Collared (Masters of Desires)

A bigail swore her face was smashed against a brick wall cemented so perfectly, it prevented any oxygen to flow to her lungs. Her drowsy limbs made a failed attempt at pushing it away but resulted in the wall pressing further into her cheek.

“Preston,” she whined. “I can’t breathe.”

He let out a groggy chuckle. “Are you talking dirty to me?”

“It’s too early for dirty talk,” she hissed, trying to push him off her but failing again.

“It’s never too early for that, Angel.” He engulfed her deeper in his arms.

“Seriously, I have to start heading out.”

He relinquished a sigh as he got out of bed, reached for his phone, and dialed a number. As he waited for the other person to answer, he removed the sheets that covered Abigail’s body.

She laid fully naked before him as he too was naked before her.

Abigail didn’t know how she ended up in his bed. Last she remembered he’d asked her to stay and when she went to the floor, he’d tugged on her arm. Now they’d woken up together, in the same bed, his bed, and he wasn’t furious, rather, he looked fully rested.

“Kenneth, I need you to take Abigail to Rye.” He threw the phone on the nightstand shortly after he hung up. “He’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

“I should probably get dressed.” Preston grabbed her before her toes touched the floor. He threw her back on the bed—her front to the sheets, her ass up in the air.

“Breathe,” he whispered in her ear as he parted her thighs with his knee. He reached for the plug inside her and pulled it out. Then Abigail’s hole was opening again with something wider and bigger.

She muffled a scream as she bit down on the sheets.

“Not ready,” he said, pushing the new plug deeper into her.

With a hard slap on her ass, he flipped her over. He grabbed her ankles and slid her down the mattress so that her arousal smeared the head of his penis. He pushed lazily inside her opening. She locked her legs around his ass to drive him deeper inside her, but his movements remained paced, so slow she was on the verge of tears.

“Please,” she begged. “Fuck me like your whore.”

His nostrils flared as his hips began to move exquisitely slow. His hand came up to wrap around the back of her neck. Her back raised off the mattress as Preston brought his lips to her ear.

“You don’t get to sleep on my bed and not get punished.”

Abigail dissolved into the mattress at the knowledge he was going to extort his pleasure by depriving her of any. Her hand slid between her legs, but by then it was too late. Preston came with a deep groan that elicited a frustrated one from Abigail.

He pulled out of her and made his way to the bathroom. “Get dressed. Kenneth’s waiting downstairs.”

“Prest,” she called after him.

Abigail stood on her tiptoes, trying her best to reach his cheek but couldn’t. Her struggle humored him too much for her liking. She crossed her arms and pouted. Preston finally curved his back, allowing her lips to meet his cheek. She whispered, “Thank you for letting me leave early.”

“I expect your appreciation to come with more than words. Now go get dressed, you don’t want to be late.”

Abigail wasn’t ready to face Lauren. It didn’t matter she’d told her she wasn’t jealous of her time with Preston. In her eyes, she’d broken a cardinal rule in the girl code agreement. She knew of her feelings toward Preston, yet she’d not only slept with him but fucked him while Lauren lamented in the other room.

“She doesn’t care,” Preston said, reading her mind. How did he do that? How did he know every thought that crossed her mind—every desire her body asked to be fulfilled?

“How can you be so sure?”

“She’s had to share me many times.”

“I’m not ready to face her…”

“Then don’t.” He walked to the closet and came back with one of his shirts. “Put this on. Go home, shower, get ready for your father’s birthday. Stop worrying about Lauren.”

* * *

Kenneth dropped Abigail home. He ran a quick errand for Preston while she showered and dressed for the event this afternoon.

“Hi, Mr. Grey,” she greeted her kitty, pleased to see he’d made use of his litterbox. She exchanged his bowls with a new batch of kibbles and water before jumping in the shower.

Although the storm had subdued, the temperature was within the forties, so the turtleneck dress Abigail shimmied into sufficed its purpose in keeping her warm and concealing the bruises around her neck. She slipped into the thigh-high boots she’d worn at Mike’s opening to cover the cut on her calf.

