Pretty Woman
?”

“You know, the movie?”

“No,” he said. “I’ve never seen it. I don’t kiss on the lips because it’s unnecessary.”

Unnecessary? Well, there went the fantasy about pulling him to me with my hands buried in that glorious hair.

I took a last bite of chicken as I thought more about what he’d said.

Across from me, Nathaniel continued talking. “I recognize that you’re a person with your own hopes, dreams, desires, wants, and opinions. You have put those things aside to submit to me this weekend. To put yourself in such a position demands respect and I do respect you. Everything I do to or for you, I do with you in mind. My rules on sleeping, eating, and exercise are for your benefit. My chastisement is for your betterment.” He ran a finger around the rim of his wineglass. “And any pleasure I give you—” the finger ran down the stem once and back up “—well, I don’t suppose you have any qualms concerning pleasure.”

I realized I was gaping at him when he smiled and pushed himself away from the table.

“Are you finished with dinner?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I said, knowing I wouldn’t be able to eat any more, my thoughts consumed by his remarks on pleasure.

“I need to take Apollo outside. My room is upstairs, first door on the left. I will be there in fifteen minutes. You will be waiting for me.” His green eyes gazed steadily at me. “Page five, first paragraph.”

I’m not sure how I made it up the stairs—every step felt like I wore iron shoes. But I only had fifteen minutes and I needed to be ready when he returned. At the top of the stairs, I sent Felicia a text saying that all was okay and I was staying, adding our agreed-upon secret code so she’d know it was really me.