The Enticement
Page 7
“You’re not with me, Abigail,” he said in warning.
He was right, so I cleared my mind of everything except him. I focused on what he needed and how to give it to him. At the moment, that was obedience. But thoughts of what he needed made me think of topics I could write about and it hit me that I’d have to find a way to fit blogging into my daily routine. It could no longer be something I did haphazardly.
I’d been a bit scattered since first receiving the e-mail. What I needed to do was create a schedule. Check e-mails only during specific times. I should probably set a schedule for writing, too. If the position proved to be what I hoped it might be, I needed to make sure everything was organized and balanced.
Behind me, Nathaniel sighed. “Move to the table. On your back.”
I stood up slowly, afraid if I moved too quickly I’d get dizzy from having my head down for so long. I didn’t look at Nathaniel as I crossed the room to the padded table. I knew I’d probably see disappointment in his eyes and I hated that more than anything.
I climbed onto the table, my body nearly sighing as it sank slightly into the supple leather. I closed my eyes and gave a tiny gasp as he blindfolded me.
“To help you concentrate.”
So it was that noticeable? I cringed inwardly that the weekend had gotten off to such a bad start and took a few deep breaths to clear my head. His hands swept over my shoulders and down my side. One of his fingers brushed a ticklish spot and I stifled a giggle. There were times he would tickle me during play, but I didn’t think this was one of them.
He made a noise deep in his throat and I stiffened. Maybe he’d wanted me to laugh. I wasn’t sure, and with the blindfold I couldn’t read his expression. I focused on his touch. He stroked over my hips, but didn’t go below my waist. He wasn’t gentle, so I didn’t think he was trying to be ticklish, but he wasn’t as rough as he sometimes got.
I jerked when his lips pressed against my hip bone and again when he gave it a light nip. Usually, it would have turned me on, but at the moment, I was too concerned I was doing something wrong.
Which was stupid, I told myself. He wanted me on the table ready for his use and that was what I was doing. The only wrong thing was being so worried and scattered. I tried to force myself to relax into his touch.
There are times your mind can come up with crazy stuff. On the table, trying to feel nothing but his touch, my brain came up with the most ludicrous thoughts:
Maybe you’re not submissive anymore.
You’re doing everything wrong.
This probably means you shouldn’t take the job.
I wasn’t sure how long I stayed on the table, lost in my own mind, imagining nonexistent mess-ups. But I knew the minute something was horribly, horribly off.
His hands started at my ankles and moved up the inner portion of my leg. Moving slowly and intently, he circled my thighs and then slid a finger into me. I couldn’t hold back the yelp that followed because it fucking hurt.
“You’re not the slightest bit aroused,” he said, sounding just as surprised as I was.
“I’m sorry, Master,” I choked out. “I don’t know what my problem is.”
He slid the blindfold from my eyes and I blinked in the soft light, finally focusing on his worried expression. “You think you should apologize?” he asked. “Why is it your fault I’m not turning you on?”
“The way you say it makes it sound like you’re doing something wrong.”
“Sit up,” he said, helping me get upright. “One of us doesn’t have to be doing something wrong. It could be any number of things and is probably a combination of several.”
“But—”
He placed a finger against my lips. “Stop. You shouldn’t need a reminder that it is wrong for you to argue with me in the playroom.”
“Sorry, Master.”
His lips brushed mine. “Let’s go for a jog together, clear our heads. Do you have something you can put together quickly for dinner?”
I ran through what I had in the refrigerator. “I have some tuna that won’t take long to cook. I’ll do that with a salad.”
“That sounds delicious.” His smile was easy now and my heart lightened. While I knew not to look for something or someone to place blame on for my lack of arousal, I couldn’t help but think that if I hadn’t been so distracted, the evening might have been different. But Nathaniel was aware I’d been distracted and he wasn’t placing blame.
Our jog together reminded me of how we used to be when I wore his collar every weekend. We knew each other so well now, our bodies automatically adjusted to the other’s speed. Granted, he could run a lot faster and farther than I could, so in reality he was probably the one adjusting his speed. I felt touched by his love when I thought about how he was doing that. It was a beautiful evening and we headed out at an easy pace. Apollo whined when we didn’t take him with us, but he was getting older and would hurt himself trying to keep up with us.
