She stepped out of the room, leaving her angst behind her.
Lauren thought herself a masochist for willingly going to the source that brought so much sorrow. Though her mind knew Preston was no good for her heart, her heart ached to have him close.
She sat on the bench facing the basketball court and admired the most talented man she’d ever met. His skilled fingers created the most prestigious buildings. The man had the power to own any room he stepped foot in. A flick of his dark eyes had any woman bowing to her knees.
“Hey.” Lauren made herself known. If she didn’t, he’d forget she was there.
Preston turned to her. His hair was a mess of waves. His chest heaved furiously as if annoyed she’d spent the night. She hadn’t done so on purpose. Her past had a way of visiting her at night. She sought refuge in the only man she trusted.
Being this close to him, she couldn’t help herself. Although she was sure he’d retreat, she ran her thumb over his forehead and pushed his hair back. His widow’s peak was one of her favorite features.
“Is she everything you’ve ever wanted?” she asked, searching his eyes for the truth.
His brows wrinkled but he didn’t pull away. Lauren smoothed them with her thumb. “Who?”
“Abigail.” The name tasted bitter on her tongue. “Does she give you everything I was never able to give you?”
He pushed her hand away. “You need to stop comparing yourself to others.”
How could she not when she’d been with Preston for five years and not once had she visited his bedroom? He’d known his new slave for a month, and she was already sleeping beside him.
“Do you love her?”
“You need to stop, Lauren.”
What she needed were answers. “Do you love her, Preston? I need to know,” she pleaded.
“The only women I care about are my mother, sister, and nieces. I don’t love anyone else.” His words were lethal to her heart. Had five years meant nothing to him?
She walked away, feeling herself losing control again.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To the club.”
“I’ll ask Kenneth to take you.”
“It’s fine. I brought my own car.”
“I’ll see you this evening.” Although it was a statement, she heard the questioning tone in his voice.
“Of course.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“Abby?” Mrs. Sinclair knocked on Abigail’s opened door. When her mother addressed her as “Abby” and not “Miss Bennett” during work hours, she knew it was a family matter. She had a feeling it had something to do with her father’s birthday on Sunday.
“Yes, Mother?” She hoped the conversation wouldn’t last long. She wanted to make a quick stop by the store to buy Mr. Grey food for the weekend.
“Sunday,” her mother began, “is your father’s fifty-fifth birthday. We’re celebrating it at our house in Rye. Dad and I are heading there today. Would you like to go with us?”
“Mom.” Abigail looked her straight in the eyes. She figured with the storm this weekend Mom would have a family dinner at their home, not Rye. “Have you not seen the news? The storm is coming today.”
“This is why we are leaving now. And the storm will be over by Saturday afternoon,” her mother said. “We have a couple of friends joining us, too.”
“Hmm, fun,” she feigned enthusiasm. A ride with her parents and their self-important friends wasn’t how she wanted to start her weekend. “I can’t make it today. I have...”
She had...work? That wasn’t a good enough excuse. She could work anywhere as long as she had a computer.
She did have Mr. Grey to take care of. However, that was another frail excuse. Mr. Grey could stay home for a few days as long as he had a bowl of kibbles and water and a litterbox. She could always take him with her.
“I have...Mike.” Now that was a plausible excuse. “He, Niall, and I are riding together.”
“That works out, I guess. Are you going home now?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” She scooped up the rest of her things and threw them inside her purse.
“The William’s driver will be picking me up. Carl is waiting for you outside. I asked him to take you home. You shouldn’t be walking in these conditions.”
“How cold is it going to be on Sunday?” she asked, looking out the window.
“Low forties.”
Two black SUVs cluttered the curb of Sinclair Press and obscured the view of Central Park. She rolled her eyes. Rich people were obnoxious, not to mention pompous assholes. And yes, that included her family. And her friends. And herself once a month, although she didn’t consider herself rich. Mrs. Sinclair was rich. Abigail was just an heir who’d done nothing to deserve her family’s money.
