by Tara Sue Me
“I hope you do a lot of international traveling,” I said. “With me.”
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, but before she could say anything, the waiter returned with our lunches.
“That’ll be great,” she said, once he left. “I can’t go to China, but you’re right. I need a passport. I’ll take care of that.”
It didn’t sound too great, not by her tone of voice, but she changed the subject and I went along with her. I knew I should say something else, should ask her if something was wrong, at least try to find out what was going on in her head. But the more I thought about it, I decided to wait. After all, why have a heart-to-heart at an outside café? Besides, if something was wrong, wouldn’t she tell me?
I was distracted at work that afternoon by the persistent nagging that something was wrong. Or maybe wrong wasn’t the right word, but something was off. I felt even more certain. I had several meetings that afternoon, but fortunately those were run by my senior executives, so all I had to do was show up.
It was close to six when I made it home that night. Any other Friday night, I’d have been smiling as I thought through my plans for the weekend. My plans that night, though, consisted of sitting Abby down and having a long talk before we did anything. I wasn’t sure what, if anything, was wrong, but I intended to find out before collaring her.
She was waiting for me in the foyer. She sat on the plush bench, Apollo at her feet, and gave me a nervous smile when she saw me walking in.
I dropped my briefcase at the door and sat down next to her. We didn’t touch, and the tension between us was palpable.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey,” I answered back, confused, uncertain, and a little scared. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing urgent,” she said. “I just wanted to talk with you.”
We still weren’t touching, and her words did little to make me feel better.
“I was thinking the same thing,” I said. “Matter of fact, I was going to insist on talking. You haven’t seemed yourself this week.”
She sighed. “The newspaper did a feature on you and your business. Did you see it?”
The newspaper had actually interviewed me weeks ago, and I’d completely forgotten about it. I tried to remember what they’d asked me that would have her acting so strangely.
“No,” I said. “I didn’t see it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t pulling a salary this year?”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you decided not to take a salary?” she repeated.
Oh, right. That.
I shrugged. “It was something I decided before you became my submissive the first time. I guess it never occurred to me to bring it up in conversation.”
“You just didn’t think it was important?”
“No,” I said. “Not really. Why?”
“It’s just confusing for me,” she said. “Who can just decide they don’t need a salary?”
“I’m a wealthy man, Abby.”
“I know,” she said. “I just never realized how wealthy you are.”
“Is my wealth a problem for you?”
“I just need to get used to it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Sometimes, I feel . . . I don’t know.” She stumbled over her words. “It’s like I don’t recognize my life.”
Her words nearly shattered me, and I didn’t know how to respond.
“That sounds horrible,” she said in a rush. “Even to me, because I’ve never been happier. Really. I’ve hesitated saying anything because I didn’t want to sound ungrateful, or unappreciative, or like I didn’t want to be with you.”
My chest grew tight. “You don’t recognize your life?”
She turned to face me. “Damn it. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Abby,” I said, forcing myself to remain calm and not to assume the worst. She had, after all, said she wanted to be with me. “I’d much rather you tell me about it than let it sit and fester.” I’d done too much of that in the past. “But I’m still not sure exactly what the problem is.”
“It’s just, I felt useful before. Now I feel somewhat insignificant.”
Insignificant?
“What?” I asked. “How can you feel that way?”
She used her fingers to count. “You don’t need me to clean or keep the house up. You’re completely capable of cooking for yourself. I don’t need to do laundry or grocery shopping. You certainly don’t need my salary. Hell, you don’t need yours. I’m not contributing anything to expenses financially, and I just feel completely insignificant in the middle of all this,” she said with a wave that encompassed the entire foyer.
I thought for a few seconds, unsure what would be the best way to respond and uncertain how to show her the fallacy of her thinking.
Finally, I stood to my feet and held out my hand. “Come with me.”
She tentatively placed her hand in mine, and I gave it a gentle squeeze as she stood. I led her up the stairs, past the playroom and our bedroom, down the hall, to a single door. I opened it, showing her another set of stairs. I didn’t think she’d ever been in the attic, and she followed me as we made our way up.
The attic was huge and ran the entire length of the house. White sheets covered old furniture, and several trunks lined the walls. A few windows were scattered here and there, allowing light into the dusky space.
It’d been a long time since I’d been in the attic, and a rush of memories came back.
“This was my favorite place to hide when I was little,” I said. “I would sit up here for hours: playing pirate, reading, or exploring.” I walked over to a white lump and lifted the sheet, showing her the armchair underneath. “When I remodeled, I had them leave the attic untouched. They stored a lot of the original furniture from the house up here.”
She ran a hand over the leather chair. “It’s your history.”
I smiled. “I came up here a lot during high school. Spent hours here. It was a struggle for me, trying to decide what to do.” I faced her. “Do you know I had an appointment at the Naval Academy?”
She nodded. “Linda told me once.”
