The Training (Book 3: The Submissive Trilogy) (24 page)

“Let’s change the subject,” I said. “I’ve made a grocery list for the housekeeper. It’s in the kitchen. I need you to look it over and see if you want her to pick up anything else.”

“You don’t do your own grocery shopping?”

“No,” I said, trying to remember the last time I went grocery shopping.

“Never?”

“Not anymore,” I said. “I don’t need to. Why?”

“It’s just weird. Having someone do all that.”

“You’ll get used to it,” I told her. “Besides, between my company and weekend time with you, I don’t have time to run up and down grocery aisles looking for bread and milk.”

“You say that like it’s beneath you,” she said. “You know most people do it and don’t think twice about it.”

“Are we going to argue about grocery shopping?” I asked. “Really?”

She stilled in my arms, weighing her words or actions, perhaps. “No,” she finally said. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“Good. I don’t want to argue with you, either.” I kissed her again. “Want to go for a walk?”

“Yes,” she said, getting up and stretching. “Fresh air would be great.”

She waited for me that night in our bed, with the sheet pulled up to her neck, a sly smile on her face.

“Hiding?” I asked, crawling in beside her.

“No. Just a little surprise.”

Her shoulders were bare, so I decided it probably wasn’t new lingerie. I couldn’t imagine what else it could be. “For me?” I asked.

She nodded. “You need to unwrap it,” she said, thrusting her chest out.

“Oh, really?” I moved close to her and traced the line of her collarbone. “Well, it just so happens, I love unwrapping my surprises.” I dropped my lips to brush along the same path as my finger.

“Mmm,” she hummed. “Lower.”

“I’ll get there,” I said, swirling my tongue in the hollow of her throat. “Eventually.”

I wanted to ask if she was still sore, but knew it would probably make her angry. If she wanted me . . .

Well, I wasn’t going to argue.

I delicately lifted the sheet. “Whatever could be hiding under here?” I asked, taking a little peek underneath. “Holy fuck, Abby,” I said, momentarily stunned.

“You like them?”

Them
were nipple rings, or something very similar, decorating each of her nipples. Unlike a normal ring, these were red and circled her nipple. She hadn’t had them on earlier, and she’d been at the house all afternoon and evening.

“Nathaniel?” she asked.

“Oh, yeah,” I said, tracing one. “I like them. I like them. A. Lot.”

“I thought I’d see how they were.”

“What brought this on?” I asked, my eyes still firmly locked on her chest.

“Christine’s pierced, or at least she used to be. Did you know that?” She sucked in a breath as I lowered my head to gently tongue her exposed nipple.

“No,” I said. She’d had a bra on the last time I’d seen her in the playroom, and the time before that had been years ago.

“She said it was very sexually stimulating, but suggested these first.”

“Smart woman, Christine,” I said, switching over to her other breast. “I knew introducing you was a good move.”

“Plus, I didn’t want to do something permanent like piercing if you were totally against the idea.”

My cock grew uncomfortably hard.
“Piercing?”

She nodded. “Just one nipple, maybe? I don’t know.”

Fuck.

“You were thinking about getting a piercing?” I asked.

“Yes. Do you hate the idea?”

I sighed and brought myself back up so I could look in her eyes. “I think you have a beautiful body, Abby. I’ll admit, the idea of piercing is, honestly, quite a turn-on, but I don’t want you to rush into anything.” I traced a nipple again. “Let’s start with these.”

The sly smile came back. “I have dangles, too.”

“Dangles?” I croaked.

“Mmm.” She rolled over so she straddled me. “Maybe I’ll surprise you with those tomorrow.”

Something had been off all week. I couldn’t put my finger on it, and Abby and I never got into an out-and-out fight, but something was off.

In all honesty, it was a busy week. Then again, they all were. I still attended one counseling session a week, Abby and I had dinner with my family on Tuesdays, and the week prior, she had enrolled us for couples’ yoga on Monday and Wednesdays.

Friday morning Sara sent me a reservation reminder for my upcoming business trip to China.

Fuck.

I’d forgotten to mention the trip to Abby. I hoped she wouldn’t have any trouble taking off time from the library. Surely a week wouldn’t be a problem. We could leave early on a Saturday and return the next Sunday night. Maybe we could both take the following Monday and Tuesday off to relax. I’d pamper her with a spa day. She still talked about the one she’d had with Elaina and Felicia prior to the wedding.

A few hours later, I met Abby for lunch at our favorite Italian deli. She’d arrived first and sat at an outside table. I gave her a quick kiss before taking my seat.

“How’s your day?” I asked. I thoroughly enjoyed having lunch with Abby, how it broke up stressful days.

She smiled and took a sip of water. “Good,” she said. “Yours?”

“Same.”

After we ordered our lunch, we made small talk, mostly concerning Jackson and Felicia’s return home and our lunch plans with them the next day.

“I keep meaning to tell you,” I said, changing the subject. “I have a trip planned in two weeks and I was hoping you could go with me.”

“Two weeks isn’t good for me.”

“No way I can change your mind?” I wiggled my eyebrows. “I’ve heard I can be very persuasive when I need to be.”

“I have a conference in two weeks,” she said, hiding a laugh and acting completely unaffected by my wiggly eyebrows.

“That sounds horrifically boring and uneventful,” I said. “Come with me to China. Let me persuade you.”

“You’re going to China?”

“Ah, my powers of persuasion are working. Yes. China.”

“Your powers are doing no such thing,” she said. “I have to attend this conference if I hope to be in line for Martha’s job when she retires.”

“Martha’s retiring?”

“In a few years. Besides, I don’t have a passport.”

“You don’t?” I asked. How did she not have a passport? “We’ll have to take care of that. We can get you one expedited.”

“Because I’m going to be doing so much international travel?” she asked, and at once, the light mood of our lunch was replaced by the underlying tension I’d noticed all week.

“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.”