Add in the way Xavier had taken control, doing exactly what he wanted with her. She pursed her lips. She hadn’t had one coherent thought from the application of the first chemical to when he’d stopped kissing her. Talk about sensory overload.
Her research had suffered, but she’d certainly experienced very erotic dreams since. And played with that new toy Xavier had given her. She’d thought of him each time.
She took a big gulp of her tea, burning her mouth. He was the reason she had trouble concentrating on her essay. How was she ever going to face him again? She felt her color rise. Using that stuff and his fingers, he’d made her climax so easily it was humiliating.
Even worse, Nathan was a member of Dark Haven, so he and Xavier must know each other. What if he told Nathan about her?
She raised her chin. Did she care? Nathan had broken everything off. Still…how would Nathan feel if he knew Xavier had put her in the bondage that she’d never let Nathan use?
With a sigh, she watched a hummingbird sample the flowering sage. Even if he’d dumped her, she didn’t want to hurt him. She still missed his company and how they would sit out here and discuss research and statistics. She’d liked having someone to date and someone in her bed. She’d been a girlfriend. Had felt like a normal girl.
You are normal, you moron.
Sometimes. Intellectually brilliant, socially retarded. Graduating high school at sixteen hadn’t been too bad. But the guys in college had called her jailbait. Then she’d received her doctorate a year after she’d been able to legally drink.
Really, she should have scheduled social interactions the same way she had her classes. Maybe then she’d have known how to date. Of course, each time she had actually found a boyfriend, her stepsister had stolen him away.
Nathan had lasted the longest. She’d had hopes… Blinking hard, she took a sip of tea.
Get over it. Everyone suffers disappointments. She had a job—at least until spring. A nice house. A good family. And hey, she had her health too.
A squeak from inside made her smile. Even puppies had problems. Who was she to complain? Nathan was gone, but in his place, she had kinky evenings and an interesting research project.
The phone rang, and she ran into the house to answer, puffing slightly. Must add exercise to the list of things to do this summer. In fact, sex with Xavier would undoubtedly be hot, sweaty, and burn lots of calories. I didn’t need that picture, thank you very much.
“Hello?”
“Abby, sweetheart. How are you? Did you have a nice weekend?”
“I’m good, Mom, and my weekend was okay.” I was tied to a table in a kink club. Someday she’d decide if she was proud of herself or appalled.
“Friday is Grace’s birthday, and I’m making all her favorite foods,” her mother said in her warm voice. “Can you come to an early supper? Around five?”
Birthday. Abby winced. She’d marked the date on her calendar and planned to gift-shop on Sunday. Instead she’d spent the day researching other papers about BDSM. I’m scum. “Of course I’ll come.”
“Wonderful. It’s been a while, and I miss you.”
“Me too.” Smiling, Abby ended the call. Her mom was the best, and her stepfather, Harold, was a pretty good deal as well. And they’d given her a little half sister.
Her smile soured. A shame she’d also gotten a stepsister as well. Harold’s daughter, Janae, two years older than Abby, never missed a chance to insult the interlopers, Abby and her mom. They’d upset Janae’s perfect world where she was the one and only child, and she’d never forgiven them.
Abby frowned. Really, if Janae had possessed a different character, Harold’s doting behavior wouldn’t have spoiled her. But Janae was a walking, talking example of nature over nurture—she simply had a rotten personality.
* * * *
On Friday, after tapping lightly on the front door, Abby let herself in to her parents’ home. “Helloooo.”
The large living room in sedate blues and greens was empty, but the arched windows to the backyard showed smoke rising from the grill.
“Abby, you’re here. I’d begun to worry.” Her mother bustled out of the kitchen to enfold Abby in a patented mommy hug. Maybe someday Abby would be able to dispense love with the mere tone of her voice.
“I needed to feed the pups one last time before I left.” And clean up the mess. How did a fixed amount of intake create twice as much output? Don’t want to research that one, thank you. “Are the presents outside?”
