Tara Me - The Training

“Right on time,” Felicia said.

Nathaniel placed the dressings on the table and took the bowl from me. Then he came behind my chair and pulled it out for me.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” I told him, taking a seat as he pushed the chair under the table.

“Humor me?” He trailed his fingers down my back and then back up, coming to rest at the nape of my neck with a soft squeeze. It was as if he felt more comfortable touching me. Needed a physical connection with me.

I glanced over to Felicia and Jackson. They stood by the grill, talking. Felicia balanced a plateful of potatoes.

“I like taking care of you,” Nathaniel said, taking his own seat.

“You took care of me all weekend,” I countered.

“No.” He smiled. “You took care of me.”

I placed a napkin in my lap. “How about we just agree that we both took care of each other?”

“I’ll go with that,” he said. “But you need to accept the fact that I will always pull your chair out, open your car door, and stand when you leave the table.” He leaned over to whisper, “It’s the way I was raised. My dad and uncle did the same things for mom and Linda, and they never served them the way you serve me.”

“That you know of,” I shot back.

He laughed. “I’m not even going to think about that.”

Jackson and Felicia walked to the table.

“So,” Jackson said, sitting down. “What have you two been up to this weekend?”

Felicia’s eyes bugged out. I almost giggled, it was so comical. What did she think I was going to do? Launch into a running commentary on the ins and outs of what we had done?

“Abby treated me to her delicious French toast,” Nathaniel said, speaking of the breakfast I’d made for him that morning. He raised his glass to me. “Superb, as always.” He looked over to Felicia. “Has she shared her recipe with you? Jackson loves French toast.”

Felicia shook her head. “I’m not much of a cook. I’m afraid Jackson will have to do without that particular delicacy.”

And just like that, the conversation drifted away from our weekend. I placed a hand on Nathaniel’s knee and he reached down to intertwine our fingers.

I squeezed his knee. Thank you.

He returned the squeeze. You’re welcome.

“I’d better head home,” Felicia said two hours later, when the last dish had been put in the dishwasher, following the high-spirited dinner. “Abby promised to help me finish the table seating arrangements.”

Jackson leaned against the countertop. “Explain to me again why we care where people sit?”

Felicia huffed and picked her purse up from beside the refrigerator. “We just do.”

“But, baby, you’ve gone over the table arrangements five times already.” He winked at me, obviously enjoying pushing this particular button of Felicia’s. “We’ll be just as married if the Tompkinses sit beside the McDonalds or not.”

She ignored him. “When did you say your dad was getting into town?” she asked me.

“Thursday before,” I answered, slipping my hand inside Nathaniel’s. He had mentioned how much he was looking forward to meeting my dad. A thought flitted through my head: will he mention the collar if I have it on?

She put her hands on her hips. “Think he’d like to sit with the Tompkinses?”

“Even I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Nathaniel said. Of course he wouldn’t think that would be a good idea. Who wanted his current girlfriend’s parent to sit next to and have dinner with his ex-girlfriend’s parents?

“In that case, I guess Abby and I have a lot of work to do,” Felicia said.

Nathaniel pulled me to the door. “I’ll take you home.” He nodded to Jackson. “We still on for dinner tomorrow night?”

His cousin had eyes only for his fiancée. “If I make it to tomorrow. I’ll make you a deal,” he said to Felicia. “I won’t say another word about table arrangements if you let me keep the trophies in the living room.”

Her hands were still on her hips as her lips curled. “As long as you know I still think they would look better in your office.”

He moved to her, a twin smile covering his face. “And as long as you know I still don’t know why we care where everyone sits.”

He’d made it to her. Their arms came around each other. He leaned down and whispered something in her ear. She giggled and pressed closer to him.

Nathaniel and I walked out of the kitchen, still holding hands, and left through the front door.

“Meet me for lunch tomorrow?” he asked.

“Sushi?”

“I can always do sushi,” he said. “Though I do prefer when you and I make it.”

We’d made it to his car. “Then how about we do sushi Tuesday night and do something else for lunch tomorrow?”

“Tuesday night sounds great,” he said. “Do you have plans for tomorrow night?”

I picked at an imaginary piece of lint on his shirt, just because I wanted to touch him. “Final dress fitting.”

“Fun.”

“Not really, but I’ll survive. Especially if I have Tuesday to look forward to.”

He smiled. “Tuesday night we make sushi.” His voice dropped. “Will you stay the night?”

I leaned toward him. “Yes,” I said, and I felt his breath on my cheek.

His lips grazed mine. “Thank you.”

“If I can’t apologize”—I put my arms around him—“you can’t thank me.”

His laugh was warm and deep in my ear. I pulled back and smiled. “Deal?”

“Deal.”

As he, once more, moved close to me, I shut my eyes and breathed in the scent of him. He smelled dark and woodsy.

Our lips touched, gentle at first. I sighed and ran my fingers through his hair. He moaned and parted his lips, deepening the kiss. Then what was gentle grew passionate and what was soft became laced with need. But we both knew we could not give in to our need. It wouldn’t progress beyond the kiss.

When our lips parted, he sighed against my cheek. “I love you.”

—ABBY—

I turned the rice cooker on and walked to where Nathaniel stood cutting cucumbers, carrots, and avocados. I reached under his arm and grabbed a peeled carrot.

“Hey.” He spun around. “I was just getting ready to use that one.”