She could spend hours, days even, staring at the marks Master Trice had given her. They were souvenirs of their time together. There was a special bruise that was her favorite—a thumbprint just below her thyroid. It was so dark, it looked like he’d smashed his thumb into ink and pressed it onto her neck.

As much as she loved his marks, she knew Mrs. Sinclair would have none of it, so she did her best in hiding them everywhere she knew her mother would be.

Fifty minutes later had Abigail sitting in the back of Preston’s SUV. It was an hour’s drive to Rye, but with the roads being plowed by county crews, Abigail knew it was going to take longer than that.

Her heart sped at the ringing of her phone. She let it ring, buying herself a few minutes to concoct her excuse. Reluctantly, she answered.

“Mike, I’m almost there. I promise.”

“Abbs, come on. I’m sure we’re the last people to arrive at our own father’s birthday party.”

“Kenneth, how much longer?” Abigail asked, covering the speakers on her phone.

“Twenty minutes, Miss.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. I promise!”

She ignored the judgmental gaze Kenneth shot her through the rearview mirror and carried on with her conversation.

“Hurry!” Mike groaned into the phone.

“I will, I will,” she rushed out.

Mike was so pushy. All she needed were a few minutes. If he went in the house without her, Mrs. Sinclair would wonder where she was and why she hadn’t gone with him. There was no point in opening that can of worms because Abigail and Preston were in a clandestine relationship. Mrs. Sinclair and Mr. Bennett were never going to meet him just as Mrs. Trice was never going to meet Abigail. It was best to keep it that way for both parties. Lord knew they both had overbearing mothers.

To Abigail’s luck, Kenneth was a fast driver who turned her lie into a fact when she arrived at her parent’s home in exactly ten minutes.

Abigail chuckled at Mike and Niall’s facial expression. They were bored out of their minds, leaning against their white Jaguar as they checked their social media accounts.

“Miss Bennett.” Kenneth handed her a black rectangular box with a large silver M in the middle.

Curious as ever, she opened the box to a bottle of whiskey that read Macallan.

A twenty-three-year-old bottle of Macallan cost more than the average American house. Although she didn’t enjoy the smoky taste of whiskey, Mr. Bennett had a plethora of famous bourbons and whiskeys in all three of their homes. It was enough for her to know this brand was gold.

She looked at Kenneth with confused eyes, not understanding the gesture.

“It’s from Mr. Trice, for your father.”

“Oh. Wow. I—I don’t know—” she was struck speechless.

“Have a good day, Miss Bennett.”

She shook the shock out of her system, enough to complete a full sentence. “Wait. Can you tell him I said thank you and that I… and that’s it? Just tell him I say thank you.”

He gave her an acknowledging nod as he drove down the cobblestone path. Abigail stared ahead, watching as the SUV turned into a minuscule car in the distance. She couldn’t believe Preston had done this. Was this the errand Kenneth had to run when he dropped her off? He was so sneaky.

The hoots and calls from behind her made her shoulders jump in alert. She didn’t have to turn around to see who they were coming from. She rushed to their side, almost tripping in her boots.

“Sorry, guys.”

“It’s fine,” Niall said, pointing at her brother. “This one here is a little nervous.”

“Why are you nerv—Oh, my God!” she shrieked when she saw the band on Niall’s finger. “You didn’t!”

Both men nodded with a huge smile, showing Abigail their hands.

“Congrats!” She kissed both their cheeks with a genuine smile on her face. “I’m so happy for you guys.”

“Thanks.”

“I don’t know if I should tell Dad about it. It’s his birthday. I don’t want to steal his thunder,” Mike said.

Abigail laughed. “Thunder? What thunder? The man is fifty-five. He lost his thunder twenty years ago,” she joked. “All jokes aside, Dad will eat this up and so will Mom, despite what you might think.”

She turned her attention to Mike’s fiancé. “What did your parents say?”

“They’re happy about it. They both love Michael.”

