“Shh. Master Trice will hear,” Abigail warned, covering her mouth with her hand.
“With the storm outside, he’s playing basketball upstairs. Trust me, he won’t hear a thing. He zones out when he plays with his balls.”
Lauren laughed at her own joke. Although Abigail did too, she didn’t find it as funny as Lauren had. “Elliott would’ve eaten that one up. It’s an inside thing.”
“Elliott?” Why did that name sound familiar?
“He’s Master Trice’s best friend. They’re more like brothers, though Elliott gets on his nerves.”
“Doesn’t everyone?” Abigail mumbled.
“Good point. Anyway, their moms are best friends. Mrs. Trice once mentioned to Mrs. James something along the lines of maybe Master Trice being gay or aromantic and she went and asked her son. Of course, Elliott couldn’t keep the comment to himself. He jokes about it every chance he gets, therefore irritating him all the more. Had I said the joke about his balls around him, he would’ve cackled.”
Now she understood Mrs. Trice’s excitement when she’d answered her son’s phone.
Now she understood Preston’s irate response.
Had the roles been reversed, Abigail would’ve felt the same if not more irritated with Preston. God knew Mrs. Sinclair would’ve done a background check on Preston and all things carrying the Trice surname.
“Is Elliott the blonde with long hair?” Abigail asked, remembering the man who’d tried to fuck her a few Sundays ago. He’d been abrasive and arrogant—an annoying asshole.
“Yep. That’s him.”
“How long have you been with him? Master Trice, I mean.”
Lauren let out a deep breath that made her upper body sag into the pillows. Her eyes glazed up to the past.
“Almost six years,” she said in a princess-like voice.
Abigail felt her eyes widen. She’d figured the two had known each other for a long time but she hadn’t guessed it had been five years. Any woman who’d been fucking Preston Trice for five years was sure to fall in love with him. She wondered if Lauren had ever asked for more. Did she even want more? Did Preston?
“Has he ever asked for more?” she asked, her voice lowered suddenly.
“By more do you mean marriage and kids?”
Marriage and kids? That was the farthest thing from Abigail’s mind and the closest to Lauren’s.
They were all intelligent and financially stable. Old enough to have a marriage and kids if they wanted to. The fact Preston hadn’t, let her know he didn’t have a desire for such a life. Much like herself, Preston was a hedonist, seeking the pleasures of life instead of the 2.5 kids and the white picket fence society deemed as the finish line in life.
Mrs. Sinclair had told her from a very young age she didn’t need a man or kids to feel validated as a woman. She understood women, just as any man, had sexual needs, so she encouraged her daughter to explore her desires, though she was sure her mother had never meant for Abigail to be in a D/s relationship.
It was okay for women to care for their sexual needs.
It was okay not to want kids.
It was okay not to want a marriage.
It was okay to be successful and be heard because your opinions mattered.
However, Abigail wouldn’t blame her nonexistent maternal instincts on her mother. She’d seen women in Central Park with strollers and their pesty children throwing tantrums and contributing to the pest-infected streets of New York City with the garbage they threw on the floor. What if she raised one of those? The next Hitler? Or the next Zodiac Killer?
Just thinking about it stressed the hell out of her.
Abigail shook the thought away.
Her eyes settled on Lauren’s neck.
Empty.
Lauren followed Abigail’s gaze, bringing her hands up to touch her neck. Her eyes were empty, devoid of the emotion she hid in her chest. But once the first tear struck, the rest flowed easily down her cheek. Her ruse was over.
Abigail went to her, but Lauren stopped her.
“I’m strong,” she said, as she wiped her tears off her cheek and cleared her throat. “I want to have everything with Preston, but he’ll never give me what I need. I can’t blame him, though as I know I’ll never give him what he needs.”
“Tears aren’t a sign of weakness. It’s when you express your emotions that true courage emerges. I don’t mean to pry, but I find it hard to understand why you’re with a man who can’t offer what you want or deserve?”
