Author: Tara Sue Me

She rolled off the bed and curled up on her pallet.

I crawled under my covers and fell into a deep sleep almost immediately.

Chapter Eight

I slept in the next morning, not waking until seven o’clock. I got out of bed and stretched, feeling great. The night before had granted me some of the most restful sleep I’d ever had.

I’m sure the four cl**axes had something to do with it.

Abigail slept soundly, curled up in a ball on her side. She hadn’t moaned any more that I’d heard. As I watched, she smiled in her sleep. I wondered what she was dreaming of, what caused her to smile so. Maybe she wouldn’t even remember when she woke.

Sometime in the night, the sheet had slipped off her shoulders, and her perfect br**sts were exposed once more. I reached down and tucked the sheet under her chin—I didn’t want her to get cold. She mumbled something and rolled over.

Though I needed to shower and get ready for the golf game, I decided to make a fresh batch of blueberry muffins first. Abigail had liked them last week.

It was almost nine by the time I heard her upstairs. I didn’t begrudge her the extra sleep—I’d kept her up late and woken her in the middle of the night. The charity benefit this evening would mean another long night, so she needed her rest.

I boiled two eggs while she showered and, once they were done, I put them in the warming oven for her.

Jackson sent me a text right as I heard Abigail’s footsteps on the stairs. I glanced down at my phone—he was stressing over meeting Felicia. Frankly, I thought it funny that my world-famous-athlete cousin was stressed out over meeting a girl, but I knew it was hard on Jackson. He always worried whether women were genuinely interested in him or just his bank account and celebrity status.

I replied, telling him I was certain she was just as nervous as he was. That we’d all be with him tonight, and honestly, she was Abigail’s best friend—how bad could she be?

How’s the librarian fantasy girl? he texted.

I will kick the shit out of you if you mention that to her, I warned, right as Abigail shuffled into the kitchen.

She looked tired, and part of me cringed. After all, I’d been the cause of her lack of sleep, the reason she walked so carefully. But I was still feeling the high of incredible sex.

“Rough night?” I asked, keeping my eyes focused on my phone.

“You could say that again.”

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. She was tired, sore, cranky, and she still had her sense of humor.

“Rough night?” I asked again.

She took a muffin from the counter and sat down across from me.

Good thinking on the blueberry, West—but she needed more than a muffin.

“You need protein,” I said.

“I’m fine,” she said, before I could tell her I had eggs waiting for her.

“Abigail,” I warned. Damn, I didn’t want to punish her. Not after the previous night.

She stood up, moved gingerly to the refrigerator, and took out a pack of bacon. That pleased me. Even though she was in pain, she would still cook protein because I told her to.

“I put two boiled eggs in the warming oven for you,” I said. Relief covered her face as she put the bacon away. “The ibuprofen is on the first shelf, second cabinet beside the microwave.”

“I’m sorry.” She took the bottle from the shelf and shook two pills into her hand. “It’s just . . . been a long time.”

“What a ridiculous thing to apologize for. I’m more upset over your attitude this morning. I didn’t have to let you sleep in.”

She sat, head down, with her hair hanging over her eyes.

“Look at me,” I said. “I have to leave. Meet me in the foyer dressed for the benefit and ready to leave at four thirty.”

She nodded, and I wondered what she would look like in the dress Elaina had dropped off. I wished, not for the first time, that I hadn’t agreed to golf and lunch with my family. Wished that I could spend the day with Abigail.

Wished I could be normal.

But what was the point in normal? She didn’t want it and I couldn’t do it.

I sighed. “There’s a large tub in the guest room across the hall from yours. Make use of it.” Maybe a long soak would make her feel better.

As suspected, lunch was long and golf was longer. I usually enjoyed time with my family and Todd, but knowing Abigail was at home, alone, made the day drag.

Yes, I told Todd, my date was a librarian.

No, I told Jackson for the fifth time. I didn’t have a strange librarian fantasy going on.

I made it back home at three thirty and went straight to my bedroom, noting as I went that Abigail’s door was closed. By four fifteen I was in the foyer waiting. I turned when I heard her heels on the stairs and almost dropped the wrapper I held.

The dress hugged her curves in all the right places, and the low neckline showed her delicate collarbones. Her hair had been gathered up in a simple knot at the back of her head with a few strands hanging low and brushing her neck.

“You look beautiful.” Stunning, actually.

“Thank you, Master.”

I held the wrapper out. “Shall we?”

She walked over to me and stopped at my side. I dropped the wrapper around her shoulders, taking time to brush her soft skin with my fingertips, breathing in her soft floral scent. If only we could stay home . . .

But no. She was probably still sore. I had to remember that. I must remember that.

As we walked to the waiting car, it struck me that we could be any normal couple on a normal date on a normal night. For this evening, I decided, that’s what we’d be. Normal.

Driving along in silence, Abigail by my side in the passenger seat, I thought back to the two other collared subs I’d introduced to my family. Beth and Paige had both met my aunt Linda, and Jackson, Todd, and Elaina too, but I’d introduced them as girlfriends—nothing more—and if anyone suspected there was anything different about my relationship with them, they kept it to themselves.

