“Like I’d have complained,” I said, stretching my body against his. Well, well, well. “You’re naked.”
He laughed, but then his eyes grew serious. “Yes, and you’re not.”
“Hope you don’t mind,” I said. “I borrowed your shirt.”
“Oh, no, I don’t mind a bit. Looks better on you anyway. I was just thinking how it’s really not fair, me naked and you not naked.”
“No need to fret. Your housekeeper brought your shirts back from the dry cleaner’s a few days ago.” I ran a hand down his chest. “You could go get one and be not naked yourself.”
“Mmmm,” he hummed. “No, thank you.”
I reached for him, drew him close, and inhaled his smell. “I missed you.”
“Missed you,” he said into my hair.
“Next time, I’m going with you,” I said.
“Next time, I’ll drag you with me,” he said, pulling back to catch my eyes.
I drank in the sight of him. Finally home. In bed. With me. The sun shone brightly from the window behind him. “I don’t want to get out of this bed all day,” I said, then asked, “You don’t have any plans today, do you?”
“Oh, yes,” he said, rubbing his nose back and forth across my cheekbone. “I have lots and lots and lots of plans.”
“Which would be?” I asked, hoping his plans matched up with my plans.
“For starters,” he said, his breath tickling my ear and one hand tickling my stomach. “I’m going to bring us some breakfast and I’m going to use you as my table—”
“Do I get to use you as my table?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “Then I plan to spend hours making love to you in every position known to man, and when we’ve finished”—he slowly unbuttoned the dress shirt I wore and his voice dropped lower—“we’ll make up a few new positions.”
I shivered as his fingers lightly stroked the tops of my breasts. I was far from cold, however. Just the opposite, in fact.
“We’ll probably miss lunch, making up all those new positions,” I said as matter-of-factly as possible with his hands undoing my shirt.
“Then, if it’s okay with you,” he said. “I want nothing more than a huge pizza covered in meat and vegetables. We could have it delivered and eat outside.”
“I don’t know. I was thinking lo mein. There’s a new Chinese place that delivers.”
He pulled back. “Really? You want Chinese?”
I laughed at his perplexed expression. “No. I was just teasing.”
“Don’t tease me, woman,” he said, going back to work on the shirt and finally unbuttoning the last button. “I’m a desperate man.”
I slipped beneath him and ran my hands over his bare ass. “You’re not the only one.”
Funny, I thought the next day as I knelt in my waiting position. Somehow this wasn’t what I had in mind when I answered his question yesterday.
He’d asked the question sometime on Saturday, after pizza.
We were outside on the patio. I sat in his lap and our feet dangled in the hot tub. It was too hot, really, to be inside the water.
“We should install a pool,” he said, head back as he enjoyed the sun. “But do you think it should be inside or outside?”
Outside had several advantages, but we lived in New York, so perhaps inside made more sense. I told him as much.
“The basement is relatively unfinished,” he said. “Too bad we can’t put it there.”
“We could put it outside and enclose it.”
“That might work.” He thought on that for a few seconds. “We’ll call a contractor next week. Have them look over the yard.”
I liked how he used the word “we” so often, how it just fell naturally from his lips. I tilted my head up to kiss said lips.
“Why do you have an unfinished basement?” I asked.
He gave me another kiss. Longer. “When I first started the renovations, I couldn’t decide if wanted the playroom down there or not.”
“Huh,” I said. “A downstairs playroom.”
“More like a dungeon.”
“That sounds . . .” I thought as I spoke. “Scary.”
His hands worked their way to my hair. “Dungeon. Playroom. Same thing, really.”
“I like the way ‘playroom’ sounds,” I said. “Dungeons should have chains and ropes and . . .”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Okay,” I said with a laugh. “Same thing, really.”
He smiled. “Speaking of playrooms, do you want to wear your collar at all this weekend? I thought maybe a few hours tomorrow?”
I ran a finger over his lips, and he captured them in a kiss. I’d missed him so much, I realized. All of him: the sweet, considerate lover of my weekdays and the stern, unyielding master of my weekends. I loved them both, needed them both.
“I’d like to wear it a few hours tomorrow,” I said.
Little did I know I’d be wearing my collar as he flipped through my journal, checking to make sure I’d completed all his assignments. My head was down, of course, so I couldn’t see what he was reading. I felt certain the “Interesting. Very interesting” comment came when he read the toy I picked and the scenario I detailed.
He sat in a plush chair and I was at his feet. My knees rested on the matted floor of the playroom, not on a pillow.
“Look at me, Abigail,” he finally said.
I looked up and met his eyes. Would he be pleased with what I wrote? I couldn’t tell by looking at him.
“You have a talent for writing,” he said.
Really? I thought most of it was just random stream-of-consciousness musings.
“It seems it is an easier way for you to communicate,” he continued. “And the scene you detailed is very creative.”
“Thank you, Master,” I said. “You inspire me.”
I hoped he knew I wasn’t giving gratuitous flattery, but speaking the truth. Being his submissive had released and set free a side of me I’d never known existed. The Abby of the year before would never have dreamed of thinking such things as I’d detailed in the journal, much less written them down and let someone read them.
Hell, before him, I’d had such an unfulfilled sex life, I’d almost given up on sex altogether. But now . . .
Well, I was kneeling, naked, at his feet.
And we’d had the most amazing sex all day the day before.
“I’m very pleased with what you have discovered, my lovely,” he said. “And I want to discuss much of it with you, but for now—” He stood and walked to his cabinets. His bare feet padded as he went. “Your scene has inspired me, and I think you deserve a reward for that.”
He turned to face me, and I noticed he had the ball gag and a bell in his hands.
“Go to the table,” he said. “Just sit on it for now.”
I rose to my feet—he hadn’t told me to crawl—and walked to the table. Would he use all of my ideas or just some? I’d picked the gag over another toy, because I thought he’d use something else in addition. Though I’d also written about a new-to-me flogger, I knew he’d use it only if he wanted.
His footsteps sounded again as he walked toward me, but I kept my focus on his face. From the corner of my eye, I noted his shirtless chest and the items he still had in his hands.
“Open,” he said. Then he placed the gag in my mouth. He buckled it around my head, and I felt my heart pounding. The hard thump, thump, thump shook my body.