The Dominant
Page 33
A blizzard.
No way to leave.
When Abby woke up, I’d have her get dressed so she would be comfortable as we discussed this. This meant new rules, new situations, new everything.
Abby and me stuck inside my house for who knows how long.
I couldn’t shake the suspicion that this would not end well.
Chapter Twenty-six
Before talking to Abby, I tried my best to plan the week. We would take turns with meals. Outside of the weekend, she was not to serve me. She was my submissive, yes, but we were equals in every sense of the word. I would not allow her to serve me during the week.
Abby didn’t seem upset by the situation. She asked a few questions, but overall appeared at ease. I, however, felt on edge all day Sunday. To say the blizzard put a kink in my plans would be a serious understatement. I kept my unease buried just under the surface, though, hopefully hidden away from Abby.
I had no way of knowing how long we’d be stuck—I estimated a week. I could do a week, I told myself. It was a large house and I was able to work from home.
But so much time with a submissive—with Abby in particular—frightened me. I feared I could not keep my feelings buried for an entire week. Something would crack.
Probably me.
After I sent Abby upstairs to dress on Sunday afternoon, I went into the kitchen. Homemade rolls and a hearty beef stew sounded good. The repetitive action of kneading dough helped to occupy my mind. Like playing the piano.
Abby walked into the kitchen at six thirty. She wore a simple outfit of a high turtleneck and blue jeans. I had spent the entire weekend watching her n**ed body move around my house, but she was no less awe-inspiring fully clothed. I gazed at her and, in my mind’s eye, remembered the places hidden underneath her clothes.
“Ready to eat?” I asked, pulling out a seat for her.
“Yes. Thank you.” She sat down. “Smells wonderful.”
Indeed, the kitchen smelled of freshly baked bread, mingled with hints of garlic, onion, and beef. A perfect accompaniment to the snow falling outside.
I dimmed the lights in the kitchen and turned the lights on outside. The snow still fell and the lighting cast it in a beautiful glow. We sat in silence for some time, simply watching the snow.
Do it, I told myself. I tightened my grasp on my spoon and felt my heart pound. Do it.
I cleared my throat. “Did you grow up in New York?”
“Indiana. Felicia and I moved here after high school.” She swallowed a sip of stew. “I like the city. The way it’s always the same place, but always changing.”
I leaned back in my chair. See? I told myself. You can carry on a conversation. “I like the way you think,” I told her.
“Do you ever think about living somewhere else?”
I thought for a second. “No, I once thought about Chicago, just to experience life in a different city, but my roots are here: my home, my business, my family. I don’t want to leave.” I wondered if she ever thought about living somewhere else. The idea made me sad. “You?”
“No. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
We fell into a comfortable silence and watched the snow. Made small talk about nothing in particular. After dinner, I cleared the table and put away the dishes. Abby wiped down the table and countertops, even though I told her she didn’t have to.
Afterward, I headed to the living room and she went down the hall to the library. Just as well, I decided. I needed to catch up on the news. Abby, it appeared, wanted to be alone.
She made breakfast the next morning, her special French toast. The snow was still falling, but had slowed. She told me she’d called Felicia the night before and things seemed to be okay with her and Jackson. I assured her that his penthouse would be completely safe for her to ride out the storm. They would have plenty of company nearby and Jackson would take care of her.
When breakfast was over, I took Apollo outside and then went upstairs to my bedroom. I made a few phone calls, read some e-mails, and sat staring out the window, mindlessly wondering what to make for lunch, when the thumping bass of music came from downstairs.
Abby?
I walked down the stairs, Apollo by my side.
She was dusting. At least, I thought it was dusting. She had a duster in her hand and she twirled to the song coming from the speakers. Her body moved in time to the music as I stood, mesmerized. I’d known Abby was a beautiful woman, but to see her move like that, to see her dance . . . it stirred an almost primal urge inside me.
The song went on for several minutes and she cleaned my living room without ever noticing me. Just as well—had she known I was watching, she’d have probably stopped.