“It wasn’t always like this, Abby. He used to be different, at least with me. He hid for many years until I found out what he really was. By then I had already fallen for him and I would have done whatever he asked of me. He never did, so I became the person I am today. I learned to accept his needs.”
“What kind of person is that?”
Lauren playfully tapped Abigail’s nose. “I think you know, Miss Snoopy.”
“Is it hard to see him with me?”
“With you, no. With other women, yes.”
“What do you mean by that?”
She kissed her forehead with a sad smile. “That’s a story for another day.”
Their bedroom door opened with a harsh slap. The women were sure the knob had dented the drywall behind it.
Abigail turned to the intruder.
Master Trice stood at the threshold. His chest was heaving. His shirt and face were covered in sweat. His hair was a mess of waves she wanted to brush with her fingers.
Abigail clenched her thighs.
“Lauren,” Master Trice warned. His eyes on her and only her. With that simple word, he trotted away.
“Excuse me, Abby,” she said, standing. “Finish your tea and take a nap. I’ll be back when you wake up.”
The chamomile tea Lauren gave her yesterday had helped Abigail sleep soundly through the night. However, today was a different day. Today was ten in the morning. She’d woken up only hours ago and had no desire to fall back asleep. Nevertheless, Abigail did as Lauren said and drank the rest of her tea.
With nothing better to do, she closed her eyes and dreamt of a younger Preston and a lovesick Lauren meeting for the first time.
* * *
Abigail awoke to a stabbing pain in her lower abdomen that had her rushing to the bathroom. She removed her cup and relinquished a breath as she released her full bladder. It was the greatest relief when she wiped herself and saw no blood.
As she washed her hands, her eyes gazed at the purple and red fingerprints around her neck. It was the collar Master Trice had never given Lauren, the one it seemed he’d never give her. Abigail wore it proudly for the both of them.
However, she was going to have a hard time explaining this one to her family. Her family wasn’t much on the prying side, but if they saw her body red and purple, they’d call the police for domestic abuse. Mike had to get his exaggerating skills from somewhere.
She would do as Lauren suggested and conceal it with makeup and a scarf. She’d wear a turtleneck tomorrow if the storm hadn’t passed.
The glow of the full moon guided Abigail’s steps back into the bedroom. Jesus, had she slept through the entire day?
She called for Lauren, but no one answered. At a closer look, she noticed her side of the bed was empty. Where was she? Was she with Master Trice? What were they doing? And why had no one woken her up?
Being her most inquisitive Gemini, she wandered the dark halls. She sashayed on her tiptoes, not wanting to get in any unnecessary trouble.
Taking a conscious turn that was very cautious, she stood in front of Master Trice’s bedroom. The urge to sneak inside and sleep on the floor poked her like a sharp stick. She berated herself for inclining her ear against the door, but she had to make sure Lauren hadn’t fooled her.
Her hands rested lazily on the door as she released a full breath.
Nothing.
That’s what she heard.
Not the familiar noises Master Trice made at night or
the sexually filled moans of Lauren.
That only meant one thing—they were in his Torture Museum.
Abigail made her way back to their room. Her shoulders sagged as she wondered if everything Lauren had told her had been a concocted lie. If so, she deserved an Oscar. The woman was an excellent actress.
Just as she was about to turn the knob, loud whispers came from the east wing. She felt compelled to go to the voices of Lauren and Preston.
The door to Preston’s office was ajar and so Abigail could see him pacing the room. Back and forth he went, all while Lauren sat on his chair wearing what looked like a very comfortable robe. A robe? How come she got to cover herself while Abigail spent the weekend naked?
“That is not what I brought you here for,” Preston said. His voice dripped with exhaustion as if he’d repeated the same sentence multiple times.
