She narrowed her eyes, and looked . . . worried?
“John Donne,” she said.
“Your turn,” I said with a nod.
She quoted a John Boyle O’Reilly poem. I recognized it from my Wednesday-night reading.
“‘You gave me the key of your heart, my love;
Then why do you make me knock?’”
Her eyes were soft and filled with longing. And I was done for. In that minute, I knew. Whatever happened next. Whatever I did or we did or whatever I screwed up, I was gone. I was hers and hers alone. It scared the shit out of me.
I would have to take it slow. We would take it slow. I had no experience here and didn’t know what to expect, or what to do. But we had time, right? We had all the time in the world. Surely we could figure it out.
“John Boyle O’Reilly,” I said. “I give myself a point for knowing the next line:
‘O, that was yesterday, Saints above!
And last night—I changed the lock!’”
Thank goodness she stood across the room. Maybe from there she couldn’t see my heart beat. I should have put a shirt on. At least tried to cover myself.
“A tie, then.” She walked around behind the couch, slow and calculating, trailing a finger along its leather back. “So, why are you visiting my library this time of the morning?”
I came to see you. Just like Wednesday. It’s you. It’s always you.
“I came to play,” I said, nodding toward the piano. I would play, try to calm myself down, make sense of the situation with music.
She sat on the couch. “May I listen?”
“Of course.” I walked to the piano bench and took a seat. Closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Abby’s song. It was the only tune I could hear, the only tune I could play. The only thing that made sense in that crazy, confusing, what-the-hell-do-I-do-now moment.
As always, I got caught up in the notes, focusing on expressing my feelings. I thought about the softness of Abby’s skin, the sweetness of her personality, the delicate gracefulness of her body, the haunting ache she left in my heart—and let it all come pouring out. I knew I’d never be able to put into words what I could say through music, so I let the piano speak for me.
While I played, the clear-cut lines of black-and-white that had always dictated my world started to melt and blend, becoming the most alluring and beautiful shade of gray. For the duration of the song, gray was exquisite. Gray was two people from different worlds coming together unexpectedly and creating something new. Gray took the best parts of us both and fit them together into something larger than we were apart.
The music ended and I sat silently. This was her room. I’d told her to be herself here. I would do no less. In this room, I’d give myself free rein and damn the consequences.
“Come to me,” I whispered.
She stood up and walked toward me. “It’s my library.”
“It’s my piano,” I said, for we were both giving something up in that moment. Both letting the other see inside the deep secret places of our souls.
My arms slipped around her when she stood before me, and I pulled her into my lap. She felt so delicate and small. I touched her hair, caressed her shoulders, dipped my hands to rest along the curve of her waist. I sighed and dropped my head to her chest, inhaling the delicious scent of her.
She dug her fingers into my hair and, for the smallest second, tried to pull my head up. I wanted nothing more than to lift my head and crush my lips to hers. No, not crush—to savor. To taste her mouth and explore her lips.
But I’d made that rule and I wasn’t ready to break it. Too much was on the line to do so. Instead, I turned my head and drew her nipple into my mouth, running my tongue over the gauzy nightgown.
I pulled back and looked into her eyes. “I want you. I want you here. On my piano. In the middle of your library.”
Right now, Abby. It’s the only way I know to express these feelings I don’t understand. And right here, in the one room where we can both be ourselves.
“Yes,” she whispered with her eyes closed.
It was the only word I needed. I helped her to her feet and drew the nightgown over her head. Her hands ran down my chest and she untied my pants.
“My pocket,” I whispered before she could take them off.
“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” She took the package and ripped it open.
No, I’m not. I used to be sure of myself, but now I’m not. When I’m with you, I’m not sure of anything anymore.
She rolled the condom onto me, her hands confident as they squeezed the base of my cock, right near my balls. I sat us down at the piano bench and she faced me, wrapping her legs around me.
“Play for me,” she said as her arms came around me.
Her room. Her desires.
The melody that flowed from my fingers to the keyboard was new—teasing and sensuous, just like Abby in her library. Any other night, I would have pulled paper from the notebook in my bench and written down the notes, but with Abby in my lap, all I could do was play.
In one slow motion, she took my c**k inside her.
“Keep going,” she said, as my fingers threatened to stop. She rode me slowly, taking me deeper with each pass of her hips. Drawing me farther into the gray that we were becoming.
She nibbled my ear. Her hot breath sent shock waves throughout my body, and then she whispered, “I love the way you feel inside me.”
Holy f**king shit. She was talking dirty.
“During the week, I fantasize about your cock—how it tastes.” She thrust downward, squeezing her inner muscles around me. I moaned.
She thought about me during the week.
Just your cock, I told myself. Not you.
“How it feels,” she continued, and it took all my strength to hold on to her. “I count the hours until I see you. Until I can be with you like this.”
Forget playing. The music stopped as I wrapped my arms around her, wanting nothing more than to touch her.
