“Whore, if you think this is all a charade for me it isn’t. This is who I am. I take it very seriously when others touch what’s mine without my consent. I’ve injured women. I’ve sent them to the hospital bleeding out because they’ve tested my patience. Is that how you envision your future? Bleeding out in a bed with doctors around you?”
“No.”
“Then why must you test me?” He thrust forward, merely missing her entrance.
“I don’t understand. Today is Thursday. You said I could sleep with whoever I wanted.”
“I did, didn’t I?” She nodded furiously but stopped as the belt tightened around her neck. “But is that what was written? Hmm, I guess you wouldn’t know. You never read our agreement.”
Tracing her ass with the blade, he pressed the tip to her asshole.
She whimpered.
“Shh, shh. Try not to move lest you want to strangle yourself.”
He dragged the knife lower, so low it glistened with her arousal. “Do you know what they do to women like you in some African countries?” He pulled her shoulders back when she didn’t answer him. “Answer me!”
“No.” Abigail’s bottom lip quivered.
“They perform a brutal procedure called Female Genital Mutilation.” He pressed the blade on her clit. “They remove the clitoris so that a woman finds no pleasure. They narrow the vaginal opening so that her only hole is used for urination. Is that something you’re keen on?”
“Stop. You’re scaring me.”
“No, whore. Stop doesn’t work for me. And as you pointed out the day of the week so many fucking times, neither does your safeword. Listen to me carefully. Word by fucking word. The next time you decide to twerk your ass on other men’s dicks without my consent, think again.”
“They’re gay!”
“Does that mutilate their dicks and balls? No. Now, I’m going to show you just how many times I can make a woman come.”
With unsteady fingers, he placed the knife aside, hoping Abigail wouldn’t use her safeword. It was all about inflicting fear for him, and because Abigail derived pleasure from fear, she made it easy for him to slide wholly inside her.
She cried in pleasure. Her spine arched. Her eyes shut. Her head fell forward, hitting the marble vanity. It took her a minute to adjust to his large size. He felt her walls expand, pulling him further inside her.
Master Trice rotated his hips, lost in the feeling of being inside her. He slowly drew back and pushed angrily forward. Everything around him faded. His migraine was long gone. The tempo around them got replaced with sexual sounds of skin slapping against skin. The anger he housed earlier, got replaced with the need to hurt her, the need to come.
He couldn’t be prouder of Abigail for seeing the masochist in her come alive as she pushed back with all her might and coughed for air. Wrapping his hands around her hair, he drew her neck back and kissed her.
She whispered against his lips, “Stop. Stop. I’m going to p—” Her movements got sloppy but precise.
He let go of her lips and thrust deeper, faster, longer. Her cries were melodious, his new favorite song. He felt her walls clench around him. The feeling intensifying greatly. Abigail was on the brink of coming and so was Master Trice.
“I—I don’t know how to stop it.”
He circled her clit. “Come, whore. Come as many times as you’d like.”
And she did.
Master Trice saw as she used his body for her own pleasure. Over and over, she trembled in front of him. He felt a gust of water leave her like an opened faucet as it slid down both their thighs.
“Oh, God!” she shouted.
Not many things impressed Preston Trice.
Seeing the Mona Lisa at the Louvre, eh. Walking the streets of Jerusalem where Jesus lived, whatever. Having dinner with Presidents and Kings, boring. Bringing Abigail such an intense orgasm to the point of squirting, unforgettable. Fucking memorable.
It was his turn to curse as he came. “Fucking hell, Abigail.” He pounded into her with exquisite pumps, eliciting another wave of pleasure from her and his own. He was spent, shocked, and in heaven but he wouldn’t let her see that.
He pulled out of her and zipped his pants. Releasing the belt from her arms and neck, he looped it through his pants. It was when he was fixing his tie, he noticed a wet spot on his slacks.
Abigail cleared her throat, a shy blush tainting her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“You’re a squirter,” he confessed.
“I—what?”
“You’re a squirter.”
“I heard what you said.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
She gnawed her lower lip. “I thought I’d peed.”
What the fuck?
He got close to her. Even with her heels, he toppled over her. She looked up at him. “That’s never happened before.”
“No. You’re the first man it’s happened with.”
Correction. “I’m the only man it will ever happen with.”
The smile that spread her lips was sensual and mischievous. “Yes, Master Trice.”
He had to taste her. Tilting her chin further, he pressed his lips against hers. His lips parted to suck on her upper lip. His tongue caressed hers with the utmost admiration. It was the softest kiss he’d ever given. The most grateful kiss he’d ever received. He felt it everywhere. In places he was sure he didn’t have.
Her hips jutted forward to graze on his new erection. He wanted her again but in a different setting. “You’re coming home with me.”
“I have to say goodbye.”
“Five minutes. I’ll wait for you outside.” He turned and left.
Elliott could find his own ride home.
CHAPTER TWENTY
All her life, Abigail thought squirting was a mythical occurrence that only happened in pornographic films. There was no way in hell a woman could ejaculate that amount of...whatever it was that came out of her. The producers had to angle the camera in such a way that it looked like water came out of a woman’s vagina when in reality it was the male peeing inside her.
