Part of me wanted Paul and Christine to hear. After all, it only seemed fair. I wanted them to know what Nathaniel did to me, how I responded to him, how he commanded my every move, my every thought and, it seemed, sometimes my every breath, during our weekends.
He thrust into me again, and Paul and Christine left my thoughts completely. I concentrated only on the feel of him as he drove me closer and closer to release. He shifted my legs, angled his hips, and hit that sweet spot deep inside me.
I couldn’t hold back anything then. I yelled.
He continued his thrusts, stroking inside me again and again, until I was dizzy with pleasure. His breaths came in short gasps, and he moved a hand between our bodies.
I let out another yelp as he rubbed my clit. “Please, Master,” I begged.
His voice was tight. “Please, what?”
Oh, God, his fingers. His cock. Being vulnerable and at his mercy. “Please, Master. I can’t hold on anymore.”
He thrust again. “Come, then.”
My climax swept through me with the next pass of his hand.
“Hold on,” he said, taking my hips and pushing me against the wall, legs still wrapped around his waist. With quick, deep movements, he entered me over and over, driving himself toward his own release.
I felt another climax building and, as he spilled himself deep inside me, his movements caused me to come again.
For the next few minutes, he rested against me, breathing hard and heavy. When we’d both recovered somewhat, he gently lowered my legs to the floor. He quickly unlocked my wrists and spent several minutes rubbing my arms and shoulders.
Then, finally, his fingers reached behind my head and the blindfold fell away. I met his eyes for the first time since we’d left the hallway to enter the playroom.
It was there.
The intense longing, passion, and love I’d wondered about was there. I sucked in a breath.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yes, Master.” I stood and basked in wonder at the emotion in his eyes. “So much more than okay,” I whispered.
After, he took me back to the guest room. I sat in his arms while he leaned back against the headboard. As much as I wanted to talk after our morning, I was glad he held me—I still felt more comfortable touching as we talked.
“I want you to be completely honest with me now,” he said, and I relaxed further into his embrace. “What do you think so far?”
“I have so many thoughts, so much information to process,” I said. “But first, thank you for setting this up. I was worried at first, but it’s been so helpful.”
“How so?”
“Everything,” I said, not sure how else to describe it. “Starting with Christine. She’s so confident, so sure of herself.”
I heard the worry in his voice. “Have you had doubts about yourself?”
I dropped my head, and my hair fell forward. “Not when I’m with you. It’s when I’m at work, or talking with Felicia. Even when I’m around Elaina and Todd. I used to wonder if there was something wrong with us.”
“And now?” he asked, voice thick with emotion.
“I don’t wonder anymore,” I said, wanting to reassure him. “Seeing Paul and Christine, the life they’ve built. I’m not ready for children and everything, but I see now that when I am . . . I’ll be okay.”
“We’ll be okay,” he corrected.
My heart leapt at the underlying meaning of his words, and I turned my head to kiss him. “We’ll be okay,” I repeated.
“Anything else?” he asked, stroking my hair.
“So much.” I leaned back into his embrace once more. “Christine helped me understand how important it is to give you feedback. I see now it’s not telling you what to do.”
“I’m glad someone finally got that point across.”
“I never wanted you to think I was telling you what to do.”
“There’s a world of difference between telling me what to do and telling me what you like or want more of,” he said in the firm but gentle voice I loved so much.
“I know. Christine said if it was easier, I could tell you on a weekday what I’d like to do.”
“Or you could tell me on a weekend.”
I shook my head. “I can’t imagine doing that.”
He was quiet, and I wondered if he’d change the subject altogether, but then he spoke again. “What if I gave you another safe word?”
“What?”
“We could add ‘green.’”
“What would that do?”
He took a deep breath. “If you wanted me to speed up or push you harder.”
“Really?” I asked, excited about the prospect.
“Yes. If you feel more comfortable saying ‘green’ instead of telling me directly,” he said. “But I will still ask for you to give me detailed feedback later.”
I wondered why he hadn’t given me green weeks ago when we discussed the safe words, but then decided he probably hadn’t thought I’d ever want him to push me or that I’d feel comfortable using it.
“I like it,” I said. “Let’s use it.”
“What else did you and Christine talk about?” he asked, instead of talking further about safe words.
“Listening to her talk about the twenty-four-seven relationship she had with Paul made me curious. I wonder how something like that would be.”
He stiffened behind me.
“Just for a week or so,” I hastened to add. “Not for an extended period or all the time.”
He spoke carefully. “If, at some point in the future, you still want to explore something like that, I would not be opposed to extending our weekend play. But only for a specified period of time and only when you can prove to me you’re able and willing to give me feedback.”
“Fair enough.”
“It’s not something I’m particularly interested in. But if you want to try, I’ll do it for you.”
I was starting to see the benefits of giving feedback. “Thank you.”
He kissed the top of my head. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but anything else?”
“The scene with Paul and Christine. I never realized how it looked. How”—I stopped for a second—“beautiful it was.”
“Beautiful?”
“Mmm,” I said, tracing his fingers, intertwined with mine. “The trust. The control. How they played off and balanced each other.”
“Almost overwhelming.”
“The way he looked at her . . .” I stopped.
“Yes?”
“To think of you watching me. Looking at me like that.”
He moved his hands to my shoulders. “Look at me.”
I turned in his lap.
Met his eyes.
Gasped when I saw the truth of his next words.
“I do,” he said. “Always.”
Chapter Eleven
—NATHANIEL—
I stared into her eyes and saw she finally got it. Finally understood. At least in part. She gasped, and I hoped she found what she was looking for in my eyes.
“Does it make sense now?” I cupped her cheek, stroked her skin. “Do you understand, just a bit, how I feel when I see what you give me?”
“Yes,” she said, still searching my eyes. “I see it now.”
“Good.” I drew her close and kissed her, my lips hard and urgent. I wanted to taste her. Feel her under me.
She moaned into my mouth and wrapped her arms around my shoulders. For just a minute, I let myself go and gave in to the need I’d held back since seeing her amazement in the playroom. Only when she pulled me toward her, trying to bring me down on top of her, did I stop.
“No,” I said, pushing back from her. “We can’t. Paul’s ordered lunch.” I honestly wanted to tell him we’d eat later and spend the next few hours alone with her in bed, but we couldn’t. We were guests in Paul’s home, and he’d been nice enough to ask me when he should plan to have lunch delivered. I felt I should honor the time frame I gave him.