She held still. “Keep playing.”
I restarted the song. Faster. Desperate.
“I’ve never felt this way before,” she said. “Only you. Only you can do this to me.”
It was too much. I couldn’t do it anymore. Could no longer deny myself. No longer deny us. No longer wanted to.
I’ve never felt this way before, she’d said.
She was confused too. This was new to her.
Of course.
My hands dropped from the keyboard and I finally, finally, had her in my arms.
“You think it’s different for me?” I asked. How was it she didn’t know what she did to me? I slipped my arms up to hook them around her shoulders and thrust upward with all my might. “What makes you think it’s different for me?”
I count the hours until the weekend. I think about you during the week. It’s the exact same for me. I’ve never felt this way before either.
Stay with me, Abby. Bear with me while I sort this all out.
Please.
She moved faster and my body took over, meeting her downward thrust by lifting my h*ps to her. Wanting. Needing. She tightened around me, and I slipped a hand between our bodies to bring her the cl**ax she craved. Her hands grabbed and pulled at my hair.
I rubbed her cl*t faster, desperate to feel her release around me. She lifted her hips, and when I thrust up to meet her, I felt her cl**ax shake her body. I buried myself as deeply as possible and held still as I came hard into the condom.
We didn’t move. Reality crashed down on me as my heart slowed.
What had we done? What had I done? Where did our actions leave us? And how did we move forward? A bigger man would have talked about it with her.
I was not a bigger man. And I didn’t want to talk just yet. We had plenty of time, I reasoned. I would think about us, about this, later. Later in the week when she wasn’t right before me. But for now, I had to get us back on track. Get us ready for the remainder of the weekend.
“Breakfast at eight in the dining room, Abigail,” I said, setting her on her feet. I wasn’t ready to eat at the kitchen table with her again. Not until I had time to process what had just happened.
“French toast?” she asked, pulling her arms through the gown.
“Whatever you prefer.” I discarded the condom and watched as she left the library for her room.
Chapter Nineteen
I spent the next hour in my bedroom, pacing. Again. Whatever had just happened, whatever had just passed between Abby and me needed to be set aside and explored later. After I was better able to wrap my mind around it.
For now, we had the weekend to get through and I had the Super Bowl to plan for. Those plans required I get myself back into the proper mind-set.
More important, Abby needed to get back into the proper mind-set. Eating breakfast in the dining room would be one step toward ensuring that happened. I had changed breakfast time to eight o’clock instead of our normal seven. Had she noticed I wanted her to sleep later than she normally did? To make up for our late night?
I probably should have said something about it. Made it clear what I was doing.
Probably should have said a lot of things.
I wondered, not for the first time, how Paul and Christine did this. How they went from dominant and submissive to . . . more. Was it confusing? How did they mesh the two together?
I knew married dominant and submissive couples, of course, but had never questioned the hows and whys before.
Not tonight, I told myself. Later. You have plenty of time.
Proper mind-set.
We both needed a reminder.
Our current relationship had to be the focus at the moment.
I set a pillow on the floor and a tube of lube on my dresser before crawling into bed.
She walked proudly into the dining room the next morning, carrying a plate of her delicious French toast. Still wanting to serve and please me.
I smiled at the thought.
“Make a plate and join me.” I ate a piece of sauce-covered toast while waiting for her to return.
Proper mind-set. Get there.
Get her there.
“Last night doesn’t change anything,” I said once she sat down. “I am your dom and you are my sub.”
I kept my voice even and calm. I was a master of control, and this was no different from anything else.
“I do care for you,” I said. An utter and complete understatement. “It is not unheard of. It’s to be expected, actually.”
I had, after all, cared for my previous collared subs. Hell, I’d even cared for Melanie, but what I felt for Abby was . . . intense. Too intense. But I couldn’t tell her that at the moment. It was too much, too soon, too overwhelming, and too damn confusing.
“But sex is not the same thing as love.” Love? The thought shocked me. Is that what I felt? “Although I suppose many people confuse the two.”
As planned, she didn’t say a word during breakfast. She sat quietly at the table and ate. I could tell her mind was elsewhere. I felt better about the pillow waiting in my bedroom. Best to remind her of her reason for being here and to do it quickly.
I watched as she finished her breakfast.
“Clear the table and go up to my bedroom,” I told her. “I’ll join you soon.”
She carried our plates into the kitchen. When I heard water running, I took Apollo outside.
My phone rang and I looked at the display. Kyle.
“Good morning,” I said.
“Nathaniel,” Kyle’s mother said. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I wanted to let you know that Kyle has been running a fever for the last few days. I’m not sure the doctors will let him go to the game this weekend.”
My stomach clenched. He’d been looking forward to the Super Bowl all season.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, but let’s not do anything hasty. We have tickets in the box, and if he’s able to go, your family is more than welcome to fly with me on the jet.”