“Which one’s Carl?”
Mrs. Sinclair shrugged. “He’ll get out as soon as he sees you.”
“Thanks, Momma.” She kissed her cheek and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her.
“Be there by noon, please.”
“We will, Mom. Relax.”
Her mother put too much on her shoulders, working terrible hours a day, planning the most luxurious events. They all thought it was time for Melissa Sinclair to retire but publishing was her world. She wouldn’t stop unless a doctor gave her a good enough reason to and even then, Abigail doubted she’d listen.
She was tired of telling her mother she could support women through charities and marches. She didn’t have to come to work at dawn and leave at midnight. All she wanted was for her mother to be healthy. Both her parents had reached the stage in their lives where they should be in the Bahamas defrosting from New York’s weather, not working their asses off.
Abigail adjusted her coat and made her way down the steps.
Just as her mom had said, Carl was on the passenger side, holding the door open for her.
“Thank you, Carl. You don’t have to open my door, although I appreciate it. I can’t freeze my money makers.” She showed him her newly manicured nails.
Carl chuckled. “My pleasure, Miss Bennett.” If he had a hat, she was sure he’d tip it.
“Abigail.”
Speaking of pompous assholes...
Her body suddenly felt like it’d been placed inside an oven—hot and sweaty and steamy and broiling. Though it had been two days since she last heard his voice, the sound of her name on his lips made her experience a mini orgasm. She unashamedly moaned at the image of Preston Trice wearing a coat over his suit and a beanie over his widow’s peak. His hands in his pockets. Eyes sharp as knives.
She was sure her pupils changed from orbs to hearts and cupids were circling her head. She didn’t care who saw it.
“Is everything okay, Miss Bennett?” Carl asked in a failed attempt to break their connection. It was too strong to be broken by the pedestrians crowding the sidewalk or the loud honks of cars. Even the bitter cold stood no chance.
Abigail walked to Preston, not caring in the slightest she had a giddy smile. “Hey.”
“Who’s that?” Preston asked, tilting his head to her chauffeur but his eyes were on her. Only her.
“That’s my mother’s Kenneth.”
“Let’s go.”
She giggled. “So, when you said to take the weekend off you meant so in context?”
“Precisely.”
She could argue, demand her independence and freedom. What for, though? It’d been seven languorous days. She was horny and in terrible need to be hurt.
“I have to sort a few things before I go. Would it be okay if Carl dropped me off?” She released a sigh when Preston didn’t answer. “I’ll be right back.”
“One minute, Abigail.”
Her toes inclined on her heeled boots. Intoxicated by his manly smell, she forgot what her intention had been and pressed her lips on his neck. She’d never shown him any affection, much less publicly. Imagine her surprise when she felt goosebumps above his collar.
�
��What happens when you get to zero?” she whispered.
“You’ll find out in forty seconds.” He lightly bit her cheek. Her body moved closer, wanting more. “Thirty seconds.”
She jogged back to Carl, telling him she was going home with Preston. “Listen, Carl is there any way we can keep this between us?”
“Mrs. Sinclair pays my bills.”
She opened her wallet and swept him a Jackson. He backed away, his hands up in surrender.
“Yeah, I doubted that’d work,” she mumbled under her breath.
“I’ll tell you what, if she doesn’t ask, I won’t tell.”
“Deal.” They shook on it. “I know it’s not within your job description, but I was wondering if you could help me with something. You won’t have to lie to my mother about this. I just got this kitten, and I don’t have anything for him to eat. I was wondering if you could pass by a pet store and get a few things?”
“Of course, Miss Bennett. What would you like me to get?”
“Cat food, bowls, a bed, a litterbox, and a few toys.” She opened her purse. “Here’s my card and house key. If you could feed him and set up the litterbox that would be great. Thank you, Carl.”
