I closed my eyes again. Cleared my mind. Focused inwardly. Forced myself to remain still under his scrutiny.
He walked to the table, and I heard a drawer open. For a minute, I tried to remember everything in the drawers, but I stopped myself and once again forced my mind to quiet itself.
He came back to stand at my side. Something firm and leather trailed down my spine.
“Perfect posture,” he said as the crop ran up my spine. “I expect you to be in this position whenever I tell you to enter this room.”
I felt relieved he was satisfied with my posture. I wanted so much to please him tonight. To show him I was ready for this. That we were ready. He had been so worried.
Of course, not a bit of worry or doubt could be discerned now. Not in his voice. Not in his stance. His demeanor in the playroom was utter and complete control and confidence.
He dragged the riding crop down my stomach and then back up. Teasing.
Damn. I loved the riding crop.
I kept my head down even though I wanted to see his face. To meet his eyes. But I knew the best gift I could give him was my absolute trust and obedience, so I kept my head down with my eyes focused on the floor.
“Stand up.”
I rose slowly to my feet, knowing I stood directly under the chains. Normally, he kept them up for storage, but they were lowered tonight.
“Friday night through Sunday afternoon, your body is mine,” he said. “As we agreed, the kitchen table and library are still yours. There, and only there, are you to speak your mind. Respectfully, of course.”
Both of his hands traced across my shoulders, down my arms. One hand slipped between my breasts and dropped to where I was wet and aching.
“This,” he said, rubbing my outer lips, “is your responsibility. I want you waxed bare as often as possible. If I decide you have neglected this responsibility, you will be punished.”
And again, we had agreed to this.
“In addition, it is your responsibility to ensure your waxer does an acceptable job. I will allow no excuses. Is that understood?”
I didn’t say anything.
“You may answer,” he said. I heard the smile in his voice.
“Yes, Master.”
He slipped a finger between my folds and I felt his breath in my ear. “I like you bare.” His finger swirled around my clit. “Slick and smooth. Nothing between your pussy and whatever I decide to do to it.”
Then he moved behind me and cupped my ass. “Have you been using your plug?”
I waited.
“You may answer.”
“Yes, Master.”
His finger made its way back to the front of me, and I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from moaning.
“I won’t ask you that again,” he said. “From now on, it is your responsibility to prepare your body to accept my cock in any manner I decide to give it to you.” He ran a finger around the rim of my ear. “If I want to fuck your ear, I expect your ear to be ready.” He hooked his finger in my ear and pulled. I kept my head down. “Do you understand? Answer me.”
“Yes, Master.”
He lifted my arms above my head, buckling first one wrist and then the other to the chains at my side. “Do you remember this?” he asked, his warm breath tickling my hair. “From our first weekend?”
Again, I said nothing.
“Very nice, Abigail,” he said. “Just so there’s no misunderstanding, for the rest of the evening, or until I tell you differently, you may not speak or vocalize in any way. There are two exceptions—the first being the use of your safe words. You are to use them at any point you feel the need. No repercussions or consequences will ever follow the use of your safe words. Second, when I ask if you are okay, I expect an immediate and honest answer.”
He didn’t wait for a response, of course. I wasn’t to give one. Without warning, his hands slipped back down to where I ached for him. Since my head was lowered, I watched one of his fingers slide inside me, and I bit the inside of my cheek again to keep from moaning.
Shit, his hands felt good.
“How wet you are already.” He pushed deeper and twisted his wrist.
He removed himself, and the emptiness was immediate. Before I could think much about it, I felt his slippery finger at my mouth. “Open, Abigail, and taste how ready you are for me.” He trailed his finger around my open lips before easing it inside my mouth.
I’d tasted myself before, out of curiosity, but never so much at one time and never off of Nathaniel’s finger. It felt so depraved, so feral.
Damn, it turned me on.
“Taste how sweet you are,” he said as I licked myself off his finger.
I treated his finger as if it were his cock—running my tongue along it, sucking gently at first. I wanted him. Wanted him inside me. I sucked harder, imagining his cock in my mouth.
“I changed my mind,” he said when I finished cleaning his finger. “I want a taste after all.” He crushed his lips to mine and forced my mouth open. His lips were brutal—powerful and demanding in their quest to taste me.
Damn, I’d have a stroke if he kept that up.
He pulled back and lifted my chin. “Look at me.”
For the first time since he entered the room, I met his eyes—they were steady and green. His tongue ran over his lips, and he smiled. “Every time sweeter than the last.”
I forced my eyes to remain on his even though I wanted to see his chest, to enjoy the sight of his perfect body. But his body was not mine to enjoy, so I kept my eyes locked with his.
He broke our connection first by turning and walking to the table. He put something in his pocket, and I dropped my head as he turned around.
He walked five steps to me; then darkness cloaked my vision.
“Totally at my mercy,” he said in a voice as smooth as the silk scarf covering my eyes.
He stroked my breasts. Long fingers took my nipples and rolled them, pulling and twisting.
“I thought about bringing out the clamps tonight,” he said, flicking the tip of a nipple.
We had talked about the clamps, though I’d never felt or used them. A small bubble of anticipation swelled in my belly. Nathaniel promised I would like the clamps, that the brief pain would be worth the pleasure they brought.
“Thought about it,” he continued, “but decided on something else.”
Cold metal made its way across my chest. It felt like a prickly pizza cutter. He ran it slowly around one breast and then the other. The sensation felt incredible. He didn’t go near either nipple. Instead he rolled the wheel closer and closer before moving away. Then there were two, each one mirroring the other in its movements. Teasing and taunting, but never hitting exactly where I needed. Closer and closer they went, then retreated once again. They went even closer on the next pass, and I knew I’d combust if he didn’t touch me soon.
And then he did—the wheels ran over my nipples right where I needed relief. It felt so good, I forgot where
