You’re in for a special treat today. I wrote my review of The Submissive before seeing the topic Tara Sue Me chose for her Guest Blog and Excerpt with us today, and I talk about this very thing in that review. One of my favorite scenes, right along with Ms. Me.
If you’ve read her Guest Blog, you don’t need my input here. You’ll know exactly what you’re in for. I know you’re going to love it.
Summary:
Abby King has a secret fantasy.
New York knows Nathaniel West as the brilliant and handsome CEO of West Industries, but Abby knows he’s more: a sexy and skilled dominant who is looking for a new submissive. Yearning to experience a world of pleasure beyond her simple life as a librarian, Abby offers herself to Nathaniel, to fulfill her most hidden desires.
After only one weekend with the Master, Abby knows she needs more, and fully submits to Nathaniel’s terms. But despite the pleasure he takes in Abby’s willing spirit, the Nathaniel hidden behind the rules remains cold and distant.
As Abby falls deeper into his tantalizing world of power and passion, she fears that Nathaniel’s heart may be beyond her reach—and that her own might be beyond saving…
Now get ready…
Chapter Eighteen
I slipped the rose petal into the book and shoved them both back on the shelf right as footsteps echoed in the hallway. It sounded like someone was headed straight to the library.
I was caught.
Nathaniel strolled into the room. He was shirtless and wore only a pair of tan drawstring pants. If he was surprised to see me, it didn’t show. He turned a small lamp on.
“Abigail,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world that I’d be in the library at two o’clock in the morning.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Decided poetry would knock you right out?” he asked, noting where I was standing. “Let’s play a game, shall we?
“‘She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes. . .’”
Nathaniel smiled at me. “Name the poet.”
“Lord Byron.” I crossed my arms. “Your turn.
“‘I sleep with thee, and wake with thee,
And yet thou are not there;
I fill my arms with thoughts of thee,
And press the common air.’”
Amusement lit his eyes. “I should have known better than to suggest such a contest with a librarian and English major. I don’t know that one.”
“John Clare. One point for me.”
A wicked grin lit his face. “Try this one,” he said.
“‘Let not thy divining heart
Forethink me any ill;
Destiny may take thy part,
And may thy fears fulfill.’”
Well, that was cryptic. I narrowed my eyes. “John Donne.”
He nodded. “Your turn.”
I took a deep breath and thought of the poem I’d read Wednesday night, the one that would give me away. Would he recognize it?
“‘You gave me the key of your heart, my love;
Then why do you make me knock?’”
I know, I told him with my eyes. I know. I want this. I want you.
No surprise from Nathaniel, just the grin that warmed my heart. “John Boyle O’Reilly,” he said. “I give myself a point for knowing the next line:
“‘O, that was yesterday, Saints above!
And last night—I changed the lock!’”
This is new for me, his expression warned. Let me do it my way.
I could do that.
“A tie, then.” I walked away from the shelf, trailing a finger along the leather couch. “So, why are you visiting my library this time of the morning?”
He nodded toward the piano. “I came to play.”
“May I listen?”
“Of course.” He sat down at the bench and started playing.
My breath caught.
It was the song from my dream. It was real.
It was Nathaniel.
I listened in shock to the song I’d tried so hard to find in my dreams. I’m not sure how much time passed as I sat and listened. Maybe time ceased.
And Nathaniel . . .
I could have sat forever and watched Nathaniel. It was as if he were making love. His face became a portrait of utter concentration; his fingers were soft and gentle, caressing the keys. I think I forgot to breathe at times. The melody echoed in the night, adding a touch of melancholy to the moonlight. Finally, the song came to a haunting crescendo and softly faded to nothing.
For a long while, we sat in the silence. Nathaniel broke it first.
“Come to me,” he whispered.
I crossed the floor. “It’s my library.”
“It’s my piano.”
I approached the bench. Not sure if I should sit or stand. Nathaniel took charge by putting his arms around my waist and pulling me into his lap to straddle him. I faced his chest, with the piano at my back.
He ran his hands through my hair, across my shoulders, and down my back to my waist. His head fell forward between my breasts, and he sighed. I lifted my hands to his head, burying my fingers in his thick hair.
Please, please, please kiss me, I wanted to beg. Wanted to pull his head to mine and kiss him myself. It was my library, after all. But I wanted him to kiss me.
Otherwise, it wouldn’t be the same.
Otherwise, it wouldn’t mean as much.
He kissed my right breast through the flimsy material of my gown. Pulled my nipple into his mouth and sucked it.
Okay, I decided, maybe I wouldn’t think. I’d just feel.
“I want you,” he said, looking deeply into my eyes. “I want you here. On my piano. In the middle of your library.”
And again, he was giving me an option. It was my library—I could turn him down.
I would sooner stop breathing.
“Yes,” I whispered.