“I came to check up on you, not to resurrect this mundane conversation. As I said before, we were just having a conversation.” Lauren walked to him. She splayed her hands on his back as he stared into the stormy night. “There’s no need to be jealous, Preston. I don’t love her as you do.”
Abigail closed her eyes, awaiting Master Trice’s slap for using his name. But the slap never came, and the whimper never followed. Her brows furrowed in confusion. The last time Abigail had used his name he’d punished her with bruises and welts, yet here Lauren stood like a queen in silk clothing.
He shook her hands off him. “Leave. Now.”
“Preston.” There went his name again.
“I won’t say it again, Lauren. You’ve overstayed your welcome.”
Abigail hid around the corner.
She didn’t know what to do.
Should she offer Lauren the same comfort she’d offered her yesterday? Should she offer it to Master Trice who seemed distraught? As much as she had bonded with Lauren in the past two days, her loyalty remained with Master Trice.
Lauren shouldn’t have spoken to him so crassly. She should’ve kept her mouth shut just as Abigail was going to shut out of her mind the last eight words Lauren had uttered to him.
Abigail waited a few minutes after Lauren had left to make her appearance known. She hadn’t seen Preston today other than when he burst into her room to retrieve Lauren and she missed his cruelness terribly.
She knocked softly on the door.
“What?” he shouted, clearly irritated.
After that response, she quickly rethought her future actions. Should she go in there when he’s this angry? Nope. Definitely not one of her brightest ideas. She made a beeline back to her room, but by then the door had opened.
Preston stared down at her. Sometimes she wondered if he was made this tall just to intimidate others.
He locked his fingers around her hair and dragged her to his bedroom. She resisted the urge to yelp, not wanting to alarm Lauren. He left her on the floor and locked the door behind them. Through teary eyes, Abigail saw Master Trice disappear into the walk-in closet. He returned with a belt.
He pinched the hollow of her cheeks with his thumb and forefinger. His eyes were darker than she had ever seen them. She was going to get the beating Lauren deserved and never got.
“What are you doing roaming the halls of my home without my permission, whore?”
Through his tight grip on her jaw, she managed to speak, “I—I couldn’t sleep.”
“You couldn’t sleep? You spent the whole fucking day sleeping!”
“I didn’t mean to. Why didn’t you wake me?”
He returned her question with a question of his own. “How much did you hear?”
“What?”
“How much did you fucking hear?”
“Nothing. I swear.”
“Don’t lie to me, slut. Tell me what you heard!” He slapped her thigh with the belt.
“I didn’t hear anything!” she shouted back, crawling away from the sting of the belt.
He grabbed her hair and brought her face back to his. His eyes weren’t focusing. His pupils were large, replacing the brown on them with black. His fingers shook, slowly losing their grip around her.
Abigail brought her hand to his arm, silently asking him to let her go. He collapsed on the floor in an instant, his back hitting the wall.
Bringing her hand to his damped cheek, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
He sighed heavily.
“Your presence is giving me a migraine.” He reached for the inside pocket of his sweats and pulled out a pill bottle. When he tilted the bottle on his palm, not a single pill came out. “Fuck!” He threw the bottle to the floor, landing by Abigail’s feet.
“When you get a migraine, there are a few things you can do to remedy the ache without medicine.”
It was a misconception that only subs needed aftercare. Just as Lauren had told Abigail she was strong and not weak, beautiful and not a whore, Preston needed the same reassurance—the same care and compassion. Not so much physically but emotionally.
He needed someone to tell him he wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t an abuser of women. He needed someone to bring him down to earth. Someone to tell him it was okay to want the things he wanted because as much as he said he was at peace with being a sadist, there was always that voice in his head saying otherwise. It was the same voice that infested Abigail into dreamless nights.
He held Abigail’s life in his hands. If something were to go wrong, who knows what kind of damage that could have in his life. Physical wounds were easier to tend to because they were tangible, noticeable. Emotional ones? Those were the hardest to see, the hardest to cure.