All things must end, though, and the song finally came to its close. She gave my end table one last sweep of the duster and turned.
She jumped when she saw me. Busted.
“Abigail, what are you doing?” It was hard not to laugh.
“Dusting.”
Dusting. Like an employee.
“I do employ a housekeeper for such tasks.” She was not my employee. She should not be working in my house.
“Yes, but she won’t be able to come this week, will she?”
Okay, she had a point. “I suppose not. Although, if you insist on making yourself useful, you could wash the sheets on my bed.” The sheets did need washing, especially after our weekend activities, even though I rather enjoyed them smelling like Abby. “Someone got them all messy this weekend.”
She placed a hand on her hip. “Really? The nerve.”
My c**k hardened just thinking about the past weekend. During our talk on Sunday, I’d told Abby I didn’t expect anything sexual from her this week—that we’d take things naturally. But the truth was, I didn’t think sex would be a good idea. I needed to keep to our original agreement, and that meant no sex while we were snowed in.
“By the way,” I said as a new thought came to me. “I’m dropping yoga from your exercise routine.”
“You are?” she asked, and I’d never heard her sound so relieved.
“Yes. And adding dusting.” I left her there and went to prepare lunch.
I decided to make chicken salad. The same thing Abby had made the day after her punishment. Her chicken salad had cranberries and pecans—mine was more traditional, but not as tasty.
“It’s not as good as yours,” I told her as I put her plate on the kitchen table. “But it’ll do.”
“You like my chicken salad?” she asked.
“You’re an excellent cook.” Had I never told her before? “You know that.”
“It’s nice to hear every once in a while.” Her eyes—they laughed at me.
“Yes,” I said, smiling pointedly. “It is.”
For a second she looked puzzled, then realized I was teasing her and said in a rush, “You’re an excellent cook as well.”
“Thank you, but you did compliment my chicken once before.” I thought back to our first weekend and knew I needed to make my honey-almond chicken for her again.
“I was wondering,” she said after a bite of salad, “if I could take Apollo outside this afternoon.”
I looked up. She had a tiny bit of mayonnaise on the side of her mouth. I wanted to reach out and wipe it away.
Or lick it away.
I could lick the mayo away.
Apollo lifted his head. Right. She wanted to take him outside. “I think that would be a good idea. He needs to get out and he seems to like you.”
“What’s his story, if you don’t mind me asking? Elaina mentioned something in Tampa that made me think he’d been sick.” She took her napkin and wiped off the mayo.
Ah, well. Maybe next time.
Focus. She wants to talk about Apollo.
I reached down and rubbed his head. “Apollo is a rescue. I’ve had him for more than three years. He was abused as a puppy and it made him hostile. Although he’s never had a problem with you—maybe some sort of sixth sense about people?”
We spoke about Apollo some more—his problems with being away from me for long periods of time, how training him had been hard, but worth it. Abby surprised me with her unrestrained contempt of people who abused animals.
The discussion about Apollo somehow led us to the Bone Marrow Registry and my decision to donate once I’d been matched. Or, more to the point, how it hadn’t really been a decision.
“Some people wouldn’t feel the same,” she said.
“I like to think I have never been considered some people,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
But she mistook me.
“Sorry, sir.” She looked horrified. “I didn’t mean . . .”
“I know you didn’t. I was teasing.”
She looked down at her plate. “It’s hard to tell sometimes.”
“Maybe I should wear a sign next time.” She still didn’t look up. I stretched my arm across the table and gently lifted her chin. “I’d rather you not hide your eyes when you’re talking to me. They’re so expressive.”
I couldn’t look away once I met her eyes. In their depths, I found the answer to every question my heart had ever asked. I saw my own longing and loneliness mirrored back at me.
Oh, Abby. Have you been missing your one percent?
I dropped my hand.
Could I possibly be what she’d been looking for? What could I offer her? How could I complete her?
It was absurd. It was wonderful.
It was frightening.
She looked away first and asked about Kyle.