She didn’t even want to think of the precautionary measures that went into such an act. Was it even safe to pee inside a woman?
But then it happened to her, and it hadn’t been pee.
She didn’t know how to stop it from happening. It was a wave that hit her off balance and drowned her in a sea of pleasure.
It did feel like she had to rush to the bathroom, though. He kept hitting her right there, stimulating that spot with his pierced penis until she couldn’t hold it any longer and she let go. She stopped fighting. She came all over him, literally.
She bit her lip, trying to contain her lewd smile as she walked past the restroom hallway and entered the loud club. She looked around for Master Trice, hoping to see him in the shadows watching her from afar but didn’t find him.
Guess he was outside waiting for her. How had he been able to find her, anyway? It turned out she had two stalkers to worry about now. She wasn’t worried, a little annoyed he’d ignored their agreement but not scared. Another woman might have been. Good thing Abigail wasn’t another woman because said woman would’ve chased Preston away with a restraining order and would’ve never come as hard as she did.
She loved the attention he gave her. She loved how she had the power to drive him mad to the point where he took her from behind against the vanity of a public restroom where anyone could’ve interrupted them at any moment.
But if Master Trice thought he could rule her world outside the bedroom he had another thing coming. She was more than fine with being submissive in bed, in a dungeon behind closed doors, but she’d never be submissive in life. Not after past generations fought for those rights.
Abigail let Master Trice do what he did because she wanted to, not the other way around. Yet, something else she needed to add to the section of additional comments/questions of their weekly “discussions.”
A shiver shook her body.
Had he really sent women to the hospital because he’d taken it too far?
No. He wouldn’t do that. He was a composed man. A man his age, with experience in the BDSM lifestyle knew when enough was enough. He had to know how far to take acts, right?
Abigail felt a hand on her forearm as it pulled her to the side. For a second, she thought it was Master Trice, but the hold was soft and not threatening.
“Abbs! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Where were you?”
“I had to pee.” She blushed. God, she was a treacherous liar and Mike knew it. But he had other things to worry about, so he ignored her pink cheeks.
“Well, I need your help. Mom and Dad just got here. They’re talking to Niall.”
“Shit! Sorry. Sorry.”
“Yeah. I don’t know what to do. Mom’s being her usual annoying self. Should’ve pepper-sprayed her mouth instead.”
Abigail let out a giggle. “Dad?”
“Drinking,” they both said in unison. He enjoyed his nightly glass of bourbon, especially on cold nights.
“You’ve got to help me.”
She looked at her phone.
Not only did Abigail note five minutes had passed since Master Trice’s departure, but today was officially Friday, not Thursday.
“Hmm. These shoes are killing me, Mike. I think I’m going to head home.”
“What?” His eyes almost left their sockets.
It pained her to see Mike freaking out on such a special night. It really did. After all, it had been her idea to invite their parents. But she was going to get it from Master Trice if she didn’t get her butt in the SUV waiting outside for her.
Then again, it was technically Friday morning, not evening. She didn’t have to obey his rules. Man was it fun to tell him she’d gone there to be fucked. She giggled at her silliness.
“What are you laughing about? Are you going to help me or what? Please say yes.”
She gave in. “Fine. I’ll hang out with Mom and Dad but only for a few minutes. You know, break the ice for Niall, but then I’m going.”
“I fucking love you!” He hugged her. “You smell like sex.” She bit her lip, secretively. “Holy fuck! Who did you fuck?”
“No one.” She walked toward the bar and turned her attention to her parents. “Mom, Dad, you made it!”
“Of course, we did,” Mr. Bennett said as he kissed both his daughter’s cheeks. Hopefully, he didn’t smell the sex on her. That’d be awkward.
Abigail spent more than necessary chatting with her parents and Niall while Mike practically shit his pants in the corner, leaving Niall and Abigail to fend for themselves.
Niall wasn’t that bad. He wasn’t bad at all, actually.
He made Mike happy and that was all that mattered. It was exactly what Mike needed. They were similar, not just in stature but in their interests. Both were free-spirited and had a passion for fitness, sports, and tattoos. Abigail was sure they shared one in common. But she kept the knowledge to herself. There was no need to rile her mother more than she already was. She’d wait for Mike to confirm it when he was ready. That’s how Mike’s and Abigail’s relationship was. Even if they knew the other was lying, or omitting information, they never pushed. They waited until the other was ready to chat.
Niall was perfect for Mike in her eyes, and she’d hate for it not to work out. She’d hate for her brother to get hurt, to get his heart broken like it had many times before. Now she understood her mother’s hesitation. But wasn’t it through broken hearts one found the person willing to mend it?
Seeing her father bond with Niall over their enthusiasm for the Giants, Abigail saw her escape.
“He’s got my seal of approval. I have to go now. Be nice,” she whispered into her mother’s ear as she said her goodbyes.
She slipped her coat back on and rushed through the crowds of people trying to get inside as she tried her best to get outside. She had a desire to shout in their face a very loud move but held it back in time for her heels to touch the sidewalk.
