He wouldn’t break her.
Not again.
She licked her lips seductively as her hand twisted a nipple and the other held onto his calf for support. She was a dirty little whore who was on the verge of coming and Master Trice told her as much.
“You’re a dirty little whore who’s desperate enough to grind on her master’s foot. You’re pathetic.”
Her moans started low and whisper-like. Slowly, they grew louder, stronger, determined. She threw her head back as her hips worked on the top of his shoe.
She counted the currents.
One.
Two.
Three.
She wanted it over with but knew if she hurried, Master Trice would know, and he’d only prolong her stay. So, she did the opposite of what her mind suggested and held onto her orgasm as tightly as she could.
Against her will, Preston rocked his foot into her clit, and it happened. She let go. Her orgasm was slow. It was an explosion that started deep inside her and brought tears to her eyes.
Spent, she rested her cheek against his shin.
Not even giving her the slightest acknowledgment, he pushed the emergency button. He stepped forward as the elevator doors yawned open.
“I hate you,” she said, loud enough to halt his step.
“You wouldn’t be the first.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Unlike the first time Preston left her, Abigail didn’t collapse on the floor or wept until midnight. She gathered the Super Woman strength her mother had instilled in her since she was a little girl and hailed a cab.
In her moments of despair, there was one unbiased family member who could offer the advice and comfort she desperately desired at the moment.
“Lenox Hill, please.”
Abigail sat in the back of the yellow sedan and battled with her thoughts.
The slave and the feminist within her were at war with each other and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t form an alliance between the two. Abigail’s mind and body had searched for someone who could truly satisfy her deepest, most sinful desires and after twenty-five years, she had finally found it all. All of her agonies had been cured by Preston and she betrayed him in the worse way possible. But the feminist within her told her otherwise.
She wanted so desperately to have a reason to be upset with him, but as much as she searched for one, it couldn’t be justified. Yes, he took advantage of her weakness, but she deserved it. She went behind his back and betrayed his trust. She took away his only chance of having his own family with a woman who had never questioned his means. She struggled with the thought that she had selfishly caused the love of her life so much pain.
It was during the scene in the elevator that she fully understood the agony she had caused. Preston was very aware of the anxiety constricted spaces caused her and always went out of his way to keep her mind from giving in to her irrational fear. Although he belittled her, he had allowed her to receive pleasure from the pain. That much, she hadn’t given him.
Brought out of her hysteria, the driver interrupted her rambling thoughts.
“We’re here, Miss,” he said turning his torso to face the back seat. He looked at Abigail as if waiting for something. After a moment of awkward silence, she realized she didn’t have her wallet or phone with her.
“Fuck,” she murmured to herself. “I’ll be right back, Sir.” She felt the need to assure him.
Taking one foot in front of the other, Abigail walked up the steps of the brownstone. She stopped at the floor mat and let out a chuckle.
“Homo Sweet Homo.”
It had Mike written all over it.
She rang the doorbell and inhaled a deep breath. As she watched the brass doorknob turn counterclockwise, she remembered to exhale. Stuck in her gaze, she heard a throat clear.
“Abby, hey!” Although Niall’s voice was welcoming, his body language showed he was surprised to see her. “Mike must’ve forgotten to tell me we were going to have visitors today. Come on in.”
“Thank you. Um, do you have any cash with you? I forgot to bring my wallet.” She turned to the cab driver and waved a nervous hand.
Niall’s eyes traveled down Abigail’s body. They swept over her torso and lowered to her toes. It was then she was made aware she wore only Preston’s white shirt and flip-flops.
Shit.
Could she be more of a mess?
Caught in her embarrassment, Niall guided her inside his home. He made his way down the steps and handed the patient driver Abigail’s fare.
Inside the home, Abigail slipped off her shoes and made her way to the main living space where the family room met the kitchen. She made herself comfortable on an island barstool and scanned her brother’s immaculate place.
No mail on the island.
No shoes by the front door other than hers.
No flowerpots hanging from the ceiling, or Mr. Grey’s toys scattered all over the couch.
Mike always had to have his things in their place. It reminded her of Preston and his need for cleanliness. He hadn’t allowed an ounce of chaos into his home ever since the move. Abigail missed her place sometimes. She always looked forward to her little madhouse, and at the end of the day, it was her own. Now she wondered if she even had a place to rest her eyes at Preston’s.
“Mike’s still at work but he should be home soon,” Niall mentioned as he met Abigail in the kitchen.
She swept a tear from under her eye. “He doesn’t exactly know I’m here.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sure he’ll love the visit either way. Is there anything I can get for you? I was just about to make an acai smoothie.”
“I’d love that. Thank you, Niall.”
Abigail watched as he meticulously gathered ingredients from the fridge and placed them on the counter. He mixed two cups of almond milk, a spoonful of acai powder, and a handful of berries into the blender and gave it a shake. When the mixture turned creamy, he poured the drink into two glasses and topped them off with a colorful straw and a couple of blueberries.
“Hmm, it’s really good,” Abigail said as she took a sip of the drink.
