The Submissive

by Erotic Romance

  I looked inside my fist. A condom.

  Because antibiotics invalidated birth control pills.

  Victory surged through me. Excitement shot from my head straight to the center of my being and down to the aching spot between my legs.

  I dropped the condom on the floor. My fingers fumbled with his buttons, but I worked my way through them. Pushed the shirt from his shoulders, yanked it from his pants. I ran my hands down his chest, remembering the feel of him, tracing the planes of his stomach. I walked around him. I loved the sight of a man’s back.

  His back was perfect, of course. I circled his shoulder blades and reached up on tiptoe to place a kiss at the juncture between them. He sucked in a breath, but didn’t touch me, allowing me to explore on my terms. I licked down the line of his spine, savoring his taste.

  I walked back to the front of him and dropped to my knees. He was erect and straining the front of his pants.

  Well, well, well.

  I brushed him with my fingertips, eliciting a hiss. Very slowly, I unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, making sure I stroked him every so often through the material. I went even slower with his zipper, roughly dragging my fingers the entire way.

  He grew even harder.

  I pulled his pants and boxers down at the same time, freeing him at last. His cock bobbed in front of my face. I leaned forward and took him forcefully into my mouth, wrapping my arms around his backside and pulling him toward me at the same time. He steadied himself briefly by resting his hands on my head. Gently.

  I sucked him hard, relishing the feel of having him in my mouth again. I ripped open the foil package at my knees, rolled the condom down his length, and got to my feet. The couch was behind him; I pushed on his chest and he moved backward. We landed on it together, my legs straddling him.

  He leaned forward and drew a nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it until I groaned in pleasure. But this was my show, so I pushed him back down and positioned myself right above his cock.

  I lowered myself on him, inch by delicious inch, delighting in how he filled me.

  “Abigail,” he groaned, trying to thrust up against me.

  I held him down and pushed until he was completely inside. Then I groaned. I stopped for a few seconds to concentrate on how it felt. How it felt to have him under me and in me. Heaven. I leaned forward into his chest and he sucked my nipple into his mouth again. Ohh. Even better.

  I started a slow, grinding rhythm, pressing down and lifting up as my hips moved round and round. Nathaniel helped, thrusting up to meet me. We began a sultry, erotic dance. Up and down and around. Over and over.

  His hands weren’t still. They circled my waist, ran up my back, cupped my breasts. His breathing got choppy. Then he grabbed my waist and worked me up and down, thrusting into me harder, even as I pushed down. I couldn’t get enough of him. Couldn’t get him deep enough.

  “Damn it, Abigail.” He groaned and thrust upward again, hitting a new spot.

  I was close, so I moved quicker. He realized what I was doing and joined me, driving into me, helping me reach it.

  Release flooded my shaking body and he followed seconds later, thrusting one last time, grunting as he came.

  We lay on the couch, letting our breathing return to normal. Waiting for our limbs to work again. Or maybe that was just me. The accident had taken more out of me than I’d thought.

  Nathaniel rolled us so we were on our sides and I was between him and the couch. “Are you okay?”

  “I am now,” I said with a smirk. The library was my new favorite room, for sure. He could remove all the books and it would still be my favorite. I ran a hand down his chest. Mine. In this room I could pretend he was mine.

  He took my hand and held it to his chest. “I want you to take it easy the rest of the day.”

  “Okay.” I could do that, since I’d gotten what I wanted.

  He rolled off the couch, threw the condom away, and gathered his clothes. “What type pizza do you like?” he asked, buttoning his shirt.

  Mr. Eat-this-and-not-that wanted pizza? For real?

  He sensed my hesitation. “The Clark family has to eat pizza and hot wings during every play-off game. If we didn’t and the Giants lost, Jackson would disown us.”

  “I’ve heard of crazier superstitions,” I said, getting off the couch. “Just don’t tell me if he wears the same unwashed underwear.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  In more ways than one, I thought, wondering if he’d ever kiss me.

  “Mushroom,” I said, deciding not to dwell on his lips. “I like mushroom pizza. And bacon.”

  “Mushroom and bacon it is.” He pulled his boxers back on. “Picnic on the floor sound good?”

  Nathaniel on the floor surrounded by pillows and pizza? My mind wandered…

  “Abigail?”

  “Yes. Picnic on the floor would be great.”

  But I hadn’t fooled him one bit.

  “You will take it easy the rest of the day.”

  He brought my collar out during half-time.

  Up to that point, we’d been doing our part for Jackson, eating hot wings and pizza. And it was working—the Giants were up by a touchdown.

  He turned the TV off and stood by me, holding the collar out. “Elaina gave it to me at the hospital.”

  I couldn’t lie to him, even if it was a lie by omission. “Elaina knows,” I said, then hastened to add, “but it wasn’t me. I didn’t tell her.”

  He nodded. “I thought as much. Thank you for being honest.” He hesitated for a minute. “I want to make sure you still want this, I wasn’t sure…” His eyes met mine. “You know more now, maybe you don’t…want it.”

  “I want it.”

  Surprise lit his eyes for just a second. He thought I would say no. I rose to my knees and dropped my head, ready for him to put the collar back on.

