Abby and I left shortly after the trophy presentation. I told Linda I’d see her for dinner on Tuesday night and bade Elaina and Todd goodbye. I hugged Todd, still slightly pissed about his antics at brunch, but wanting to believe he had the best of intentions.

Once Abby and I were seated in my plane, I looked at my watch. It was late. On a typical Sunday, Abby would have already left my house for the weekend. I wanted nothing more than to drag her back to the bedroom and take her again, but I didn’t. It would be outside of our agreement, and I’d already assumed too much outside of our agreement.

Which reminded me . . .

“Did you make me an appointment for Wednesday?” I asked, knowing I’d have to wait until at least Wednesday to have her again. “Or were you just saying that to Linda?”

She flashed me a sly grin. “I was hoping you would want to stop by.”

She had made me an appointment. I crossed my right leg over my left, wanting to hide my erection, and smiled. “Wednesday, then.” I thought back to her comment to Linda. “Research?”

“You do need help with your literature. If you try really hard, I’m sure you can do better than Mark Twain and Jane Austen next time.”

“Really?” I thought Mark Twain had been really good. “Who would you suggest?”

“Shakespeare.” She leaned back and closed her eyes.

Fortunately, I had many, many volumes of Shakespeare at home.

Todd called on Tuesday afternoon and apologized for his behavior on Sunday. He said he was only trying to help, but that he was wrong to try to jog Abby’s memory. I accepted his apology. He thanked me and said he knew it was hard, but telling Abby was the right thing to do.

I thought about calling Paul, but then I remembered how he’d gone off about my lack of aftercare and I knew he’d book a flight to New York if I told him how I’d lied to Abby. He’d be right, of course, but I’d just defused Todd, and I didn’t need another person telling me what to do.

That night, I ate dinner with Linda. She was all atwitter about her upcoming lunch date with Abby. She frowned and asked why I never brought her to dinner, but I covered by saying Abby didn’t feel comfortable visiting and leaving Felicia behind. Linda shook her head and told me Felicia was welcome to come.

It was the opening I needed: I launched into a discussion of the Super Bowl, and within minutes all talk about Abby joining me for a family dinner was forgotten.

Abby hadn’t waxed when I showed up for my Wednesday afternoon appointment in the Rare Books Collection and it made me edgy the rest of the week. What if she didn’t wax after I’d told her to? I felt like beating my head against a wall. I’d have to punish her.

Damn it all.

What a way to start a weekend with Abby naked—in my room and on the whipping bench.

There went any hope of anything except punishment. And since there was no penalty written down for failure to wax, I’d have to think of something.

Twenty strokes for a lost hour of sleep was too much. I knew that now. What would be acceptable for another failure to obey a direct command? Not twenty. Fifteen? Ten? Somewhere in the middle? Thirteen?

Could I do thirteen?

Yes.

Yes, I could.

Because this time, I’d provide the necessary aftercare. This time, I’d be better prepared. This time would not be like last time.

I left the city on Friday morning, deciding to work from my estate so I could properly set up for the weekend. The first thing I did was turn up the heat. Abby would be n**ed all weekend and I didn’t want her to be cold. I checked the heat on the hot tub and ensured clean towels were in the nearby cabana. I made paella for dinner.

I pulled the whipping bench into my room.

I took Apollo outside and played catch with him for a few minutes. After having him at the kennel the previous weekend, I didn’t have the heart to send him away from home for any length of time.

I made everything as near perfect as I could, and then I paced.

Up and down in the foyer. Down and up. To the front door and back to the entranceway of the kitchen. Straining my ears and listening for the sound of a car pulling up the drive.

Apollo heard her before I did.

“Down, boy,” I said as he ran to the door and scratched at it. He looked back at me and whined.

This was not a good idea.

I quickly took Apollo to the kitchen and closed the door. By the time I made it back into the foyer, the doorbell had rung.

I opened the door slowly.

Please, please, please.

She entered the foyer with my favorite grin on her face.

Oh, Abby. This is not the same as wearing panties. I hadn’t given you a command last Sunday about panties. I did tell you to wax.

I pointed at her clothes. “Take them off. You’ll get them back on Sunday.”

She slowly slipped her sweater over her head, turned, and set it down. Then she looked over her shoulder at me and unhooked her bra.

Fuck. She was doing a tiny little striptease.

That meant she’d waxed, right?

The bra dropped to join her sweater on the floor.

Maybe she was trying to distract me with the striptease.

I shifted my weight from foot to foot.

She turned around to face me, and my c**k went hard at the sight of her topless. Her hands slid down her body to the button on her jeans.

Yes, take them off. Let me see.

With deft fingers, she unbuttoned her jeans. She peeked up at me and slowly worked the pants over her hips. A little rock or two of her h*ps and—

Fuck. She wasn’t wearing panties.

The jeans slipped lower.

She had waxed.

The weight of the world lifted from my shoulders. Her jeans dropped to the marble floor, forgotten, and I crossed the hall to take her in my arms. The sight of her bare made me hard as a rock. There would be no punishment. None. It would just be us. Together.

