“You, Master,” I said, my voice soft.

“Speak louder.”

“You, Master,” I said, with more force.

“No cl**ax until I permit one,” he repeated. “If you’re lucky, I won’t make you wait until Friday night.”

Friday night? Was he serious? Five f**king days?

“Do you understand, Abigail?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I said.

In that second, I wished he’d just told me to move to the whipping bench. At least a spanking would be over and done with. This punishment of no release . . . well, that was punishment of a different sort.

“Look at me,” he said.

I lifted my eyes and met his. His gaze was still intense and took my breath away. His disappointment didn’t hide that.

“Now that we have taken care of that,” he said, “I believe we still have the matter of what I said would happen when I had you in here next.”

Finally.

“Move to the cross, Abigail. Face it and do it quickly. I expect no more slipups today.”

Neither did I. If he had to spank me on top of not allowing me to cl**ax . . .

I walked over to the cross and stood before it. It was nothing more than a big X with cuffs at either end for wrists and ankles.

He walked up behind me and took my left wrist, cuffing it to the cross. Then he took my other hand and attached it to the other side, leaving me in a half spread-eagle, my arms pulled high and wide.

My heart pounded as he took my h*ps and moved me a step away from the cross so I was slightly bent.

He nudged my feet apart. “Stay like this and I won’t bind your ankles. Move an inch and I’ll use the lower cuffs.”

I was damn sure not going to do anything else to provoke him.

“Lift your ass to me,” he said.

When I was properly positioned, he stroked my backside a few times, then smacked it with hard and fast slaps.

Fuck, it was going to be a long afternoon.

Scratch that. It was going to be a long five days.

“Focus, Abigail.”

I turned my attention to him, to what he was doing and how it felt. As always, his spankings left me needy and wanting. I resisted the urge to lift my butt to him. Instead I focused on the sensation coursing through my body, how the slight pain radiated throughout and combined right between my legs.

Something else trailed around my backside: the rabbit fur flogger. He worked it fast, unlike before, when he’d used soft, slow strokes. Nothing painful, just light brushing strokes interspersed with an occasional smack from his hand. I tried to determine a rhythm, but couldn’t do it. There was no reasoning to what struck me or when, so I eventually stopped trying to find a pattern and just felt.

I jumped slightly when something different hit. It was a bit harder, landing on my left ass cheek with a hard thump.

“Suede,” he said. The flogger hit again. “Are you okay?”

It felt good, different from the fur, but not as hard as the leather strap.

“Yes, Master.”

He alternated for a time, switching from my backside to my thighs. Again, I tried to find a rhythm, but quickly gave up. The heat from below my waist grew exponentially stronger, and it took all my focus not to bring my legs together for friction.

A long finger slipped between my legs. “How wet you are,” he said. “Imagine how good it would feel to have me inside you now. How full.”

I know, I wanted to shout. I know. Please.

Then something was inside me, and I let out a squeak when I realized it was one of his vibrators.

“Just a taste,” he said. “Not too much. Bratty submissives don’t get to release.”

He slid the vibrator in and out of me a few times, and it took all my strength not to give in to the need to orgasm.

“Please, Master?” I finally begged when it became too much.

“No,” he said, sliding it from my body. I knew then why he’d bound my wrists: I was so overwhelmed by sensation, I’d probably collapse if he hadn’t.

But he wasn’t finished.

He started back with the suede flogger, and my skin was even more sensitive for this second round. It felt as though all my nerve endings were in overdrive, standing at attention, waiting for the thud to hit again. I moaned when it did.

“Are you still okay?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I said. The flogger hit right where my legs met. “Oh, yes.” I groaned as the pain struck and subsided into pleasure over and over.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed. I turned my reflection inward, wanting only him, focusing only on him and what he was doing to me. Only he knew how to do this to me. Only he could play me the way he did. Could create such a dichotomy of feelings in me.

“You’re being punished,” I heard from what seemed far away. The blows landed slower, softer.

I breathed in and out.

Slower.

Softer.

“But I haven’t done anything wrong,” he said. “So I get my release.”

The flogger stopped and a new sound replaced it. Friction. Somewhere.

“Where do you want it?” he asked.

I knew what I wanted. It was dirty and primal, but I wanted it. “On me, Master,” I said. “I want you to come on me.”

“Fuck.”

“Please.”

“Hold still,” he said, but I wasn’t sure where I’d be going. “Fuck,” he said again.

A warm wetness landed on my back. I swore as he came, feeling his release hit and then drip off.

“Yes,” one of us said. I wasn’t sure who.

Then he was closer to me and breathing heavily in my ear. “You did well, my lovely.” He undid one wrist and then the other. “I am so very pleased.”

I nearly fell into his arms. He helped me gently to the floor, where he held me. His lips were on my face, my hair, my lips, and he whispered words of praise, telling me again and again how much I’d pleased him.