“Thanks. I was actually thinking of doing a rehearsal brunch instead of dinner for the wedding and include some acai bowls or smoothies but with Mike and Mrs. Sinclair as the wedding planners, I rarely get a say on what goes.”
“Ugh, I’m sorry. Mike and Mom can be a little… over the top.”
“A little?” he gushed. “It’s over the top or nothing at all.” He let out a deep sigh. “I’m just ready for December. I’m done with all the headaches and the bickering. Sometimes I wish our wedding was like yours. Simple and elegant. Without any of the extra shit that accompanies a wedding.”
Abigail swirled her straw around the glass and let out a smile that soon turned into a frown.
She owed it all to Preston. He knew what she wanted and what she didn’t. What she needed and didn’t. It was a shame she hadn’t done the same for him. Had she known him as well as he did her, things would be so much different.
“I think the rehearsal brunch is a great idea. You should definitely tell Mike about it.”
Niall shrugged as he placed his glass into the dishwasher.
“We’ll see. I have to run to an audition but you’re more than welcome to stay and wait for Mike.”
Before Niall crossed the threshold, Abigail said, “I’m really happy for you and Mike. I adore you both.”
“We love you, too, Abby.”
Hearing the front door lock behind her, Abigail stood and cleaned out her glass. Not having Niall to preoccupy her mind, she made her way to the living room where she laid on the couch and rested her head on a cushion.
* * *
Abigail fluttered her eyes as a whiff of perfume grazed her nostrils.
Another thing about Mike, she could smell him from a mile away.
“Hey stranger,” Mike whispered as he pushed her bangs aside.
Rubbing the sleep from her eyes,
Abigail smiled at him and sat up to give him room on the couch. Mike had just gotten home from a long night at his club. His skin was sticky with dried sweat and covered in glitter but somehow each strand of hair was still in its assigned place and his colorful blouse was free of any distress or wrinkles.
Nudging his shoulder with hers he asked, “Everything okay, Abbs?”
Shit. Right to the point, huh?
“Why wouldn’t things be okay?”
He raised a brow as if daring her to lie to him.
She let out a small breath and held back tears. “I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be here. I know I should’ve called first—”
“Did he hurt you?”
Why did everyone seem to think so?
“What?”
“Did Preston hurt you?” His eyes moved everywhere up and down her body, looking for any physical sign of abuse. But the injuries Preston had inflicted could not be seen by the naked eye. Mike needed X-Ray vision to see the internal wounds Preston had left behind.
“No, not like that. Not in the way you’re thinking. I hurt him first and because of it my marriage is over.”
Mike inched closer and wrapped his arm over her shoulder as she went on, “He doesn’t want me anymore, Mike. And after what he did today, I’m not sure I want him either.” She pulled at the roots of her hair. “Ugh! Fuck! I don’t know what to do!”
“Can we start from the beginning? What happened?”
Abigail hesitated at first, but ultimately, she knew Mike deserved the truth. She had made a mistake when she lied to Preston, and she couldn’t afford to repeat it with her brother. It would absolutely break her if she was to be blamed for ruining their relationship. Mike had always been there for her, and she leaned on him in a multitude of ways, especially when it came to their mother. Choosing to omit any detail would mean that she would willingly be sabotaging his trust, as well. So, she decided on the truth.
“Well…it all started when I missed my appointment for my birth control shot.”
With wide eyes, Mike responded. “Okay, you have all of my attention.”
Abigail took the time to explain in grave detail what had happened and what led to it. She said everything that had been eating her up inside—all the things she had yet to tell Preston—and she did not skip a beat in the process. She recounted every last step from when she walked into the hospital after bridesmaid dress shopping to the very moment she sat on his couch waiting for him to get home.
Her eyes swollen with tears, she let out the biggest sigh and slumped over her shoulders. “Mike, I don’t know how it’s all come to this. I’m sorry I kept anything from you and I’m sorry that I’m even burdening you with it at this point. I’m such a mess!”
Mike closed his eyes and reached for more tissues. “Abby, we aren’t kids anymore. Life only gets harder and gives us more obstacles to run through. You were never meant to handle everything on your own, that’s why the world put us together. It knew we needed each other.”
He placed both hands on either of her shoulders and placed his forehead against hers. “Now…one thing I know is that you and Preston are one in a million. The world may have placed us together but something much more powerful had to do with the joining of you two. Get yourself together, you’re going to see him.”
She shook her head. “No, Mike. He hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” he said as he stood, pulling her up in the process and walking her to his guest bedroom. “He is very hurt, Abbs, and with good reason!” Mike sat her on the bed and opened the guest’s closet to reveal an array of clothes. He rummaged through each garment, pulling a Victorian-like dress and shaking his head in reproach as he placed it back and kept looking. “Perfect!”
“What are you doing?”
Mike turned with a pair of black pants and a blouse in his hands. “Put this on.”
“I can’t go, Mike.”
“And why not?” His hands were at his hips.
She bit her lip in an attempt to stop it from trembling. “I’m afraid that the next time I see him, he’s going to ask me to leave and this time I won’t have the strength to fight.”