“Yes. And thoroughly shaken and checked out. She’s already figured out at least three.”
Won’t figure out mine, Abby thought smugly. She’d put the small box with the bracelet and earrings set into a file-sized box.
As she walked onto the patio, Grace jumped up. “Abbeegale!”
Wrapped in a spinning, bouncing hug, Abby squeezed back, laughing. How had her quiet mother and dignified Harold created a child with all this energy?
Grace let go and checked Abby over. “You look good,” she said in delight. “More happy or something.”
“Why, thank you.” Abby tilted her head. “You look older.” In the past year her adorable little sister had transformed into a stunning young woman. Long reddish-blonde hair, big green eyes accentuated by a fair amount of makeup, tight clothes on her slender body. She could be one of Abby’s university students.
“Yes, you look very…healthy, Abby.” Janae leaned a hip on a patio chair. Her lips curled in a smile as fake as her sweet tone. “You might want to avoid the cake. Lots of calories.”
After the sweetness of her mother and Grace’s welcomes, Abby hadn’t braced herself for her stepsister’s animosity. As the insult dug deep, she grew aware of how wide her hips were, how her breasts made their own platform, how slender everyone else was, including her mother. “Thanks for the suggestion,” she said lightly.
Forcing a smile, Abby visualized herself enclosed in a shroud of ice and then thickened the insult shield until the temperature seemed to drop. She’d learned the skill under the barrage of her father’s screams. After Janae had come into her life, she’d perfected the technique.
Harold came from the kitchen, carrying a plate of steak. “There’s the professor!” He set the food on the wide table and gave her a hard hug. Hands on her shoulders, he held her out. “You look far too pretty to be a Doctor Bern.”
She smiled at him. Janae had inherited her father’s slimness, but the gene for compassion had skipped her entirely. “It’s good to see you too.”
An hour or so later, after present-opening and Grace’s favorite meal of high-cholesterol, high-calorie steak and baked potatoes, the conversation started to lag.
Janae rose. “I’m going upstairs to pull out some summer clothes.”
As Harold left to check the stock reports and Grace ran upstairs to flaunt her presents on Facebook, Abby and her mother retired to the kitchen nook.
Ignoring the fresh coffee, Abby boiled water for tea. She definitely needed something to rev her up. She’d stayed up late all week to work on her essay. Then last night her young teaching assistant had quarreled with a boyfriend and spent the night in Abby’s living room, crying and talking. It wouldn’t have been that bad…except the puppies had missed the let’s sleep in memo. Two hours’ sleep wasn’t adequate, not on top of all the other short nights. Tonight at Dark Haven was going to be rough.
“How are you holding up with Nathan gone?” her mom asked, settling down at the tiny table.
Stalling for a good answer, Abby poured water into the teapot, and the bergamot scent of Earl Grey filled the air. “He hasn’t been gone that long. And I’ve been busy.”
“Will you have time for a vacation this summer?”
“I’m teaching the short summer session, which gives me most of August off. Only…I might be job hunting for a new position for spring semester.” Her mouth twisted. “The university is talking cutbacks, so I’m writing a quick research paper to enhance my résumé.”
“Oh.” Her mother’s brows drew together. “Not something you enjoy. What are you working on?”
“Well, I had to find a project interesting enough to be memorable.”
“And?”
Abby gave her a half smile. Thank goodness her mother was a liberal individual. “I’m studying a BDSM club.”
The coffee cup hit the end table with a thud. “You what?”
“It’s research, Mom.” Abby picked up her cup, hoping her mother wouldn’t notice the flush heating her cheeks. Did research involve Xavier touching her…intimately? Sliding a vibrator into her vagina?
“Heavens.” Her mother leaned back in the chair. “What did Nathan say? He agreed to let you wander around a club like that?”
“Perhaps it’s better that he’s not in town.” Abby grinned. “I must say, it’s an interesting place. People are—”
“Why, Abby, I think you’d make an excellent slave,” Janae said from the doorway. “But if you’re going to run around naked with only a collar on, you should start on a serious diet.”