“Part of me wanted something different, to go somewhere no one knew me. To start over.” I thought back to those long-ago days when I was a teenager, desperately trying to find my place in life. “I’m not sure anyone knows, even now, how hard I struggled with myself. I felt trapped into who I thought the world wanted Nathaniel West to be, and I didn’t want to feel trapped.” I turned to face her. “I wanted to be significant.”
The window nearest us overlooked a large oak tree in the backyard. I pointed to it. “Do you see that tree?”
“The oak?” she asked, moving to stand closer.
“Yes. I want to build a tree house there one day. For our children.”
I stood completely still and let my words sink in. I heard her sharp intake of breath.
“It’s a huge step for me to think that, Abby,” I said. “For me to allow myself to think that one day you and I will marry and have children. But it’s you who gave me the freedom to dream.” I turned and framed her face with my hands. “The wealth, the housekeeper, the salary I’m not taking this year? They’re nothing. They’re the insignificant things, Abby. Not you. You are the most significant part of my life.”
“Nathaniel,” she whispered.
“I love you,” I said. “And that’s all that matters. If you want to go grocery shopping and do the laundry, do it. If it’ll make you feel better to help with the utilities, help with them. But please, please, don’t ever lose sight of what you mean to me.”
She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” I kissed her eyelid. “Don’t apologize. Moving in with me, changing your entire way of life, of course it’s been stressful. It’s going to take some adjustment.”
“I didn’t handle it very well.”
“We’re here now, aren’t we?” I sl
ipped my arms to her waist and drew her closer. “Isn’t that all that matters?”
She laid her head on my chest and sighed. “Yes.”
The weight of the week dissipated, leaving in its place a sense of joy and peace. The air around us was silent, and I allowed the old memories and doubts I had as a teenager to be replaced by the new dreams made possible by the woman I held.
She sighed. “I messed up our weekend.”
“What do you mean?” I murmured into her hair. Frankly, the weekend was going better than I imagined it would when I pulled into the driveway earlier.
“It’s past the time you normally collar me,” she said.
“I can collar you later tonight,” I said, shifting my plans for the weekend around in my head.
Her arms tightened around me. “Sounds good to me.”
“One more thing,” I said. “I need you to know that while I appreciate the fact that you want me to treat you the way I did my previous submissives, it won’t ever happen.”
I pulled back to catch her gaze and watched her wrinkle her forehead.
“You’re not one of my previous submissives,” I said. “I told you before that I cared for them, but it’s not the same as what I feel for you. Not even close.”
“I’ve never questioned that.”
“And yet you still asked me to treat you the same,” I reminded her. “Still asked me what I would do with them.”
“So tell me,” she said. “Would you have postponed your weekend play for them the same way you did tonight?”
I nodded. “If something was wrong between us, yes.” At the surprise in her eyes, I continued. “But I would never have thought to bring them up here, or to share with them what I shared with you. I’ve talked with Paul a lot about this, Abby, and you’re not the same as them. It doesn’t bother me to treat you differently. Don’t let it bother you.”
“I’ll try,” she whispered.
I pulled her to my chest. “Don’t compare yourself to them. You are completely different. We are completely different.”
We spent the next several hours exploring the expanse of the attic together. Every so often, one of us would catch the other looking outside at the oak tree and we’d share a smile.
Chapter Twenty-one
—ABBY—
He had told me to expect some sort of role-play, and on Sunday morning, I waited in the living room, reading. I hadn’t seen him since breakfast. He’d left the dining room shortly after eating, instructing me to dress in the outfit he had waiting in my closet.
I’d never worn garters before. The ones he laid out for me were black, and I’ll admit, made my legs look sexier than normal. It’d never occurred to me to wear such things, and I decided to plan a shopping trip with Felicia for sometime the next week.
I pulled absentmindedly at the skirt. It was ridiculously short and fell just past my upper thighs. I felt certain a glimpse of garter would peek out from the bottom whenever I walked. The jacket wasn’t much better; it was tight and barely covered my chest. There wasn’t even a blouse, just a black lace bra that showed when I moved the right way. I had to admit, though, just sitting and thinking about what he could have planned was a turn-on.
How would I know when he was ready? Would he come find me?
He would have to, right?
I thought back to Friday night. How he’d wanted to talk as much as I had and how he’d postponed our play until he made sure everything was right between us. It still put a silly grin on my face every time I thought about his mention of the tree house and how he wanted the same things I did.
We’d spent hours in the attic, looking through old trunks, and each time he uncovered a new piece of furniture, it was as if he uncovered another part of himself. He’d eventually collared me, and for some reason our ritual felt more intense than normal. Later, when it was time to sleep, he invited me to share his bed, and turning him down never crossed my mind.
Lunch with Jackson and Felicia the day before had been wonderful. I’d rarely gone so long without seeing her, and she still had a glow about her. For once, I didn’t feel jealous that she shared a connection with Nathaniel that I didn’t. After our Friday-night talk, Nathaniel and I both felt more secure in our relationship, with where we were and where we wanted to eventually be.