  “Look at me, Abigail.”

  I looked at him. He faced me, dropping to his knees and reaching around my neck to fasten it, then ran his fingers through my hair. His eyes darkened, dipped to my lips, and back to my eyes. He moved the tiniest bit forward.

  He’s going to kiss me.

  I was frozen. I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

  He closed his eyes and sighed.

  Then his eyes opened and he got to his feet to turn the game back on.

  Disappointment swept over me. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I brought my hand to my neck. But I still had his collar. Still had that part of him. He still wanted me.

  New York won by a point.

  “You know what this means?” Nathaniel asked as they showed a close-up of Jackson pumping his fist in the air.

  “We’re going to the Super Bowl?”

  “Yes,” he said, fingering the collar. “And I have plans for the Super Bowl.”

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  Felicia came over Monday night all abuzz. Philly was great. The game was great. The Wellings were great. But mostly, Jackson. Jackson was great. She was one hundred percent, totally, head-over-heels in love. After what? Two weeks? It was crazy.

  I was thrilled for her.

  Once she calmed down, I asked her about her argument with Nathaniel.

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “It was nothing, really.”

  “Felicia,” I said. “My subconscious heard you. It wasn’t nothing.”

  She bit her lip. “I was just shocked that Nathaniel was already there. I’m your best friend. I should have been there first. It’s stupid. Like I said, nothing.”

  I tried to think back. It was hard. The memories were fuzzy. “When did you get to the hospital?”

  “When they brought you to your room. Right after your CT scan.”

  That made sense.

  “When did Nathaniel get to the hospital?”

  She sighed and plopped down on the sofa. “He was in the trauma room with you. The nurses had to kick him out.” She raised an eyebrow. “Why don�
��t you ask him?”

  I ignored her. “Why did you call him a fucking animal?”

  “Because I thought he was one. You’re his, like, sex-slave or something. You fill one need for him and he comes running to the hospital when you’re injured as if his world was falling apart. It ticked me off.”

  “But you like him now?”

  “I wouldn’t use the word like, but yeah, I’ll put up with him.” She walked to the door. Conversation over. “You going to the Super Bowl with him?”

  “Yes. He mentioned something about it.”

  On Wednesday afternoon around one-thirty I was working the front checkout desk. I had my back to the front door while cataloging new releases.

  “I need to see something in the Rare Books Collection.”

  Heaven save me from dimwits who don’t know library regulations. “I’m sorry,” I said, not even bothering to look around. “The Rare Books Collection is open by appointment only and we’re a little short-staffed at the moment. I really don’t have time this afternoon.”

  “That’s rather disappointing, Abigail.”

  You know how what you expect to happen clouds what you see and hear? Well, it never occurred to me that Nathaniel would wander into my branch of the New York Public Library at one-thirty on a random Wednesday afternoon. Which was why I didn’t grasp who he was until he said my name.

  I spun around.

  He stood in front of me, bundled in a woolen overcoat with only a hint of tie seen above the collar of his coat. Smug grin firmly in place.

  Nathaniel West was in my library. On a Wednesday.

  I tilted my head.

  To see the Rare Books Collection?

  “Is this really such a bad time?” he asked.

  “No,” I croaked out. “But I’m sure you have the exact same books at your house.”

  “Probably.”

  “And,” I continued, still not understanding what he was doing, “someone will have to escort you the entire time.”

  “I certainly hope so. It’d be rather boring in the Rare Books Collection all by myself.” He slowly pulled his gloves off, one finger at a time. “I know it’s not a weekend, please feel free to tell me no. There will be no repercussions. Will you escort me to the Rare Books Collection?”

  Oh. My. Word.

  “Ye—ye—yes,” I stammered, watching as he stripped the other glove off.

  “Excellent.”

  I stood frozen.

  “Abigail,” he said, pulling me from my stupor. “Perhaps that lady right there,” he pointed over my shoulder, “can work the front desk while you are…otherwise occupied?”

  Gah.

  “Abigail?”

  “Martha?” I called, moving away from my post. “Watch the desk for me, will you? Mr. West has an appointment to see the Rare Books Collection.”

  Martha waved.

  “Just for my education,” Nathaniel said as we walked, “does the Rare Books Collection room happen to have a table?”

  A table? “Yes.”

  “Is it sturdy?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Good.” He followed me up the stairs. “Because I plan to have more than books spread out for me.”

  My heart doubled its tempo.

  I scuffled with the keys, trying to find the one that fit the lock to the Rare Books Collection room. I finally found it, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.

  “Oh, no,” Nathaniel said, holding the door. “After you.”

  I walked into the Rare Books room, eyes scanning the space. It was empty and, unless something unexpected came up, would remain that way for the foreseeable future.

  Nathaniel closed the door behind me and locked it. He took off his coat and slung it over the back of a chair, then walked around the room, inspecting the various shelves and tables.

  “This one,” he said, pointing to a waist-high table in the middle of the room, “is exactly what I had in mind.”

  I was going to have sex in the Rare Books Collection.

  With Nathaniel.

  “Strip from the waist down, Abigail,” he said. “And hop onto the table.”

