The fingers in my hair fisted and he pulled so I met his eyes. “Be sure, Abigail.”
They say the eyes are windows to the soul and in that moment, it was true. In his eyes I found the answers I’d been searching for. “I’ve never been more sure, Sir.”
He didn’t answer immediately, but took his time, appearing to search my expression for verification of my words. Whatever he was looking for, his own features relaxed and he whispered, “Stand for me now.”
He kept his hand in my hair as I stood, pulling me into his arms when I came to my feet. Lowering his head to mine, he murmured against my lips, “I missed you.”
I wrapped my arms around him. It felt so good to be sheltered in his embrace. I sighed, content once more. “Life is lonely without you.”
His lips slowly moved over mine, seeking, looking for answers to questions he couldn’t voice. There was a gentle softness in his kiss that felt like a caress. And when he started a tender nibbling with only his mouth, I groaned in pleasure and tried to deepen the kiss.
He pulled back and whispered against my skin, “My way.”
I ran my nails over the fabric on his back. “I want you.” It was a need, urging me to drive closer and have him.
“My way,” he said again and reinforced his words by taking my hands and bringing them behind my back. “Keep them here.”
I wanted to protest, but his softly spoken, “Abigail,” made me stop.
“I’m not going to take you now,” he said. “But if I were, it wouldn’t be strength that I would claim you with. I would take you with a gentle whisper and control you with the faintest touch. Do you know why?”
“Because you’re a sadist?” I replied and I meant it a little.
“Because I don’t command you by force.”
I knew that, of course. My submission was given to him because he didn’t demand it. I still wanted to whine.
“Submission that is coerced. Obedience given in fear. Supplication offered because it feels it has no other option. These are not things that have a place in our world. They don’t belong in any relationship and I will not have them in ours.”
“You’re afraid I’m going to say I want to extend the time I’m collared because I feel I have to in order to make you happy?” I narrowed my eyes at him. “Don’t you know me better than that?”
“I used to think so.”
That one hurt. Was he implying he felt like he didn’t know me anymore?
He sighed. “The thing is, I need to know that extending our time is something you really want to do.”
“I do, Sir.”
“You’ll have to forgive me if I’m not one hundred percent convinced of that. You’ve said it before, but it’s not how you’ve behaved.”
I started to panic. What if he never wanted to collar me again? How would we live like that? We couldn’t. “What can I do to convince you?”
“I want you to give serious thought to what you want our relationship to look like. Think it through well. We’ll discuss it next Friday night.”
There was hope then if he wanted to discuss on Friday night since that was the night he typically collared me. If everything went well, maybe he’d offer me his collar. I tried not to let it show how impatient I would be to have to wait over a week.
“Thank you, Sir.”
He only nodded. I had my work cut out for me.
I met him in the library the following Friday night after the kids were in bed. Henry was on a new antibiotic and had slept well the last few nights and we were hopeful it would continue. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t a little nervous about how the coming discussion was going to go. Like he’d asked, I’d spent the week thinking about what I wanted, trying not to let what I thought he wanted influence my ideas.
That in and of itself was tough. As a submissive, his wants had always been one of the main things I took into consideration before making any decision. But I’d put that thinking aside and researched and talked to Christine. After all that, I’d sat down and wrote out a list of what I wanted, what I could live with, and what I wanted no part of.
Taking my list, I came up with a plan for what I thought our new schedule should look like. On Friday morning, I went through it one last time and wrote it out in my journal.
He waited for me on one of the couches. He was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt, and sat with a leg crossed over his knee. It really wasn’t fair he looked so relaxed with me feeling like a ball of nerves.
“Abby,” he said, greeting me by the name he used during the week to let me know we weren’t going to be formal or in our roles for the discussion. “Have a seat. I see you’ve brought your journal. Have you given my request some thought?”