“Here.” He patted his thigh. “Sit in my lap.”

Oh. Well, that was much better than burned or undercooked fish. I threw my shoulders back and climbed into his lap in as sultry a manner as I could. This would be more fun if I was naked. Or if he was. Or if we both were.

“Open.” He held a forkful of tuna to my mouth. I parted my lips and he slipped it inside. “Good, isn’t it?” he asked.

“Not bad,” I said, licking my lips. “Maybe a little heavy on the pepper.”

“Mmm.” He focused on my eyes. “I think it’s just right.”

“Thank you, Master.”

He fed me a bite of salad and a drop of Italian dressing landed on the corner of my mouth. I shifted to get his napkin, but he shook his head. He leaned forward and wiped it away with his thumb.

“May I, Master?” I asked, stilling his wrist with my hand.

“Yes.”

I kissed his thumb and then sucked it into my mouth, all the while keeping my eyes on his. His eyes had grown dark and his breath was ragged. I wanted him to kiss me, to touch me, something. But he inhaled deeply and pulled away.

“You need to eat,” he said.

I didn’t feel hungry at all, but lunch had been hurried. If I didn’t eat now, I’d be wide-awake at two in the morning with a growling stomach. He took his time feeding me and after a few bites, he put the fork down and held his wineglass to my lips.

Usually when he fed me while I wore his collar, we’d be in the playroom. Sitting at the dining room table felt slightly wanton. He shifted his hips and his erection pushed against my thigh. He ignored it, focusing his attention on ensuring that I ate. Bite after bite he fed me, giving me sips of wine in between. Being so close to him, sitting in his lap, I was acutely aware of every inch of him. The firmness of his thigh, the strength of chest, his warmth.

“I should fuck you on the table,” he said.

It was so easy to picture. He’d stand up and lay me down on top of the table. Maybe even pushing the dishes aside like they always did in the movies. I’d put on a dress for dinner and all he’d have to do is lift the hem to my waist. I didn’t have any underwear on. He could take me so easily. It would require hardly any effort for him to climb up along with me, or roughly grab my legs and pull me to the edge.

Please.

“Abigail.” His fingers danced along my upper thigh, dipping a bit lower to tease the hem of my skirt. He stroked my knee and ran his hand almost, but not quite, up my leg entirely. “Tell me. If I fingered you now, would you be wet?”

“Yes, Master.” I squirmed just a little, letting him know he should feel free to check.

“It would take nothing for me to lift you onto the table and have my way with you.” He whispered in my ear, “I’ve never had you on the dining room table.”

“That’s a travesty, Master. We should fix it.”

He ran his tongue along my earlobe and I shivered at the sensation. “That we should, my lovely. And we will. But not tonight.”

I gave a half whine. Why? Why when I wanted him so badly?

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

Of course he did; at times it was as if I’d married a fucking mind reader.

“Your poker face is nonexistent,” he continued. “And trust me, I want it as badly as you do. But I’m going to make us both wait for it. It’ll make it so much better.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Or, at least, that’s what I recall you saying about why we shouldn’t have sex the month before our wedding.”

Damn his perfect memory. “Yes, Master. I remember. I also remember we both decided that going that long without sex wasn’t the best idea I ever had.”

“Then we’ll both sleep easy tonight knowing we won’t have to wait an entire month this time.”

Much to my surprise, I did sleep well that night. It was difficult to explain, but I often felt closer to him when I wore his collar. True to his word, we didn’t have sex at all. When I climbed into bed after him and he pulled me to him, I almost begged. Instead, I gave a sigh of contentment and focused on the feeling of his arms around me.

Protected.

Secure.

If I felt closer to him at times while in his collar, I also felt more protected. Not to say I didn’t feel that way during the week, but there was something about being in his collar. Branded as his and his alone, I knew he would go through hell and back to keep me safe.

He turned his head and kissed my hair.

I lifted my face. “Kiss me, Master.”