A safe subject. Kyle wasn’t dangerous to anyone.
“We’re close,” I told her. “I took him to a few baseball games last year. I actually hoped he’d be able to go to the Super Bowl. He’d been looking forward to it.”
I felt a sense of accomplishment whenever I spoke of Kyle. Of course, it wasn’t anything I’d done—it was simply the luck of my bone marrow being a match for his. Anyone would have done the same.
“Why wasn’t he able to go to the Super Bowl?” Abby asked.
“He was sick,” I said, remembering the disappointment in his voice when I talked to him the day Abby and I left for Tampa. “Maybe next year.”
“Felicia said something about Jackson retiring. Will he play next year?”
“I think so, but it might be his last season.” I thought back to a conversation I’d had with Jackson last week. “Don’t tell me it’s too soon, man,” he’d said. “I don’t even want to hear it.”
“He’s ready to settle down,” I told Abby. “If Felicia is amenable, that is.”
“Are you ready to deal with Felicia as a member of the family?”
Not really.
“I will for Jackson’s sake.” I met her eyes once more. “And she does have the most amazing best friend.”
I went back to my bedroom after lunch. I wanted to call my employees, to ensure they were all safe. Not an easy task with the number of people I employed, but the peace of mind it would afford outweighed the time it would take.
I had made a good-sized dent in my list when I heard laughter coming from outside. I got up and went to the window. Abby and Apollo were playing in the snow. As I watched, she made and threw a snowball. Apollo took off after it, only to stop in confusion when it disappeared.
She belongs here, I thought. She is my one percent.
Hell, even my dog thought so.
She won’t like it when she finds out the truth. She’ll hate you.
Maybe not. Maybe she wouldn’t care.
I glanced at the list of phone numbers on my desk and then back outside at the embodiment of my every need.
My employees were going to have to wait.
I changed into warmer clothes and started a fire in the library before heading outside. Abby and Apollo still stood by the garage, playing. She looked carefree and uninhibited. I wanted to feel that way too.
No way to leave.
When Abby woke up, I’d have her get dressed so she would be comfortable as we discussed this. This meant new rules, new situations, new everything.
Abby and me stuck inside my house for who knows how long.
I couldn’t shake the suspicion that this would not end well.
Chapter Twenty-six
Before talking to Abby, I tried my best to plan the week. We would take turns with meals. Outside of the weekend, she was not to serve me. She was my submissive, yes, but we were equals in every sense of the word. I would not allow her to serve me during the week.
Abby didn’t seem upset by the situation. She asked a few questions, but overall appeared at ease. I, however, felt on edge all day Sunday. To say the blizzard put a kink in my plans would be a serious understatement. I kept my unease buried just under the surface, though, hopefully hidden away from Abby.
I had no way of knowing how long we’d be stuck—I estimated a week. I could do a week, I told myself. It was a large house and I was able to work from home.
But so much time with a submissive—with Abby in particular—frightened me. I feared I could not keep my feelings buried for an entire week. Something would crack.
Probably me.
After I sent Abby upstairs to dress on Sunday afternoon, I went into the kitchen. Homemade rolls and a hearty beef stew sounded good. The repetitive action of kneading dough helped to occupy my mind. Like playing the piano.
Abby walked into the kitchen at six thirty. She wore a simple outfit of a high turtleneck and blue jeans. I had spent the entire weekend watching her n**ed body move around my house, but she was no less awe-inspiring fully clothed. I gazed at her and, in my mind’s eye, remembered the places hidden underneath her clothes.
“Ready to eat?” I asked, pulling out a seat for her.
“Yes. Thank you.” She sat down. “Smells wonderful.”
Indeed, the kitchen smelled of freshly baked bread, mingled with hints of garlic, onion, and beef. A perfect accompaniment to the snow falling outside.
I dimmed the lights in the kitchen and turned the lights on outside. The snow still fell and the lighting cast it in a beautiful glow. We sat in silence for some time, simply watching the snow.