Master Trice was going to have her head. She was sure to enjoy his punishment.
Abigail walked to the SUV parked on the curb and opened the door. It was locked. She tried again and the door didn’t budge. She knocked on the window only to see it lower.
Master Trice didn’t look at her as he said, “You’re thirty minutes late. What makes you think you’re allowed inside?”
Although she feared him sometimes, his crudeness always had a tendency to make her smile. She knew her master wouldn’t like that as it would look like she was making fun of him, so she tried to hide her smile.
“I know you don’t care but my parents got here, and I couldn’t leave Mike alone. He needed me.” She didn’t say who Mike was. She had a feeling Master Trice already knew. She had a feeling he knew more about her than he led her to believe.
He gazed up from his phone and looked at her. His eyes looked distant like he was going through intense pain. Him? She internally laughed. This man didn’t receive pain. He gave it.
He unlocked the door and let her in.
“Thank you.”
“Drive,” he cut her off.
Abigail hadn’t closed the door and the car was already joining city traffic.
“When I say you’ve got five minutes, I mean you’ve got five minutes. Not a minute longer and definitely not thirty minutes longer. Next time, tell your brother’s gay ass to grow a pair and face his parents on his own.”
Abigail saw red. Her hand came up and made contact with his cheek. Her eyes watered. Her body shook. She couldn’t believe what she’d done. She couldn’t believe what he’d said. The car ride was silent. The sound of her hand smacking against his face blanketed them. Their eyes locked. His thinning. Hers were wide and runny.
“Don’t ever talk about my brother like that again.”
He could say whatever he wanted to her, about her. He could hit her and humiliate her in front of whoever he wanted.
Family was everything in the world. Talk shit about hers, her brother, and everything changed.
Mike had it bad his entire life for being gay. Just now he’d gotten to the point where other’s opinions didn’t matter because those close to him, his family and friends, accepted him unconditionally.
Abigail wasn’t going to let a bad-tempered thirty-four-year-old man diminish her brother for being gay, especially on his night. And she definitely wasn’t going to sleep with him.
“I don’t want to be here anymore. Please, stop the car,” she said to Kenneth who ignored her blatantly. “Stop the fucking car. Preston!”
He met eyes with Kenneth in the rear-view mirror and gave a subtle nod.
As soon as they pulled up, Abigail got out of the car and breathed in the infected air of the streets. Seriously, this city needed to do something about its waste management.
She looked around to get a sense of where she was and how she’d get home from there.
Lexington Avenue.
That’s a thirty-minute walk to her apartment. She started walking.
“What are you doing, Abigail?” She heard an exasperated voice behind her.
“I’m going home. I don’t want to be near you right now.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to fuck a homophobe!”
He grabbed her arm, twisting her to him. “I’m not a homophobe.”
“No? What you said sure as hell sounded like it.”
“What I said was taken the wrong way.”
“No, Preston, it wasn’t. You want to hurt me, and I get that. I’m more than fine with that, otherwise, I wouldn’t have agreed to this. But hurt me, not my family, and definitely not my brother who’s fought his entire life to be accepted by society.”
“Let Kenneth take you home. I’ll walk.”
She scoffed. “That’s not necessary. I’ll walk.”
“Abigail,” he warned.
“Look, I don’t
know you. I don’t know how you found out where I was today, and that’s kind of freaky. But as I said, it’s not Friday evening. I’m not going to do as you say and if you don’t want to be with me because of that then so be it. Honestly, I’m not sure I want to be with you at the moment.”
She kept walking, hearing his steps behind her as Kenneth followed on the road. Her heels were murdering her pinky toe. She could feel a blister forming on the side. As she often did, she turned the discomfort into pleasure.
“What is it you want to know?” Preston asked, his voice smooth and calm, losing the commanding tone Master Trice carried.
“What?”
“You said you didn’t know me. I’m asking, what is it you want to know?”
So many things but she started with the basics.
“How did you find me tonight?”
“I came here with a friend.”
“A friend?” she enquired, doubtful. “A gay friend?”
He waved his hand in the air. “I’m not sure what Elliott identifies as.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I’m an architect and an engineer. I own my own architectural company. I’m half owner of the club you went to.”
“Woah! That’s cool. Really?”
He gave a shrug. “You?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Don’t you already know?”
“Let’s pretend I don’t.”
“My mom owns a publishing company. I’m an editor there.”
“You like to read.”
Reading was her life. “Like? I love to read. It was actually how I got into the whole BDSM thing.”
His curiosity was piqued. “How so?”
“I read a lot of erotic novels, not that those are published by Sinclair Press. I doubt my mom would ever publish something like that. Anyway, I didn’t know such a life existed until then. I was curious about the lifestyle, and I did my research and learned so much more than what was said in the books.”
“Erotic novels? Those exist?” he joked. He had to be joking, right?
“Yes, they do. You’ve never read any?”
“No. I’ve been busy building an empire.” There was Master Trice’s cocky self. She wanted Preston back, if just for a minute longer. She loved her master, but she wanted to inquire Preston a while longer.
Collared (Masters of Desires Book 1) Page 12