Although he had never admitted to wanting such care, Abigail knew her Yang like she knew the sun rose on the horizon and the moon rose with the stars.
She needed her master healthy and strong. It wasn’t her place to order him to get a checkup, so she offered her knowledge instead.
She extended a hand to him. “May I?”
He stilled as she straddled his lap, determined to heal him. She reached for his hand. “For instance, this—” she applied pressure on the muscle between his thumb and forefinger.
After five deep presses, she brought her attention to his face. His eyes were closed. The wrinkles from earlier had smoothed and his breathing was back to normal. “You can also try this—” she pressed her thumbs on his temples, digging deep.
He let out a groan that shook her body.
His knees came up, caging her like a weakened bird.
“Also, this—” her fingers pulled his hair from the root. Her lips rested on his temple as she leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “And when you’ve tried everything and you still have a headache, you can try this—” she lowered her face and kissed him.
He moaned into her mouth. The sound was so similar to the groan he’d let out when he fucked Lauren that Abigail felt sickened to her stomach.
She was sure if she had seen them together the images would’ve been playing in her mind right now.
And so, her dilemma began.
Although she didn’t trust Lauren as much as she did Preston, she was fond of her. She was sure their relationship would flourish during the weekends they’d spend together. However, she wanted to be the only woman who gave Master Trice pleasure. It was a selfish thought, and the mere thought made her feel like she was betraying Lauren.
Had he used a condom with her? It was under their agreement that Abigail could sleep with as many men as she wanted as long as she used protection. Did the same rule apply to him? Did it apply to Lauren, too? Should she not know Lauren’s medical records?
She leaned back against his thighs and ran a thumb over her bottom lip. She didn’t look at him as she asked, “Do you feel better now?”
“Much. What’s wrong?”
They both seemed to be asking the question too often to each other. The fact he did, showed just how much he cared.
She was beginning to care for him, too.
“I don’t—” she stopped the words before f
orming a sentence. It wasn’t her place, so she asked something else. “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”
He played with a strand of her hair and placed it behind her ear. “What is it you want to know?”
He was so different when Lauren was around. Nothing compared to the man who’d told her she was nothing more than a sex toy—a blow-up doll used for his pleasure only. Was that why he’d kept her around for almost six years? To keep himself grounded?
Or was he as in love with her as she was with him?
Abigail again refrained from asking the questions she wasn’t ready to hear an answer to. “Would it be okay for me to leave early tomorrow? I have a family thing in Rye.”
“Abigail.” He let out an exasperating sigh. “You didn’t want to see me this weekend and when you get here you spend it sleeping. Now you’re asking to leave early tomorrow. Are you rethinking our arrangement?” Was that angst she heard in his voice?
Her fingers found their way into his hair. He looked as tranquil as a sleeping infant. She could stare at him for eternity. If only she had a camera, she’d snap a picture and use it as her screensaver.
“First of all, I’m not rethinking anything. I love being with you. You give me what no other person could ever give me. Second of all, I called because I wanted to make you aware of my period. I wasn’t sure how you felt about it as we have never discussed the matter. If I recall our conversation, you were the one to give me up. Why did you do that?”
“I am not available during work hours, much less for you. I have too many deadlines to meet to be bothered by a phone call about your period.”
She internally rolled her eyes. As if she didn’t have deadlines of her own to meet. “Anyway, Sunday is my father’s birthday.”
“I expect to pick you up Friday afternoon, then.”
She nodded. “Since I won’t be reading the Master Trice Times, is there anything you would like to ask me now or should I expect an email?”
He slapped her thigh. “Keep the humor to comedians. You’re terribly bad at it.” More serious, he asked, “I’d like to know your thoughts about Lauren?”
“Honestly, I didn’t like her at first, but she’s not as bad as I made her out to be in my head. I might be wrong about her character. I don’t know, but I guess time will tell.”
Collared (Masters of Desires Book 1) Page 19