“You have plenty.” I took a small bite, enjoying the satisfying crunch.

He narrowed his eyes and watched me with mock ire as I chewed and swallowed.

“FYI,” I said, shaking the carrot at him. “I will never pick peas over carrots on a Tuesday night. Unless they’re cooked. I hate cooked carrots.”

His eye crinkled up at the edges and his mouth gave way to a beautiful smile. “Point taken.”

“Now.” I reached for the peeler and took another carrot. “Since I’ve deprived you of your peeled carrot, the least I can do is peel another one for you.”

“Oh, yes,” he said, his hand brushing my shoulder just slightly before moving away from me. “The very least.”

I knew he was working hard, trying to let me dictate our weekday time. He had been hesitant at lunch the previous day, a change from the cookout with Felicia and Jackson when he’d touched me almost constantly.

I turned to him and stroked his hand. “I like it when you touch me. Don’t stop just because you’re afraid I’ll take it the wrong way or will feel obligated.”

His smile grew even larger. “You know me so well.”

I lifted to my toes and gave him a small kiss. “Sometimes.”

The look in his eyes told me he didn’t believe me. I decided not to pursue it further. Besides, there was something else I wanted to talk about. I turned back to the counter and began peeling the carrot.

“You wanted to ask me something about this weekend?” I asked.

He took another carrot and we worked side by side.

“You’ve heard me talk about Paul?” he asked.

Paul was Nathaniel’s mentor. I knew that. The man who had been his instructor. Nathaniel told me once that Paul was the only person he’d ever subbed for. My mind still couldn’t wrap itself around that—Nathaniel subbing for someone. Even if there wasn’t any sex involved, it still confused me.

“And Christine?” he asked.

Paul’s wife. And submissive. They had a three-month-old son, Sam. Paul had e-mailed Nathaniel pictures of the pudgy baby. Sam was cute as a button and had a precious toothless grin.

“Of course I remember you talking about Paul,” I said. “Hard to forget that one.”

The image of Nathaniel willingly submitting himself to anyone wasn’t anything I could easily forget.

“I spoke to him,” he said. “He’s invited us to New Hanover this weekend.”

This weekend?

“I told him I’d talk to you about it, get your thoughts,” he said. “You could talk with Christine some. She’s a submissive, and I think it would be a good idea for you to talk with someone you can relate to like that.”

I kept peeling the carrot. Someone to talk to? Someone who wasn’t Nathaniel? Would that be weird? How did one start that conversation, anyway? Hi, I’m Abby and I crave domination?

“He also mentioned the two of them playing for us,” Nathaniel said. “Perhaps something on your soft limit list.”

Watch people have sex?

The peeler slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor.

He dropped down and picked it up. When he stood, he gently cupped my face. “You have ‘watching others’ listed as willing on your checklist. I would never violate your hard limits. Ever.”

My mind spun in a hundred directions. Would we be in Paul’s playroom? How did that work? Would Christine care?

“You have ‘forced nudity around others’ and ‘exhibitionism among friends’ listed as soft limits.” He didn’t move his hand. “I won’t push those limits this weekend. You will remain clothed, and I will not ask you to play in front of anyone.”

We were both silent for several seconds, and his unspoken words rang in my head. A reminder he would push my limits at some point.

He smiled. “And it’s Tuesday, Abby.”

Tuesday. Abby.

He waited until Tuesday to bring the weekend up because he wanted my honest opinion. I understood immediately why he hadn’t asked me on Sunday, not when I’d very nearly called him master in front of Jackson and Felicia. He knew my answer might be hindered by wearing his collar so recently if he’d asked any earlier.

“Wow,” I said. “When I marked that down, I guess I wasn’t thinking anything would happen this fast.”

“Do you not want to go?”

I tilted my head. “No. It’s not that. I just have to think a minute.”

I went back to the vegetables, making sure everything was ready for when the rice came out. He walked to the refrigerator and pulled out the tuna and eel—giving me space, allowing me time to think through my answer.

“Have you ever had sex with Christine?” I asked.

“What?” He looked up from unwrapping the fish. “No.”

“Have you ever played with her?” I asked, rethinking my question.

“No.” He took a knife and cut the tuna into strips. “I have watched them before.”

“That would have been my next question.”

“I thought as much.”

I separated the vegetables into little piles—my pile and his—and thought more about his question. Would it be odd to sit down for dinner with a couple after seeing them in a playroom?

“Abby?” he asked, washing his hands. “Paul and Christine are highly regarded in the community, and they’re quite used to dealing with jitters. It may be slightly uncomfortable at times, but this is something they’re both used to. He told me Christine gets turned on by being watched.”

I thought about that. Remembered back to when Nathaniel and I had sex at the Super Bowl. There was still an undercurrent of excitement that ran through me whenever I thought about it.

“Christine would be a good person for you to talk with,” he said. “She would understand and help you with any questions you have but aren’t comfortable talking to me about.” He walked to me and stroked my cheekbone. His expressive eyes betrayed the even tone of his voice. “And she married her dominant.”

Married her dominant.

Would Nathaniel and I one day be at that point? Would he want that? Would I?

I thought about how close I was to Felicia and pondered how nice it would be to have a girlfriend in the lifestyle I could talk with. Then I thought about my checklists and the items I had marked as soft limits. Would I be willing to modify my checklist afterward? Would watching one of my soft limits play out before me change my interest?