She looked around the room and then dropped her eyes to scan the floor, probably looking for where she was to sleep.
I’d thought many times over the last week how the night would go. What we would do as far as sleeping arrangements.
I turned the corner of the bed down. “I’d like for you to share my bed tonight, Abigail.”
Her eyes grew large.
“You’re free to turn me down, of course,” I said. “I did tell you to speak freely this weekend, and Paul gave me an air mattress for you to use.”
She swallowed audibly.
“I said I only rarely invited submissives to share my bed,” I said softly. “Not that I never did.”
That got her attention.
She walked to me and took my hand. “I’ll gladly share your bed tonight, Master.”
Chapter Nine
—ABBY—
I couldn’t get my mind to settle and go to sleep.
Christine and Paul were nothing like I imagined them to be, not that I ever pictured exactly what I thought they would look like. I just envisioned something scarier.
With that in mind, I was woefully unprepared for the average-looking couple that welcomed me into their average-looking home. Paul was a few years older than us, was tall and well built, with dirty blond hair and beautiful blue eyes. Christine, on the other hand, was shorter, with shoulder-length brown hair and friendly-looking eyes that danced when she laughed.
I kept watching, searching in their demeanor for something, anything, to betray their relationship. Surely there would be a touch, a look, an action, and I would think, Yes, now I can tell. Now it’s obvious.
Except there was nothing.
Nothing but Christine teasing her husband and giving him a nasty look when he referenced their crying son as birth control. No subtle glance. No small but meaningful touch.
Just your average, everyday couple.
When the men left the den, Christine talked naturally—asking questions about how Nathaniel and I met. She knew about the wedding, and we talked, not only of Felicia and Jackson’s wedding, but of hers as well. Not surprisingly, our conversation eventually turned to Sam and the ups and downs of new motherhood. Not once did we talk about . . . well, what I thought we’d talk about.
The men eventually returned to the den, and Nathaniel and I went on to the guest room.
I rolled to my side, careful not to disturb Nathaniel. I was still surprised he’d asked me to share his bed and felt honored he’d done so. I knew, based on our prior conversations, that when he said he rarely shared his bed with a submissive, he meant fewer than four times.
Ever.
We hadn’t talked about the next day. How the day would go or what we’d do. I kept trying to think about how our time in the playroom would go—would it be strange to see Paul and Christine naked?
Paul and Christine’s guest room had a queen bed. For some reason, it felt odd. I wasn’t sure why—I had a queen bed in my apartment, and while we slept together more frequently in his king-sized bed, we did on occasion share my queen.
To keep my mind off the next day, I decided to think about beds. I wondered why beds were sized the way they were. Twin, queen, and king. Why not small, medium, and large? And why was twin the smallest?
I curled my knees up to my chest, and suddenly two arms came around me.
“You’re uncharacteristically restless tonight,” Nathaniel said, pulling me close.
“I’m sorry to disturb your sleep, sir.”
“Do you want to talk about something?”
“Not if it’ll keep you from sleep.”
He kissed the back of my neck. “I wouldn’t have asked if I was worried about losing sleep. Right now, my focus is you—making sure you’re comfortable. That you’re able to rest. I want you in the best frame of mind possible for tomorrow.”
I knew what his focus was. Knew how much time and attention went into planning our weekends. We were setting aside precious time for this visit. Time that would normally be ours, we were sharing.
He planned down to the tiniest detail how to best get me in the proper frame of mind, to help me relax and feel comfortable around his friends. He’d even invited me to his bed.
Since he told me to look at this weekend as library time, I ran my hands over his arms and enjoyed the strength in them, how comforting they felt around me.
“I feel better now,” I said.
“How so?”
“With you touching me. I know it sounds strange, but you’re always able to relax me with your touch.”
His arms tightened briefly. “I’m learning just as much as you. You looked a bit surprised when I invited you to bed. I feared maybe you wanted to sleep on the floor but didn’t want to disappoint me.”
I turned so I faced him. “I never want to disappoint you, but my reasons for sharing your bed tonight were completely selfish. I just felt more at ease sleeping with you tonight.”
“I’m glad,” he said. “What do you think of Paul and Christine?”
“They’re not at all what I thought.”
“Dare I ask what you thought?”
“Someone big and burly for Paul. Lots of body hair. Lots of black leather.” I yawned. “Maybe a mask.”
“You have the strangest imagination.”
“Someone reserved and quiet for Christine,” I said. “Mousy.”
“Christine is anything but mousy.” He traced the edge of my collar. “This does not leave you without free will. It does not make you a doormat. You know that here.” He tapped my head. “You need to get it here.” He laid his hand over my heart. “You are brave and strong and fierce.”
“It’s you,” I whispered, glad for the cover of darkness. “You let me be brave and strong and fierce.”
“You’ve only scratched the surface, my lovely.” His lips brushed my cheek. “I can’t wait for you to actually see it.”
“I’m nervous.”
“I know you are,” he said. “And tomorrow, even with your nerves, you will continue to be brave and strong and fierce. Because that’s what you are. It’s what I need from you, and it’s what you will give me.”
All of me. I would give him all of me. Anything he asked for was his.
“Will it help you sleep if I hold you?” he asked.
“It always helps when you hold me, sir.”
He turned me so my back was to his chest once more, and I pressed close to his warmth. His arms came around me, and I fell asleep within minutes.
After Paul cooked a huge breakfast of sausage and pancakes, Christine and I made our way to the den. She held Sam, preparing to feed him.
“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked.
I thought it was nice of her to ask, even considering what she was going to be doing in front of me in a few hours. “No,” I said. “I don’t mind.”
I hadn’t been around many babies before, much less watched a woman breastfeed. She deftly situated Sam and flipped a thin blanket over her shoulder, hiding most of the feeding infant.
She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “He’s a big eater,” she said after a few minutes. “Gets it from his father.”
I nodded, but seeing no point in waiting, launched into one of the questions I wanted to ask. “How do you and Paul still play with a baby?”
“Not as often as we used to. That’s for sure.”
“You don’t do the weekend thing anymore?”
“No,” she said. “It hasn’t really worked with a baby. For now we use the playroom when we have time—which hasn’t been a lot lately.”
“With good reason, though,” I said, nodding toward Sam.
“Oh, yes. I wouldn’t change anything.” She thought for a moment. “Well, not much. I might change the amount of sleep I get. And the constant leaking.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Do you know how strange it is to wear a bra in the playroom?”