“Time’s up.” As discreetly as Preston could, he grabbed Abigail by the arm and guided her to his car. Once inside, he ordered Kenneth to take the long way home. She hadn’t fully settled in the seat when Preston dug into her thighs and had her straddling his lap.
With a hand on the back of her neck, he brought her lips to his. He didn’t give her time to prepare for his assault. His tongue plunged inside her mouth, demanding entrance. His teeth connected with hers, clacking in the silence of the car.
He was a madman, raved by the need to have her. A desirous man searching for an unquenchable thirst. An anxious dog welcoming his owner home after a long day’s work.
Preston drained her oxygen, her personal space. She couldn’t breathe. Her head felt dizzy. Her ears felt hot with blood. She tried to push him away but failed.
In a despaired move, she bit his tongue as hard as she could. He back away with a curse. His chest heaving. His lips were pink and swollen with a streak of red on the corner of his mouth.
“Wait,” she cooed, spreading her fingers on his chest. She removed his coat and loosened his tie. Her fingers found the curls on his nape. She let go of the beanie and massaged his scalp. They gazed into each other’s eyes, both searching for something. Neither knew what.
With a handful of his hair, she brought his face close to hers. Licking the blood off the corner of his lip, she sucked his tongue into her mouth. There, she finally let out the breath she’d been holding since she’d called him about her period. His lips felt full against hers. His tongue expertly worked her mouth, and she felt the velvety sweep in her vagina.
He had too many clothes. She had way too many layers. Master Trice couldn’t relinquish control for long, he ripped her blouse open. Pearl buttons confettied around them. Her skirt was over her waist. Her breasts tumbled from her bra. Abigail felt cold metal on the inside of her thigh. With a snippet of the blade, he tore her pantyhose and panties. Her pussy was exposed for him to toy with.
“You owe me a blouse, a new pair of pantyhose, and panties.”
Preston brought the knife to the hollow shell on her neck. “Don’t speak.”
She gulped, feeling the sharpness of the blade against her thin skin. She pushed forward, wanting to feel more than a sting, but his sadistic self pulled it away.
“Grab me,” he commanded.
Unzipping his pants, she pulled him out. His penis looked angry and furious and dangerous, larger than ever before. The head was purple and glistening with pre-cum. The bar piercing on the head had two large balls on either side. The veins in his shaft were ready to explode.
Her eyes widened in sudden fear. Her arousal tripled at the pain she knew she’d feel after days of not having him inside her.
“You will take me, Abigail. All of me. Whether you like it or not. You will never deny me. Is that understood?”
“Yes. Um, I still have my period.”
“Let me see.”
“Um…” She pointed to the string inside her. “You want me to take it out?”
“Yes, Abigail.”
She raised on her knees, holding onto the seat for support, and pulled out her tampon. She dropped it into an empty coffee cup Preston had left in the cupholder.
He proceeded by twisting her nipple, watching tears pool in her gray eyes. He swept the tip of his tongue over the damaged area and bit down. Abigail’s cry turned into an addictive moan. She trembled on top of him and pressed down, seeking his cock. With her taut hole filled by the plug he’d inserted weeks ago, she had to work harder to adjust to his size.
“I’m going to count to three. When I get to zero, I will be fully inside you. It’s up to you how much it hurts.”
“Wait.”
“Three.”
“Preston, I nee—”
“Two.”
“Oh, my God.”
“One.”
“No.”
“Zero,” he counted through gritted teeth.
With both hands on her hips, he pulled her down and raised his hips forward, impaling himself inside her in one swift move. Her head tilted back as Preston released the hair tie that concealed her waves. Her caramel strands engulfed her shoulder, tickling her ass.
He grabbed her ass cheeks and started moving inside her, setting his own tempo. Her hips thrust forward, grinding her clit on his belt buckle. It was an exhilarating rhythm that built and built, higher and higher but it wasn’t enough to push either off the edge.