  Shutting out the part of my brain that warned I shouldn’t do so, I slipped out of my shoes and undid my pants. Slid them and my panties past my hips and onto the floor. Nathaniel watched as I scrambled onto the table.

  “Very nice.” He unbuckled his belt. “Put your heels and ass on the edge of the table and spread those pretty knees for me.”

  The temperature in the Rare Books Collection was kept lower than in other parts of the library. I was usually cold when I went in there, but now I was hot. Burning hot. And getting hotter watching him unzip his pants and boxers and step out of them. He rolled a condom onto his already erect cock.

  “Beautiful.” He walked to the table, spread my knees further apart, and then looked down, moving me ever so slightly, lining me up with his cock. Teasing me. Making me savor the anticipation.

  “Tell me, Abigail,” he said. “Have you ever been fucked in the Rare Books Collection before?”

  “No.”

  His head shot up. “No, what?”

  “No, sir.”

  He pressed his cock into me the slightest bit. “Much better.”

  He waited a minute and thrust in all the way. My hips moved back. He reached out to grab my backside and pull me closer.

  “Lean back on your elbows, Abigail. I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll still be feeling it Friday night.”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice. I leaned back and scooted my hips forward, moving further onto him as I did.

  Nathaniel thrust forward, pounding into me over and over, and I held on as tightly as I could. I pushed up on the balls of my feet so I could meet his thrusts.

  “You’re mine,” he said, ramming forward again.

  My head dropped back. I was so exposed in this position, everything felt so much more intense. Yes, I wanted to say. Yours and yours only.

  “Mine.” He held my hips steady as his cock battered me. “Say it, Abigail.”

  “Yours.” I repeated it as he thrust again and again. “Yours. Yours. Yours.”

  I started moaning as my climax built. It just felt so good. But I was at work; I bit my lips together as my climax grew and grew, until it spiraled out of control and I let out a little squeak. Nathaniel sucked in a breath and then held still as he came powerfully into the condom.

  He leaned over me, breathing heavily, and trailed kisses down my belly. “Thank you for escorting me on my tour of the Rare Books Collection.”

  “Anytime,” I said, running my fingers through his hair.

  He placed one last kiss on my belly before we straightened our clothes.

  I slipped my shoes back on and it hit me what we’d just done. What if someone heard us? What if there were people standing outside? Nathaniel had locked the door, but several employees had keys.

  He cocked his head. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” I said, wanting to leave the room as quickly as possible. I took the condom from Nathaniel and headed out into the corridor. “I’ll take care of this.”

  He nodded. “I’ll see you Friday at six.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  We went our separate ways, him to leave and me to the bathroom. I felt wobbly and tingly inside—I’d probably be wearing a stupid grin for the rest of the day.

  When I made it back to the front desk, there was a rose waiting for me on top of the books I’d been cataloging. A cream-colored rose, tinted at the tips with a blush of pink.

  I picked it up and inhaled its fragrance.

  Fifty-two hours and counting.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  I sat at the front desk, twirling the rose.

  “Someone’s got it bad,” Martha sang out, sitting at the desk and placing her chin in her hands.

  “Who, me?” I twirled the rose again.

  “Obviously,” she said. “But so does that delicious slice of man cake who
left the rose for you.” She blinked her eyes dramatically several times.

  “Nathaniel West?” I asked, delighting in the sound of his name on my lips. “He’s just someone I’ve been seeing.” Okay, that was a lie. I’d been doing a hell of a lot more than seeing Nathaniel. And the rose was nothing but a thankyou for not turning him down.

  Martha stood up. “A cream-colored rose with a touch of pink is serious business.”

  “Really?” I stopped twirling. “Why?”

  “John Boyle O’Reilly?” she asked. “The Irish poet?”

  I shook my head. Never heard of him.

  Martha clapped her hands. “This is so romantic. It’s from his poem, ‘A White Rose’—”

  “It’s not white.”

  Martha shot me an evil look. “I know that, I’m just telling you the title.”

  “Sorry.” I waved, interested in seeing where she was going. “Go on.”

  She cleared her throat:

  “The red rose whispers of passion,

  And the white rose breathes of love;

  O the red rose is a falcon,

  And the white rose is a dove.

  But I send you a cream-white rosebud

  With a flush on its petal tips;

  For the love that is purest and sweetest

  Has a kiss of desire on the lips.”

  I dropped the rose.

  It doesn’t mean anything. Doesn’t mean A THING. He liked the way the rose looked, is all. It’s all a coincidence.

  But when did Nathaniel ever do anything coincidental?

  Never.

  “Abby?” Martha asked.

  A kiss of desire on the lips.

  Nothing. It means nothing, Rational Abby whispered. Or maybe it was Crazy Abby. Who knew at this point?

  Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Tell yourself it’s just a thing he does every weekend. Whatever. It really doesn’t matter anymore, does it? It means more to you, Crazy Abby said. Or perhaps it was Rational Abby who said that.

  “Abby?”

  “Sorry, Martha.” I picked the rose up and sat it on the desk. Stared at it. “It’s a beautiful poem. Very romantic.”