He was right, so I cleared my mind of everything except him. I focused on what he needed and how to give it to him. At the moment, that was obedience. But thoughts of what he needed made me think of topics I could write about and it hit me that I’d have to find a way to fit blogging into my daily routine. It could no longer be something I did haphazardly.
I’d been a bit scattered since first receiving the e-mail. What I needed to do was create a schedule. Check e-mails only during specific times. I should probably set a schedule for writing, too. If the position proved to be what I hoped it might be, I needed to make sure everything was organized and balanced.
Behind me, Nathaniel sighed. “Move to the table. On your back.”
I stood up slowly, afraid if I moved too quickly I’d get dizzy from having my head down for so long. I didn’t look at Nathaniel as I crossed the room to the padded table. I knew I’d probably see disappointment in his eyes and I hated that more than anything.
I climbed onto the table, my body nearly sighing as it sank slightly into the supple leather. I closed my eyes and gave a tiny gasp as he blindfolded me.
“To help you concentrate.”
So it was that noticeable? I cringed inwardly that the weekend had gotten off to such a bad start and took a few deep breaths to clear my head. His hands swept over my shoulders and down my side. One of his fingers brushed a ticklish spot and I stifled a giggle. There were times he would tickle me during play, but I didn’t think this was one of them.
He made a noise deep in his throat and I stiffened. Maybe he’d wanted me to laugh. I wasn’t sure, and with the blindfold I couldn’t read his expression. I focused on his touch. He stroked over my hips, but didn’t go below my waist. He wasn’t gentle, so I didn’t think he was trying to be ticklish, but he wasn’t as rough as he sometimes got.
I jerked when his lips pressed against my hip bone and again when he gave it a light nip. Usually, it would have turned me on, but at the moment, I was too concerned I was doing something wrong.
Which was stupid, I told myself. He wanted me on the table ready for his use and that was what I was doing. The only wrong thing was being so worried and scattered. I tried to force myself to relax into his touch.
There are times your mind can come up with crazy stuff. On the table, trying to feel nothing but his touch, my brain came up with the most ludicrous thoughts:
Maybe you’re not submissive anymore.
You’re doing everything wrong.
This probably means you shouldn’t take the job.
I wasn’t sure how long I stayed on the table, lost in my own mind, imagining nonexistent mess-ups. But I knew the minute something was horribly, horribly off.
His hands started at my ankles and moved up the inner portion of my leg. Moving slowly and intently, he circled my thighs and then slid a finger into me. I couldn’t hold back the yelp that followed because it fucking hurt.
“You’re not the slightest bit aroused,” he said, sounding just as surprised as I was.
“I’m sorry, Master,” I choked out. “I don’t know what my problem is.”
He slid the blindfold from my eyes and I blinked in the soft light, finally focusing on his worried expression. “You think you should apologize?” he asked. “Why is it your fault I’m not turning you on?”
“The way you say it makes it sound like you’re doing something wrong.”
“Sit up,” he said, helping me get upright. “One of us doesn’t have to be doing something wrong. It could be any number of things and is probably a combination of several.”
“But—”
He placed a finger against my lips. “Stop. You shouldn’t need a reminder that it is wrong for you to argue with me in the playroom.”
“Sorry, Master.”
His lips brushed mine. “Let’s go for a jog together, clear our heads. Do you have something you can put together quickly for dinner?”
I ran through what I had in the refrigerator. “I have some tuna that won’t take long to cook. I’ll do that with a salad.”
“That sounds delicious.” His smile was easy now and my heart lightened. While I knew not to look for something or someone to place blame on for my lack of arousal, I couldn’t help but think that if I hadn’t been so distracted, the evening might have been different. But Nathaniel was aware I’d been distracted and he wasn’t placing blame.
Our jog together reminded me of how we used to be when I wore his collar every weekend. We knew each other so well now, our bodies automatically adjusted to the other’s speed. Granted, he could run a lot faster and farther than I could, so in reality he was probably the one adjusting his speed. I felt touched by his love when I thought about how he was doing that. It was a beautiful evening and we headed out at an easy pace. Apollo whined when we didn’t take him with us, but he was getting older and would hurt himself trying to keep up with us.