Reaching for his hand, she placed it around her throat and closed her eyes.
“Please,” she begged.
“No,” he sneered. Abigail felt him swell inside her every time he denied her. She opened her eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks. She kissed him in the sweetest way she could, begging him to choke her. She whispered dolce pleads on his lips, but he denied her.
Once more, she reached for his hand, wrapping his fingers around her neck. This time he left them there but raised her hand to his shoulder. He made sure her nails dug into the soft skin. Preston pressed both his thumbs into the hollow of her neck, blocking her airway. He pushed his cock further inside her, chasing his pending orgasm. He added pressure to her throat, cutting off blood flow and feeling her heartbeat on his fingertips.
Sound faded around her but for the pounding of her heart. She felt it in her ears, behind her eyes, in her pussy, in her throat—everywhere. A wave of vertigo threatened to kick her off balance. Her grey eyes looked into her master’s and the giddiness she’d felt got replaced by an acre of fear.
His eyes were darker than usual, blazing sharp with wondrous lust. Suddenly, she felt helpless. She struggled to breathe and scratched his hands, which only caused him to tighten his grip. He pounded furiously into her. Her breasts plummeted into her chest with every jerk of his hips.
Her vision blurred as her lids became heavy with the need to faint. Her body felt limp and the hand she had on his shoulder weakly collapsed onto her thigh.
He released the pressure from her neck. His thumb began to work her clit as he grabbed her hips and guided her up and down. The rush of euphoria that flowed through her veins greatly intensified the orgasm she had chased. She clenched around him, trembling once more in his arms.
Neither lost eye contact in the thralls of orgasm. It was an inward beauty she’d never witnessed before. She wondered if she’d gone to heaven as both their bodies glowed as if encompassed by a halo.
Her shoulders gave out. She fell on his chest, breathing in his scent.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She raised her face and kissed his chin.
“Euphoric.”
“Sir, we’re ten minutes away,” Kenneth said.
Oh, God. She’d forgotten about Kenneth. Had she had sex in a car? Had she had sex in front of a man she’d see o
ften? She covered her face in the crook of Preston’s neck, hiding her blush.
His fingers inadvertently pianoed the dents on her spine as he stroked her back lazily. It was a soothing caress that elicited a yawn from her lips. She could fall asleep in his arms so easily.
“Lauren’s home,” he informed her.
She stayed quiet. She didn’t know how to react or what to say, or if she should say anything at all. Abigail had had more than enough time to swallow the Lauren-pill. She was apprehensive about the meeting, nevertheless, intrigued.
A part of her wanted to know what sex with a woman felt like. Would she taste like cherries and strawberries? Would her lips be softer and her touches delicate? Would she know exactly where to touch her? Exactly where to lick to have her writhing in minutes?
“Things will be different.” He sounded perturbed by his own words.
Needing to see his face, she straightened on top of him. He was still inside her. Fully aware of this, she leaned back if only to inflict a little pain on his sensitive shaft.
He groaned.
She moaned with a secretive smile.
“How so?” she wondered.
He stared at her tits as he spoke.
“You’ll be sleeping with her.”
He grabbed her left breast and bit her nipple. With his other hand, he touched her other breast, twisting her nipple hard.
“She’ll bathe you and care for your wounds. The cold showers are over. Sleeping on the floor is over. If you have a question, you’re to ask her before asking me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Master Trice.”
“Get off me and get dressed.”
She did as she was told. Although it was hard to button her blouse without any buttons, she managed, covering her breasts with one of her coats instead.
As they rode the elevator in silence, Abigail ignored whatever tried to rise in her chest at the thought of not sleeping with her master. Though she’d expected things to be different with Lauren around, she didn’t understand why they both couldn’t sleep by his side. She didn’t mind sharing him because she understood at some point, Master Trice was going to have to share her, too.
Collared (Masters of Desires Book 1) Page 17
