I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying anything, but returned the smile and looked at the guy again.
He had longish black hair and sharp, angular cheekbones. He leaned back in his chair, fingers thumping on his knee, head nodding as if in rhythm to a beat only he heard. No one sat near him, and I noticed he didn’t wear a collar.
Dominant, I decided. Definitely dominant.
Knowing what he was and knowing what I needed in a relationship, I looked closer at him, trying to see if I felt any interest in him. He was nice enough to look at: he had a lean, muscular body, and a dark tattoo encircled his right arm. Outside of the appreciation I might have felt looking at a fine piece of art, I felt nothing. There was no spark, no longing, and no pull toward the man sitting at the head of the table.
I looked back at Nathaniel, however, and my whole body reacted. My pulse beat faster. My gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth, and I shivered remembering it on me earlier. He alone called to both my body and soul. No one else even came close.
I wondered, though, as I looked once more at the man at the head of the table, if his name had been one of the ones Nathaniel contemplated giving me when I left him earlier in the year. He’d said he couldn’t decide on anyone, and I wondered for the first time why. Was the dark-haired man cruel? Was there some defect in his character that made him undesirable as a dominant?
A rustle from the back of the room caught my attention, and I, along with everyone else, turned to watch the woman entering. She completely commanded the room. Even the security guard (I wished I’d at least looked at his name tag a few weeks ago so I knew what to call him) sat up straighter and gave her his full attention.
There was nothing noticeably remarkable about her. She was a large woman with nondescript hair, but her eyes were vivid and she moved with a dramatic grace. Her presence and command were undeniable.
Her name was Eve, she said, and she spoke with calm authority, welcoming everyone and giving a brief rundown of the day’s topic: rope types and usage.
It didn’t take long for my attention to wander away from her discussion on the pros and cons of natural fiber ropes versus synthetic fiber ropes. It wasn’t anything I’d ever have to make a call on, after all. I even noticed the blonde who had ogled Nathaniel stifle a yawn. She glanced toward us; I gave her a small smile and shifted closer to Nathaniel. His hand dropped down to my knee, and I thought back to the previous weekend, when he’d played out my written scenario.
The ball gag. The leather flogger that felt sharper against my skin than the suede. Nathaniel taking me, hard and fast, from behind. His command to kneel and kiss his feet in thanks afterward.
Gah.
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.
Focus, I told myself, and I forced my brain to concentrate on the many various elements that went into selecting a rope to tie someone up. Because, really, if you thought about it, who knew there was so much to think about?
When the talk was over and Eve had answered everyone’s questions, she dismissed us. Nathaniel stood up and pulled my chair out.
“Ready to fill out paperwork?” he asked.
When I confirmed I was, he led me over to the dark-haired dominant and requested the necessary papers. Then he left me alone to read and fill them out. He did so, I knew, to show that it was my choice. Had I not felt comfortable, we would leave, no questions asked.
I knew what information I’d be giving since Nathaniel had gone over what to expect and we’d discussed several aspects. Ground rules were laid out, and if I agreed, I was to sign the last page. The last page also collected details on the name I wanted to be called and other required information.
After I read and completed everything, I handed the dark-haired guy my paperwork.
He looked down at it, reading, before he addressed me. “Welcome, Abby,” he said, his eyes lit with amusement at something. “I’m Jonah.”
I shook his hand. “Hi, Jonah. Good to see you again.”
“Likewise,” he said, still smiling.
My face felt hot, and I blurted out the first thing coming to my head. “I thought you were a security guard.”
“I am a security guard,” he said. “But when Mr. West called Mistress Eve, I couldn’t refuse.”
That didn’t make a bit of sense to me. “Just doing a favor for another dominant?” I asked.
His head shook with a confident air. “I didn’t ask Mistress why. I don’t typically question her.” He laughed. “Unless, of course, I’m feeling particularly cheeky or want her to punish me.”
My mouth fell open. “You’re a submissive?”
“I prefer the term bottom,” he said with a smile. “But, yes. I am.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling slightly stupid. “I didn’t see.” I pointed to my collar. “I couldn’t tell.”
He held up his right hand, and I noticed for the first time the leather cuff he wore on his wrist. “Not all collars go around your neck. Though I have a few of those, too.”
“I only have this one,” I said. Of course I knew most submissives didn’t wear diamond collars. I just thought they’d be more obvious. Idiot. That’s what you get for making assumptions.
He shrugged, his lanky shoulders rolling under his tight T-shirt. “Mr. West always does things his own way.”
It occurred to me belatedly that Jonah would know a lot more about Nathaniel than just how he was as an employer. I wondered how long he’d known him, so I asked.
“I’ve known him for about three years,” he said. “Been working for him for one. He’s a good boss. Has a good head on his shoulders. Not many CEOs know their weekend security supervisor.” He smiled his lazy grin. “He’s a good top, too. I’ve seen him in action before.”
“You have?” I asked, hoping my eyes weren’t bugging out too much.
“Sure,” he said. “He and his previous submissive, what’s her name?”
“Beth,” I said, and wondered if she’d be at the party.
“Right. They used to do some demonstrations on occasion.”
Nathaniel had been a dom for more than ten years. He’d told me a lot about his past submissives and what they had done. I knew he’d been active in the community as both a mentor and a participant. I didn’t feel jealous at the thought of his being with other women before me. I rested comfortably in the knowledge I was the one he wanted. For now and forever. None of his other submissives shared his bed, his heart, or his mind the way I did. They didn’t play a part in his tree house dreams.
“You know,” Jonah said, interrupting my thoughts. “I’m part of a submissives group that gets together once a month. Would you like to come to our next meeting?”
My last writing assignment while Nathaniel was in China had been to detail where I wanted to be, as a submissive, in five years. I’d written that I wanted to be active in mentoring novice submissives, much like Nathaniel had mentored dominants. I wanted to help others the way Christine had helped me, the way this group might help me.
“That would be great,” I said. “What do you do?” It was hard to imagine a group of submissives sitting around talking about, well, being submissive.
He leaned against the table and crossed his arms. “Depends,” he said. “Last meeting, one of our members shared her recipe for homemade pasta and we all tried to make some.”
My laugh drew the attention of several other people. Even Nathaniel lifted his eyebrow at me. He was talking with the blonde.
“Sorry,” I said to Jonah. “Whatever I was expecting you to do, homemade pasta wasn’t it.”
“That’s okay. I suppose it does sound odd at first, and we do have discussions about the lifestyle. Here,” he said, taking a piece of paper from the table and writing something down. “Here’s my number. Call me and I’ll give you the time and directions.”