Before they met my family, I’d given them a long list of expectations—how they were to talk to my family, what was acceptable behavior, what was not. I didn’t give any such instruction to Abigail.

I wanted Abigail to be herself. To watch as she met the people I cared about. I wanted to see her talking and joking with her best friend.

I wanted a piece of normal.

I turned the radio on. One of my favorite piano concertos played, a piece I’d been working at mastering on my own piano. I wondered what type of music Abigail listened to. I knew very little about her outside of what she’d put in her application. “What kind of music do you like?”

“This is fine.”

I wanted to ask her more questions—what she was like as a child, how she had learned to cook, what her favorite color was. Details that didn’t mean anything, but when taken as a whole, created the woman that was Abigail.

If I asked questions, would she answer honestly or would she answer the way she thought I wanted her to?

This is why you don’t do normal, I told myself. It’s too confusing. Too many gray areas.

I didn’t like gray—life was better in black-and-white.

After we arrived and dropped off my coat and Abigail’s wrapper, I saw Elaina making her way toward us.

“Nathaniel! Abby! You’re here!” Elaina said, dragging Todd behind her.

“Good evening, Elaina,” I said, surprised at the way she hugged Abigail. I raised an eyebrow. Had they met recently, or were they past acquaintances? “I see you two have met already?”

“Oh, lighten up,” she said and knocked me in the chest. “I had a cup of tea with Abby when I stopped by your house earlier today—so yes, Nathaniel, we’ve already met.”

Abigail hadn’t mentioned her stopping by, but then again, we’d been apart for most of the day. Plus, she wasn’t the most forthcoming with her thoughts. Instead of saying anything further, I stood back and watched her with my old friend. She chatted politely with Todd, smiling and seeming at ease with everyone. While Todd had heard me talk about Abigail in the past, he had no idea she was the same woman he was meeting tonight.

Linda approached us, and I introduced her to Abigail, who insisted that my aunt call her Abby. I had to smile at that.

While Linda and Abigail chatted about books, I noticed Todd and Elaina giving each other strange looks, just as they had yesterday at my house.

But it was Linda, my dear sweet aunt who loved me like her own son, whose expression confused me the most. It was a look of the sweetest relief and joy, and I couldn’t make sense of it. I mean, they were talking about books, of all things.

I took a step closer to Abigail. Nope, just books. I still didn’t understand the look.

Wine. The night needed wine.

“I’ll get us some wine,” I said to Abigail. “Red or white?”

Her body tensed, and I looked at her in surprise. It was such a minor question.

Then it hit me. You’re not normal. You’re her dom. She probably thinks she’s supposed to answer in a certain way.

Damn it.

“I don’t have a hidden agenda,” I whispered to reassure her. “I simply want to know.”

“Red.”

There, I thought, was that so hard?

Yes, damn it, it was. The question of red or white wine should not be the cause of angst. It should be a simple getting-to-know-you question.

But what about us was simple? I asked myself.

Not a damn thing.

As I walked off to get the drinks, Kyle ran up to me. I’d been on the Bone Marrow Registry since college, and a few years prior, I’d received a call telling me I was a match for an eight-year-old boy who needed a transplant. It had been a difficult procedure, but a year ago, I met Kyle—the recipient of my bone marrow—and knew the trouble had been worth it. He was now alive and well. It was all very, very humbling.

“Nate,” he said, throwing his arms around me.

“Kyle,” I said with a laugh. “How are you?”

“Great, man. Just great.” He pulled at the neck of his suit. “Even though I have to wear this getup.”

“You look very handsome. If only the girls in your class could see you now.”

He chuckled and looked down at his feet. I remembered all too well the difficulties of being a young teenager. I wouldn’t want to go back to that time in my life for anything.

“If you see Jackson,” I said, “make sure to bug him about the Super Bowl. I think I just might be able to score us some tickets if New York makes it.”

He smiled and ran off to find Jackson. I retrieved two glasses of wine and made my way back to Abigail. She took the glass with a quiet “thank you” and took a small sip.

During dinner, I watched as she joined in the conversations around her—sometimes talking animatedly; other times just sitting back and listening. She shared a close relationship with Felicia—I could tell by the way they subtly teased each other.

The only time she appeared uncomfortable was when she stood to go to the bathroom and all the men at the table stood up along with her. It angered me that none of the men in her previous relationships had treated her like a lady.

Yeah, my conscience said sarcastically, because you definitely treated her like a lady last night.

I couldn’t argue with that, but I was raised to treat a woman right in public. Fortunately, Elaina stood up and went to the restroom with her. I made a note to myself to thank Elaina later.

“Felicia,” I said, turning to Abigail’s best friend. “I understand you’re a kindergarten teacher?”

“Yes.” She barely looked at me.

“Is it trying to work with such young children?”

“Sometimes,” she said in a frosty voice.

I wondered why Felicia was so cold. She appeared to genuinely like Jackson, and the two of them had spent much of the night in close conversation. Even when she talked with Linda or Elaina, she was friendly.