The threesome carried their conversation to the wraparound porch that surrounded their parent’s home. Knowing this had been Mike’s dream for a quarter of his life, made her ecstatic that it was finally coming to fruition. She couldn’t wait to see her brother walk down the aisle to the man he loved.

The Bennett’s sibling’s lives were going down the path they had wanted for years. Neither could be happier in their current situation.

“What is that?” Mike asked, pointing at the box she held in her arm.

“A gift for Dad. What did you get him?” She turned the conversation to him.

“A tie.”

“Oh, my God.” She laughed. “Dad has a bunch of ties.”

“What did you get him?”

“Tie bars,” she murmured.

“We’re horrible children, you know that, right?”

She shrugged. What could one give a man who had everything?

The house was booming with family, friends, and strangers. They might not be strangers to her parents, but they were sure strangers to her. Mrs. Sinclair being the socialite she was, invited everyone in her contact book. Though Mr. Bennett was more on the quiet side, he enjoyed the company of more than just his wife. However, the number of people at his party was far past his comfort zone.

Why her mother felt the need to invite this many people was beyond Abigail. She was sure Mrs. Sinclair didn’t know half the people’s names, though she’d deny it if questioned.

Having lost Mike and Niall in the hustle and bustle of the crowd, she fended for herself in greetings. Her cheeks ached at the fake smiles she plastered on her face as she welcomed each guest. She engaged in as much small talk as her psyche permitted and excused herself when they probed in her personal life.

As she scurried around the house, she found her father in the kitchen eating off the smorgasbord of delicious dishes on the kitchen island.

“I knew you were hiding somewhere,” she said in way of greeting, catching Mr. Bennett popping a grape in his mouth. “Happy birthday, Daddy!”

“Thank you, Abby. Now, where’s my gift? I’m not getting any younger,” he joked with a wink.

“This one’s from me.” She gave him the tie bars. “And because it’s your special day, you get a very special gift from a very special friend of mine.”

His eyes sparkled as they traveled to the box.

“A twenty-three-year-old Macallan. This, we’re hiding from the guests. When everyone has left, you and I are going to open this bottle and talk about that very special friend of yours, huh?”

“Eh, now that I think about it, he’s not that special.”

He laughed and kissed her forehead. “I’m going to hide this in the office. Don’t tell your mother.”

Finding herself abandoned for the second time today, she went in search of her mother. She was glad to find her on the patio talking to Mike and Niall.

Mrs. Sinclair held Niall’s hand, no doubt looking at his engagement ring. Abigail was proud of her mother’s turnaround in their relationship. Once she met Niall and saw how happy he made Mike, Mrs. Sinclair soon became Team Mike, not necessarily Team Niall. A mother’s guard would always remain when it came to her children.

Not wanting to disturb their intimate moment, she settled on the porch swing that overlooked the driveway.

The air chilled as the sun began to set over the horizon, creating a hue of colors across the sky. The serene ambiance granted her the escape she’d needed since the word Angel came out of Preston’s lips.

Much as when he’d said it, she didn’t want to magnify the meaning behind the word. After all, she opened the door by calling him, Prest. But that was after he’d unlocked said door. What was behind it, scared her to pieces.

He’d been wrong about things changing now Lauren was around. Things hadn’t changed as much as he had. He was kind, sweet, lively, and funny. Although she enjoyed his jovial side this morning, she hoped he didn’t lose his Master Trice side. Ironic as it might be, it was his dark side that made her feel safe.

Abigail’s phone vibrated on her lap.

It was a text from a number she didn’t know. When she swiped her thumb across the screen, the message opened to a picture of herself.

Her eyes were closed, sleeping peacefully as silk sheets wrapped around her stomach, exposing her right breast.

She texted back.

[Abigail]

I don’t know who this is. But my master wouldn’t approve of a stranger taking pictures of his property without his consent.

[Preston]

How do you know your master hasn’t given me consent?

[Abigail]

My master is a sadist. He’d prolong sharing me as long as I want to be shared.