“Oh, no girl! Those words did not just come out of your mouth. Do I need to call Mom?”
Her chin met her chest as she gave Mike a slow shake of her head. She felt Mike’s comforting hands on either side of her cheeks. His thumb wiped away her tears. “Where’s that Super Woman strength, Abbs? You need it now more than ever. Go fight for your husband. You can’t both give up at the same time.”
From the full-length mirror behind Mike, Abigail caught a glimpse of herself. If her mother could see her now, her hair tussled and her skin pale. Her eyes were swollen from all the tears she’d shed and telling her brother she didn’t have the strength to fight, much less for a man. Mrs. Sinclair would be disappointed. This wasn’t the strong, independent woman she had raised.
At that moment, Abigail knew what she needed to do. Mike was right. Without giving it a second thought, she stood and pulled the borrowed clothes from the hanger and got dressed. She placed every piece on with determination as she mentally prepared herself for what was to come.
Abigail stood in front of the mirror and was pleased with how well Mike could put together an outfit. She wore black straight-legged pants with a blouse that did not lack any color whatsoever. It had a deep low cut and sleeves that flowed at the wrists.
“Not too shabby, huh?” Mike said with an eyebrow raised as he brushed away her knots with his fingers.
Turning to face him, Abigail replied, “Honestly, not sure why I’m surprised that you could pull this together.”
“Niall and I are two gay men, plus he’s a Broadway geek. Trust me, we have lots of androgynous clothes. Okay now, let’s get your ass in a cab and on your way before you hit lunch traffic.”
Making their way down the front steps, Mike hailed a cab and handed Abigail some cash.
Giving Mike a tightly bound hug, her voice croaked, “Thank you, Mike. I love you.”
Mike kissed her forehead as he opened the door for her. “Always.” She crouched into the cab and waved goodbye as she asked the driver to take her to Trice’s Architectural Designs.
Abigail rested her head against the side window and focused on her plan as the cab swarmed through traffic.
She’d say hi to Jacqueline. Have a small but pleasant chat, warm her enough so that when Abigail asked to see Preston, she wouldn’t think twice about it.
It seemed like the perfect plan…until Abigail stood outside the skyscraper and the doors didn’t budge after she jiggled them. She looked through the windows and saw a dimmed and empty entrance. Where the hell was everyone? Where the hell was Preston?
Her forehead connected with the glass as she let out a frustrated breath. He had said his office, right? She replayed Preston’s words in her head.
A throat cleared in the background.
“Ma’am, please refrain from pressing your body against the glass. It was just cleaned.”
Abigail turned to face a security man who held one foot on the sidewalk, the other inside Trice’s Architectural Designs.
“Oh, um, I’m sorry.”
She gave an apologetic smile.
The man nodded and locked the doors behind him. Abigail hurried after him, knocking on the glass until she got his attention. The man turned around with an exasperated expression.
“I need to get inside,” she spoke to him through the glass.
The security shook his head. “The building is closed, Ma’am.”
“You don’t understand, Sir. My husband’s upstairs working. I need to see him.”
“Your husband isn’t here.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “He said he’d be here.”
The man unlocked the door. Abigail sensed his sympathetic pity as he spoke through the half-opened door, “The building’s closed on Sundays, Ma’am. If someone gets inside, I would have known about it.”
“Are you sure?�
��
“I’m sure.”
Abigail slowly nodded.
With her head down and lips pouting, she started walking. She didn’t know where to. She just wanted to get away. If only for a second, she wanted to pretend she wasn’t here. This wasn’t her life. This wasn’t happening to her.
Preston said she’d broken her vows, but he was mistaken. Omitting information because she was trying to figure out what she wanted and how to tell him wasn’t lying. It wasn’t breaking her vows.
Leaving her in a time of need, that was breaking their vows. On their first fight, he packed his bags and left. Not to another room, but to a whole other country. Preston Trice didn’t do things flimsily. When he did them, he did them big.
But it wasn’t within his character to lie. If he said he’d be in his office, then he’d be in his office. Perhaps the security man didn’t think her husband was the boss. She turned around to confront him again and came to a full stop as something clicked in her head.
Sunday.
Today was Sunday…
Preston was wearing jeans…
The last time Abigail had seen Preston in jeans on a Sunday morning, he was getting ready to go to his club. That day, he’d introduced her as his slave in front of all the dominants there.
The club was the only other place she knew he held an office in.
Abigail flagged down a taxi. There was no time left to waste.
“124 Orchard Street, please,” she said to the taxi driver.
The driver eased in and out of traffic at a steady pace as she spent the majority of the drive thinking of what she’d say and how she’d say it. She thought of what Preston would say and how he’d react. She was mentally preparing herself for the absolute worst possible reaction and she would have to take it no matter what because she deserved his wrath—all of it.
Before she knew it, the taxi was parked by the curb of the alley. Abigail pulled out a fifty and told the man to keep the change and to keep driving the way he did.
She made her way to the back door, not wanting to get hit on by dominants who didn’t know she was married to or owned by the boss.
Leashed (Masters of Desires Book 2) Page 15