I stood and walked to the bookshelves so I could put away the book I’d been pretending to read.
“What do you think, Apollo?” I asked. “Should I find something to do or give up?”
Apollo cocked his head to the side, gave a soft grumble, and rolled to his back. I took the hint. Belly rub it was.
My phone beeped with an incoming text.
“Sorry, Apollo,” I said, moving to the table beside the couch to get my phone. “It’s probably Felicia.”
But it wasn’t Felicia. It was Nathaniel. My heart pounded when I read the message.
My office. Now.
I stared at the message for entirely too long.
His office?
His office, where?
I went to the desk in the library first. Nothing. He wasn’t even in the library. He had an office across from the dining room he used when he worked at home.
I ran as quickly as the black, strappy shoes would let me, expecting to find the door shut. Instead, it stood open. I peeked inside, but again, the room was empty.
He didn’t mean his office office, did he? The one in the city?
There was nothing else he could mean, though.
I grabbed my purse and keys to his second car, rubbed Apollo on the head, and went to the garage. A note waited on the seat.
Yes, Ms. King,
I meant my office in the city. The weekend security guard will let you inside the building.
Sincerely,
Mr. West
P.S. You’re late.
So much meaning in such a short note, I decided as I drove to his office. For one, I would be allowed to call him “Mr. West,” and for another, I was apparently late. The thought thrilled and titillated me.
I pulled into the parking garage across the street from his office and realized I would have to walk in public in the outfit he’ d picked out for me. I felt an odd combination of pride and excitement.
I scurried across the street to the tall building that housed his company.
“Yes, ma’am,” the weekend guard said when I made it to the front door.
I knew the weekday guard, spoke to him frequently anytime I visited Nathaniel at his office. This guy, though, wasn’t the older gentleman I recognized. This guy was young and unfamiliar.
“Ms. King to see Mr. West,” I said, tugging at my skirt. I wondered if he saw the garters when I walked inside and then mentally chastised myself. Does it matter?
“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Mr. West is expecting you. Said to send you right up.” He looked only at my eyes. His gaze didn’t drop to my outfit at all. “I need to see your identification.”
“What?” I asked. “Oh, right.” The weekend guy wouldn’t know me like the weekday guy would. I pulled my wallet out and flashed him my driver’s license.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, and then waved me through to the elevators.
Nathaniel’s office was on the top floor, and though I’d been inside his office multiple times, this time was different. This wasn’t a normal meet-you-for-lunch or it’s-time-for-our-yoga-class meeting.
Sara wasn’t at her normal place, of course, with it being a Sunday. The large wooden door of Nathaniel’s office was closed, and I stopped for a moment, unsure how to continue.
He would have heard the elevator ping when it arrived on the floor, wouldn’t he? Should I knock or text him? Maybe he’d open the door for me?
But he’d had me drive all the way to his office. Surely he wasn’t going to open the door for me.
I knocked.
His voice was low and commanding when he answered.
“Enter.”
I pushed the door open with a hesitant h
and. He sat at his desk, thumbing through papers. At my entrance, he looked over the tops of them and scowled at me.
“Come in, Ms. King, and close the door.”
The door closed behind me with a loud click.
“You’re late,” he said.
I’d decided exactly which angle I was going to play on the way over, so I flipped my hair behind my shoulder and tilted my head.
I like you feisty, he’d said two weeks ago.
He liked feisty? I’d be feisty.
“I wasn’t sure what time you wanted me, Mr. West,” I said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t my summons say now?”
“Maybe. I really don’t remember.”
“That’s an ongoing problem of yours, isn’t it?” he asked. “Forgetfulness?”
I shrugged.
He set the papers down. “I’ve heard you are quite forgetful lately. That you’ve been otherwise occupied when you should be working.”
“I have a lot on my mind,” I said. “But I get my work done.”
He scanned the papers in front of him. “According to this, you make personal phone calls on company time.”
“One or two.”
“One or two an hour, perhaps,” he said. “Are you calling a man?”
I shifted my weight. “I call my boyfriend sometimes.”
He looked at me from head to toe and then motioned to my outfit. “Does your boyfriend know you dress this way?”
“Oh, no, Mr. West.” I played along, trying to pull the hem of my skirt down. “My boyfriend doesn’t see me like this. I wore this at the request of my master.”
I thought maybe my admission would trip him up or that he would at least show some sort of acknowledgment. Instead he nodded. “Ah, I see,” he said. “You’re a kinky girl.”
I thought about the previous weekend and smiled. “Very.”
“I bet you like dressing this way,” he said. “Like showing your body off for your master.”
“Yes,” I said, running my hands over my hips and jutting my chest out just a tad.
“And I bet you like showing it off to other men as well, don’t you, Ms. King?” He pushed his chair back. “Like the security guard downstairs?”