“Thanks for the suggestion.” The insult went nowhere this time. Not with the ice shield in place.
As Janae smirked and left to bid her father good-bye, Abby glanced at her mother. “Bet you’re glad she doesn’t visit often.”
“I always hoped she’d stop resenting us, but it’s not going to happen. Poor Harold has no idea how nasty she is, and I never had the heart to tell him.” Her mother gave her a repentant look. “I’m sorry she made your high school years so miserable. I should have taken her to task or something…”
Abby shrugged. The insults—and losing any boy who showed a hint of interest—had been painful, but she’d survived, and after Janae, sarcastic professors were a piece of cake. “It’s not your fault. We both avoid confrontations.” Even now the thought of someone yelling—of Dad yelling—made Abby cringe. But Mom had suffered the worst. Abby had been a child and able to escape to school; her mother had never been able to get away.
“I feel as if I should—”
“No, you shouldn’t.” Abby patted her mother’s hand. “Having you happy, and having Harold and Grace in our lives, is worth putting up with a bit of bitchiness. Someday someone will give Janae a wake-up call. It won’t be us, but that’s okay.”
Chapter Seven
Friday night, at a table in the upstairs club room, Xavier watched Michael conduct a violet wand scene. The older Dom wore a contact pad, and the electricity passed through him. As sparks leaped from his finger to the submissive’s bare ass, the well-rounded woman squirmed violently on the bench, trying to evade the bite of the current. Good entertainment for the crowd.
Xavier glanced around the room, pleased with the number of members present. Even at midnight the dance floor was packed, the bar and tables busy.
There was Abby, over by the door. As his spirits lifted, he shook his head ruefully. Although a Dom needed to be able to read his own emotions like a book, the knowledge gleaned wasn’t always comfortable.
She’s a member of the Dark Haven staff, not my submissive. He should remember that. When her gaze met his, he motioned to her.
Looking all around, she crossed the twilit room, so fair-skinned and blonde she almost glowed. The show on the stage halted her completely. Although the music of Terminal Choice from the dance floor drowned out the faint sizzle of the wand, the submissive’s yelps came through clearly. Abby’s rapid retreat indicated her opinion of electrical play.
As she drew closer, Xavier frowned. Her gray eyes were reddened, and the translucent skin beneath showed dark circles. “Welcome back.”
“Thanks.” She caught his raised eyebrow and added a hasty, “My liege.”
He understood her difficulty with the automatic respect. Although he’d topped her in one scene, he wasn’t her Dom, and she didn’t have the habit of calling every Dominant “sir” that many submissives acquired. However, he did insist his staff be respectful.
“I’ll give you one more night to improve your courtesy,” he said gently and saw her brows draw together as she mentally added, Or what? He didn’t answer her unspoken question. Explaining consequences served well at times, but silence could be far more effective…if the submissive possessed an active imagination.
He could see hers was hard at work. She really was delightful. “Clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
After nodding acceptance, he shifted his attention to her attire. She’d ignored his directions about her clothing. Again. “Abigail, return to the desk and remove either the bustier or the skirt. Put your collar on. Return here.”
Her mouth opened, closed, and a flush lit her cheeks.
He turned his gaze back to the stage in an open dismissal and punishment. Her footsteps trailed away.
A few minutes later he heard her stop beside him, and he glanced up.
Collared. Naked from the waist up. He’d have let her wear something slightly less revealing if she hadn’t defied him. Her arm muscles were rigid, as if she had to quell the need to cover herself, and her face turned an enchanting red.
He’d forgotten how enjoyable the modest ones were. This one blushed more beautifully than anyone he’d ever seen. “You have gorgeous breasts, little fluff. I’m pleased to share your beauty with my friends.”
Her mouth tightened—not a normal reaction to a compliment, and neither was her clipped, “Thank you, sir.” Expressionless, she kept her gaze on the stage.