Do it, I told myself. I tightened my grasp on my spoon and felt my heart pound. Do it.
I cleared my throat. “Did you grow up in New York?”
“Indiana. Felicia and I moved here after high school.” She swallowed a sip of stew. “I like the city. The way it’s always the same place, but always changing.”
I leaned back in my chair. See? I told myself. You can carry on a conversation. “I like the way you think,” I told her.
“Do you ever think about living somewhere else?”
I thought for a second. “No, I once thought about Chicago, just to experience life in a different city, but my roots are here: my home, my business, my family. I don’t want to leave.” I wondered if she ever thought about living somewhere else. The idea made me sad. “You?”
“No. I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”
We fell into a comfortable silence and watched the snow. Made small talk about nothing in particular. After dinner, I cleared the table and put away the dishes. Abby wiped down the table and countertops, even though I told her she didn’t have to.
Afterward, I headed to the living room and she went down the hall to the library. Just as well, I decided. I needed to catch up on the news. Abby, it appeared, wanted to be alone.
She made breakfast the next morning, her special French toast. The snow was still falling, but had slowed. She told me she’d called Felicia the night before and things seemed to be okay with her and Jackson. I assured her that his penthouse would be completely safe for her to ride out the storm. They would have plenty of company nearby and Jackson would take care of her.
When breakfast was over, I took Apollo outside and then went upstairs to my bedroom. I made a few phone calls, read some e-mails, and sat staring out the window, mindlessly wondering what to make for lunch, when the thumping bass of music came from downstairs.
Abby?
I walked down the stairs, Apollo by my side.
She was dusting. At least, I thought it was dusting. She had a duster in her hand and she twirled to the song coming from the speakers. Her body moved in time to the music as I stood, mesmerized. I’d known Abby was a beautiful woman, but to see her move like that, to see her dance . . . it stirred an almost primal urge inside me.
The song went on for several minutes and she cleaned my living room without ever noticing me. Just as well—had she known I was watching, she’d have probably stopped.
All things must end, though, and the song finally came to its close. She gave my end table one last sweep of the duster and turned.
She jumped when she saw me. Busted.
“Abigail, what are you doing?” It was hard not to laugh.
“Dusting.”
Dusting. Like an employee.
“I do employ a housekeeper for such tasks.” She was not my employee. She should not be working in my house.
“Yes, but she won’t be able to come this week, will she?”
Okay, she had a point. “I suppose not. Although, if you insist on making yourself useful, you could wash the sheets on my bed.” The sheets did need washing, especially after our weekend activities, even though I rather enjoyed them smelling like Abby. “Someone got them all messy this weekend.”
She placed a hand on her hip. “Really? The nerve.”
My c**k hardened just thinking about the past weekend. During our talk on Sunday, I’d told Abby I didn’t expect anything sexual from her this week—that we’d take things naturally. But the truth was, I didn’t think sex would be a good idea. I needed to keep to our original agreement, and that meant no sex while we were snowed in.
“By the way,” I said as a new thought came to me. “I’m dropping yoga from your exercise routine.”
“You are?” she asked, and I’d never heard her sound so relieved.
“Yes. And adding dusting.” I left her there and went to prepare lunch.
I decided to make chicken salad. The same thing Abby had made the day after her punishment. Her chicken salad had cranberries and pecans—mine was more traditional, but not as tasty.
“It’s not as good as yours,” I told her as I put her plate on the kitchen table. “But it’ll do.”
“You like my chicken salad?” she asked.
“You’re an excellent cook.” Had I never told her before? “You know that.”
“It’s nice to hear every once in a while.” Her eyes—they laughed at me.
“Yes,” I said, smiling pointedly. “It is.”
For a second she looked puzzled, then realized I was teasing her and said in a rush, “You’re an excellent cook as well.”
“Thank you, but you did compliment my chicken once before.” I thought back to our first weekend and knew I needed to make my honey-almond chicken for her again.
“I was wondering,” she said after a bite of salad, “if I could take Apollo outside this afternoon.”