[Preston]

What your master doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

[Abigail]

You’re right. It won’t hurt him. He’ll hurt me.

[Preston]

And you’d love it.

[Abigail]

As much as you’d love giving it.

[Preston]

How’s the party?

[Abigail]

Never got to the thing. Turns out Kenneth dropped me off at an elderly home.

[Preston]

I thought we agreed to keep the jokes to comedians.

[Abigail]

I don’t recall the conversation.

Thank you for the gift, by the way. Dad loved it.

[Preston]

I’m glad.

[Abigail]

Why did you do that?

[Preston]

Do what?

[Abigail]

Buy my father a gift.

[Preston]

I spent the weekend with his daughter when she should’ve been with him.

[Abigail]

Preston Trice—sadist who derives pleasure from inflicting pain, feels guilty? Why doesn’t that sentence sound right?

[Preston]

Believe what you will, Angel. Appreciate the time you have with your father.

You never know when it’d be the last time.

Her heart felt heavy as sudden tears fogged her vision.

Before she got a chance to text him back, she heard an all too familiar voice calling for her attention.

“There you are!”

Abigail gave her a smile, padding the empty seat next to her as she locked the screen of her phone. No need for her mother to pry.

Mrs. Sinclair cozied up next to her daughter and gave her a side hug. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I saw you with Mike and Niall earlier. I didn’t want to intrude. You seemed to be making wedding plans already.”

Her mother let out a loud laugh. “Believe it or not, Mike was all for it. We agreed on a winter wedding with blue and silver tones. It will be spectacular. You’ll see.”

“I’m happy to see you guys talking again.”

She let out a sigh. “He’s my son. As you and your father have said countless times, it is his happiness that should bring me joy. If that happiness is Niall, then I am joyful. I still think it’s too early.”

“Look at you, growing up and all.”

As the driveway slowly began to clear, the porch became the new hotspot. Guests gathered to say their goodbyes and praised Melissa Sinclair for the birthday party she’d thrown her husband.

“I’m going to head up and shower,” her mother said as the cleaning crew walked right in. “I believe your dad is looking for you.”

Michael Bennett was in his office when Abigail found him. He twisted the cap of the Macallan open and moaned at the nutty scent. He poured the amber liquid into Glencairn glasses as he settled on the leather armchair.

“Are you going to come in or are you going to watch me drink this Macallan by myself?”

“Sorry,” she mumbled as she sat on the chair that faced her dad.

Mr. Bennett went straight to business. “So, tell me about this special friend of yours.”

She let out a deep breath and took a sip of the alcohol, preparing herself to speak to her father about a man for the first time in years.

“He’s smart and intimidating but he can be sweet at the same time, though he tries to hide it. I find that I don’t have to explain myself to him because he understands me. He gives me what I need without me having to ask. He makes me excited about life and at peace with who I am.”

“You’re in love.” He clicked glasses. Although her father said it as a statement, Abigail heard it as a question she must answer.

“No. It’s too early for that.”

“And who are you to set a timeline on love? You spend too much time with your mother,” he mumbled under his breath. “Abby, honey, love knows not of time. Look at Michael. He’s been with Niall for six months and they’re getting married. Is their love any lesser than your mother’s and I’s because we’ve known each other for twenty years? Definitely not. Why can’t you fall in love with a man in two or three months?”

She shrugged, not bothering with a rebuttal because she had none.

She wasn’t in love with anyone.

She definitely wasn’t in love with Preston.

She wouldn’t know how to fall for any man for that matter. Her feet could be centimeters from the top of the edifice of love, but she wouldn’t know how to take the step needed to let herself go. The fact she didn’t have a parachute didn’t make it any easier.

The one thing she was sure of, was that she cared deeply for Preston. But she needed to know him wholly before she took that last step. There were parts of himself he hid from her.

“I don’t know. All I know is that I’m not in love, Dad.”

“You might not be, but this man is. No man spends $480,090 on a bottle of whiskey for his girlfriend’s father unless he’s in love with her.”