She was quite the piece of work. “When talking to a Dom, it’s good manners for the submissive to be on an equal or lower level. That means if he’s sitting, you kneel.”
After a moment of obvious reluctance, she knelt in front of him with an awkward charm. He studied her, trying to read how she felt. He could see a hint of shock—that of a career woman ordered to kneel. Yet her nipples had tightened, and her back arched. Did the little feminist find it exciting to be at his feet? Quite likely. Perhaps someday he’d tell her how it pleased him to have her there.
For now he had other subjects to pursue. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, invading her space. Taking a slow breath, he inhaled her delightful fragrance, like a brisk spring with a hint of flowers. “Tell me why you chose to remove your top rather than the skirt.” After all, she’d probably worn panties and would have been more covered.
She shrugged. “It was easier.”
His mental deceit detector clanged. “I’d prefer an honest answer.”
Her gaze never met his. “It seemed less naked.”
WHY WON’T HE stop prying? As Abby shifted her weight, trying to find a comfortable position on the hardwood floor, her breasts wobbled. Without the bustier, her stomach’s roundness was in full view. Janae’s you’re fat comments from earlier still lingered, and now Abby’s mental armor chilled with every glance that probably held disgust.
The weight of Xavier’s attention bowed her shoulders, but at least it couldn’t penetrate the ice around her. Why wouldn’t he just leave her alone?
“Let’s try it this way,” Xavier said, his tone even. “Tell me your thoughts as you decided which garment to keep on and which to remove. All.”
Lay out her reasons like an exam paper to be graded? She felt the ice around her thicken to keep his influence minimized. “That was it. Really.”
“Abby. Look at me.”
The firm command sliced through her, and she tipped her head back. His eyes were black. Intent. The demand in them chipped at her armor.
“Keep looking at me,” he said softly. His knuckles brushed down her neck, down her chest. His hand was warm, melting the ice around her as he cupped her left breast and weighed it in his big palm. Her nipples tightened painfully, making her toes curl. As he circled the areola with his thumb, his gaze kept hers trapped. She swallowed as the rush of heat inside her blasted away her defenses.
“That’s right.” His voice was soothing; only she didn’t understand what he meant.
He leaned forward and ki
ssed her firmly. “Your inability to share your thoughts and emotions is something we’ll work on. But this time I’ll help. When you tried to decide what to remove, your first thought was that you wanted to show off your breasts.”
A startled laugh broke from her and made the fine lines at the corners of his eyes crinkle.
His hand shifted, sliding under her neglected breast to caress…to heat. “That would be no. Actually, since you’re female, your first thought was probably that one part of your body is less attractive than another.”
He’d plucked the worry right from her brain, and she jerked slightly.
“Yes. Tell me how you feel about your breasts, little teacher. Three adjectives, please.”
She tried to look away, to get some mental distance to think. His free hand curved under her jaw, an iron trap holding her face up. He’d not let her escape. A shiver shook her as the feeling of exposure went from external to internal.
“Abby?”
Breasts. Her breasts. “Heavy. Nice.” She did like her breasts. Although there were times… “Awkward.”
“Awkward?” One eyebrow rose, and humor glinted in his eyes. “I’m looking forward to discussing that one.”
Hell will freeze over first, thank you very much.
Despite her silence, he smiled. “Oh yes, we will. We also need to work on letting you view yourself in a better light.” He stroked one breast, then the other. “They’re more than nice. My adjectives: lush, lovely, responsive.” He tugged on a nipple, and heat sizzled a path to her groin. “Your nipples are… Hmm. Like fragile, pale-pink roses on a canvas of snow.”
Even through the flush of delight from the compliments, she stared. Men didn’t use poetical phrases, especially a man who looked like a leaner, deadlier, darker Rhett Butler—an aristocratic pirate.
His smile flickered, undoubtedly at her expression. “I had an excellent private school education.”
What would she bet that his elusive and faint accent originated in a European private school?
My Liege of Dark Haven Page 7