Afterward, when he’d cleaned us both up and removed my collar, he carried me outdoors to his hot tub. We sat for a time, relaxing. The coming down after play always left me feeling soft, pliable, and tired. But today, there was something more, and it bothered me.

He must have picked up on my mood. “Abby?” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

It was the Abby that did it. I almost shook my head, but my eyes filled and I knew I couldn’t lie to him.

“Your disappointment,” I said, watching the water bubble around me. “I feel as if it’s a weight I carry.”

“Come here,” he said. I moved into his lap, and his arms came around me. “Is this because I won’t let you cl**ax?”

It sounded silly to my ears. How could such a thing even make me sad? But it did, so I had to tell him. “I think it’s because it’s still lingering between us. When you spank me, it’s over and done with and we move on, but this is still there. I remember it every time I look at you, and it reminds me of how I messed up.”

“Look at me,” he said, and I looked up to see his eyes. There was a sadness there, but a firm resolve as well. “It’s supposed to be there. That’s why it’s a punishment. How effective would it have been if I allowed you to release tonight?” He didn’t give me a chance to answer, but slipped a hand between us and one of his fingers slipped, just for a second, into me. “Don’t you know there’s a part of me that wants nothing more than to take you here and now? A part that longs to drive into you over and over and feel you cl**ax around me?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to pull that ‘This is harder for me than it is for you’ crap,” I said.

He smiled. “No. I’m very much aware that it’s harder for you than it is for me. If it had just been one offense, I might have allowed you to come sometime today. But when you added the petulance on top of—”

“I was not petulant.”

“When you wear my collar, my word is law,” he said. “We agreed you would be punished if I decided you neglected your waxing, not that we’d call a conference in the middle of the playroom to discuss it. I decided you should have waxed before the wedding and that’s it. Bottom line. You continually tried to argue with me.”

“I didn’t see it as arguing,” I said. “I saw it as explaining.”

“If I ever want an explanation, I’ll ask for one. Understood?”

“Yes,” I said, still a little pissed.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Nathaniel,” I said, emphasizing his name. The collar was off and it was a Sunday afternoon. “Now look who’s being petulant.”

“FYI,” he said, working his hand back between us. “A bit of petulance on weekends every now and again can be fun.” He pinched my ass. “I like you feisty.”

Chapter Sixteen

—ABBY—

Sunday night we went to bed relatively early and spent time talking. My back rested against his chest and his arms wrapped around me. I still felt just the slightest bit peeved he wouldn’t let me bring myself to orgasm, but my more rational mind understood his reasoning.

“I know you had concerns about feet kissing,” he said. “How do you feel about it now?”

I thought back to our time in the playroom. “It surprised me how much I enjoyed doing it. I thought I wouldn’t, but I did. It felt so . . .” I searched for the right word. “Humbling? Not sure that’s right, but I felt even more under your control when I did it.” Although, I supposed, not so much under his control that I’d been able to hold my tongue about the waxing.

“How about you?” I asked. “What did you think of it?”

“I didn’t like it as much. But I wouldn’t have known beforehand.”

That surprised me. “You didn’t know if you’d like it and you still had me do it?”

“Yes. How else would I find out what I liked?”

“I don’t know. I just assumed you’d had enough experience that you’d know what you liked and wanted.”

“But I’ve never had anyone nibble on my ankles while she made love to me,” he said, stroking my arm. “Only you’ve ever done that, remember? The weekend I asked you to move in? I wasn’t sure how I’d feel asking you to do something like that in the playroom.”

I kept forgetting the dynamics of our relationship were new to him. “Since you didn’t like it and I did, will you be asking me to do it again?” I asked.

He laughed. “You expect me to tell you all my plans?”

I pushed my butt against his groin. “Yes.”

“Well, it won’t happen,” he said, then whispered in my ear, “Wait and see.”

I shivered at his words. Mmm. He was right—waiting and seeing was so much better than knowing in advance.

“I have a concern,” he said, voice growing serious. “You seemed to have trouble focusing today.”

“You picked up on that?”

“Yes, and I’m wondering if it would help if you started yoga again.”

I hadn’t kept the yoga up after he recollared me. I worked out three times a week of my own prerogative and planned to use his gym during the weekends as time allowed, but I had not restarted yoga. Though, now that he mentioned it . . .

“I think it would help with your focus, and as we progress, would aid in your breathing as well,” he said.

“I’ll think about it. See when and how to fit it into my schedule.”

“Maybe it’s something we can do together.”

“Really?” It would be a lot more fun if he joined me.

“I need to keep my mind sharp, too, you know.”

I told him I’d definitely think about it, and the conversation switched to the upcoming week. The movers would be at my apartment on Wednesday to get my boxes, and I’d requested only that day off of work. I didn’t think it would take much to get me settled into Nathaniel’s house.