I pushed her back to the plush bench in the middle of the foyer. “How pleased I am you followed my order.” She sat down on the edge of the bench and I pushed her legs apart. “I’ll admit, you had me just a little worried on Wednesday.” I bent down so my face was level with her pussy. “I should spank you for that, and I might just do it later.” I looked up and grinned so she knew exactly what type of spanking I meant. “For now, though, I think I need a taste of this deliciously bare pussy.”

I placed a kiss right on the tip of her clit. She moaned and dropped back onto the bench. I spread her with my fingers and licked away the moisture gathered between her lips. Fuck. So sweet. Always so sweet. I took my time, overjoyed that there would be no punishment, and concentrated on her. Wanting, once more, to show her just how sweetly obedience would be rewarded.

I took her knees and pushed them up so her heels rested on the edge of the bench. Her position allowed me greater access to her body, and I ran my hands up her sides to play and tease her nipples. She arched her back, bringing her h*ps closer to my mouth, and I ran my tongue up her slit and gave her cl*t another kiss.

I slowly felt her relax and give herself over to me as pleasure worked its way through her body. Once more I licked her, wanting to drain her dry, wanting to taste her as she came. I nibbled her playfully, enjoying the way she trembled under me.

I poured my relief into bringing Abby pleasure. Used my fingers and mouth to show her how delighted I was. I stroked with my fingertips, teased with my lips, and nibbled with my teeth. In return, she shuddered under my hands. Her moans echoed in the open room and bounced off the marble floor.

I pushed my tongue deeper into her, feeling her tighten around me. Yes. I quickened my movements, wanting nothing more than to feel her come around me.

“Oh, please . . .” she moaned.

Yes.

Her breathing hitched. I sucked her cl*t into my mouth and her h*ps jerked against me. Her body tightened briefly before she rippled around me.

I took her legs and gently placed her feet on the floor, then brought her knees together. She gave a satisfied sigh.

“I like you like this.” I ran a hand over her bare skin and another aftershock shook her body. “Bare for me. Did it hurt much?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

I preferred my submissives waxed. I didn’t typically require it, but often I would request it after a few months. Part of me felt bad for throwing it at Abby the way I had. But all I had to do was look at her and that part of me was forgotten.

I stood up and held out a hand. “Ready for dinner?”

I expected her to be shy. To show some discomfort at her nudity. She surprised me, though, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. My eyes dropped to her br**sts.

“Yes, please, Master.”

Yes, please?

Yes, please what?

She took my hand and stood up. “What did you cook?”

Right. Dinner. Eating. Food.

I’d never make it through the weekend.

The paella had been an excellent choice. The spicy rice and succulent shrimp and chicken seemed to please Abby. She ate nearly everything on her plate.

Okay, I decided, there would be no deep conversation at dinner. Probably not for the entire weekend. Not with Abby naked.

I’d thought about taking her back into the playroom, had planned on it, even. Of course, that had been before Tampa and Todd. I decided instead to keep things the way they were—playing in the bedroom. At least until I told her the truth and she decided to stay.

Please, please, please let her stay.

But since I’d decided not to tell her yet, I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the here and now. On Abby, n**ed and at my table. On what I decided we would do tonight . . .

“Abigail,” I said, putting my fork down. She looked up and waited for me to continue. “I’m afraid in my . . . highly, uh, aroused state last weekend, I might have misspoken and, um, overestimated my abilities.”

Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“Five times would be”—I cleared my throat—“quite an accomplishment.”

She cocked her head to the side. “I think you’ve already accomplished one time.” She flushed and looked down at her plate.

“Yes, well,” I said. “Never mind what it would do to me—five times would certainly take its toll on you.” I lifted my wineglass to my lips and took a long sip. “And that would definitely interfere with my plans for tomorrow.”

I said the words, but in my mind, I wanted to take her up the stairs, throw her on the bed, and keep her there for several long and sweaty hours. I pushed back from the table, fully intending to carry out my plan for at least two or three times, when I remembered—the whipping bench.

It was still in my room.

“Abigail. Clear the table and meet me in the foyer. I’ll be right back.”

I left her in the kitchen, ran up the stairs, and moved the bench back to the playroom. I wondered if she heard what I was doing.

When I made it back down the stairs, she stood waiting for me. One delicate hand trailed down the arm of the plush bench. Her back was to me and, at my return, she slowly turned her head to look over her shoulder. Our eyes met.

Time slowed. Then stopped completely.

She belongs here.

My life had been a puzzle with one piece missing and then that piece fell into place.

Abby.

My one percent.

The picture was complete. I stood mesmerized and watched as she turned to fully face me.

Her elegant eyebrow rose, just a bit, and she grinned.

I kept my eyes on her as I slipped out of my shirt and stepped out of my pants. I nearly came as my erection sprang free. She waited.

We weren’t going to make it to the bed.

“Come here,” I nearly growled, and she glided across the floor to me.

We weren’t going to make it up the stairs.

The faint light of the foyer lamps reflected off the diamonds on her collar.

Mine.

I hooked a finger around the collar and pulled her to me. “I want you. And I’ll have you. Right here.”