I looked up. She had a tiny bit of mayonnaise on the side of her mouth. I wanted to reach out and wipe it away.
Or lick it away.
I could lick the mayo away.
Apollo lifted his head. Right. She wanted to take him outside. “I think that would be a good idea. He needs to get out and he seems to like you.”
“What’s his story, if you don’t mind me asking? Elaina mentioned something in Tampa that made me think he’d been sick.” She took her napkin and wiped off the mayo.
Ah, well. Maybe next time.
Focus. She wants to talk about Apollo.
I reached down and rubbed his head. “Apollo is a rescue. I’ve had him for more than three years. He was abused as a puppy and it made him hostile. Although he’s never had a problem with you—maybe some sort of sixth sense about people?”
We spoke about Apollo some more—his problems with being away from me for long periods of time, how training him had been hard, but worth it. Abby surprised me with her unrestrained contempt of people who abused animals.
The discussion about Apollo somehow led us to the Bone Marrow Registry and my decision to donate once I’d been matched. Or, more to the point, how it hadn’t really been a decision.
“Some people wouldn’t feel the same,” she said.
“I like to think I have never been considered some people,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
But she mistook me.
“Sorry, sir.” She looked horrified. “I didn’t mean . . .”
“I know you didn’t. I was teasing.”
She looked down at her plate. “It’s hard to tell sometimes.”
“Maybe I should wear a sign next time.” She still didn’t look up. I stretched my arm across the table and gently lifted her chin. “I’d rather you not hide your eyes when you’re talking to me. They’re so expressive.”
I couldn’t look away once I met her eyes. In their depths, I found the answer to every question my heart had ever asked. I saw my own longing and loneliness mirrored back at me.
Oh, Abby. Have you been missing your one percent?
I dropped my hand.
Could I possibly be what she’d been looking for? What could I offer her? How could I complete her?
It was absurd. It was wonderful.
It was frightening.
She looked away first and asked about Kyle.
A safe subject. Kyle wasn’t dangerous to anyone.
“We’re close,” I told her. “I took him to a few baseball games last year. I actually hoped he’d be able to go to the Super Bowl. He’d been looking forward to it.”
I felt a sense of accomplishment whenever I spoke of Kyle. Of course, it wasn’t anything I’d done—it was simply the luck of my bone marrow being a match for his. Anyone would have done the same.
“Why wasn’t he able to go to the Super Bowl?” Abby asked.
“He was sick,” I said, remembering the disappointment in his voice when I talked to him the day Abby and I left for Tampa. “Maybe next year.”
“Felicia said something about Jackson retiring. Will he play next year?”
“I think so, but it might be his last season.” I thought back to a conversation I’d had with Jackson last week. “Don’t tell me it’s too soon, man,” he’d said. “I don’t even want to hear it.”
“He’s ready to settle down,” I told Abby. “If Felicia is amenable, that is.”
“Are you ready to deal with Felicia as a member of the family?”
Not really.
“I will for Jackson’s sake.” I met her eyes once more. “And she does have the most amazing best friend.”
I went back to my bedroom after lunch. I wanted to call my employees, to ensure they were all safe. Not an easy task with the number of people I employed, but the peace of mind it would afford outweighed the time it would take.
I had made a good-sized dent in my list when I heard laughter coming from outside. I got up and went to the window. Abby and Apollo were playing in the snow. As I watched, she made and threw a snowball. Apollo took off after it, only to stop in confusion when it disappeared.
She belongs here, I thought. She is my one percent.
Hell, even my dog thought so.
She won’t like it when she finds out the truth. She’ll hate you.
Maybe not. Maybe she wouldn’t care.
I glanced at the list of phone numbers on my desk and then back outside at the embodiment of my every need.
My employees were going to have to wait.
I changed into warmer clothes and started a fire in the library before heading outside. Abby and Apollo still stood by the garage, playing. She looked carefree and uninhibited. I wanted to feel that way too.
