The thought of the birthday weekend from Hell coming to an end tomorrow elated her.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t for the sole reason her mother’s intrusiveness was borderline stalking or Preston’s drinking habits, even Eleanor, Eloise, and Emilee had managed to build a small place in her heart. Although small, a place, nonetheless.
The girls were cheerful, and Abigail enjoyed her inside jokes with Eloise as they tried their best to make Eleanor laugh. They made her think of what it would have been like to have a sister of her own. She shared almost all of her secrets with Mike, and he was the best sibling anyone could have ever given her. However, she couldn’t raid his closet or sneak into his bathroom for tampons when she ran out.
The chaotic weekend from Hell had disturbed her routine, as tedious as it was. She missed her job and her bed, most of all she missed being in The National Torture Museum of Master Trice. She wanted to crawl to him, not walk on two feet. She wanted to kneel by his side, not sit next to him. She wanted to be fed, not feed herself.
“Abby, could you pass the potatoes, please?” her mother’s voice seeped through her daze. Eyes not straining from Preston, Abigail passed the bowl of roasted potatoes.
Seeing as the odds of getting caught for murder were too high and the cleanup would be a hassle, she resorted to the womanly tricks given to her by the Gods. Her hand rested on the inside of his thigh where she rubbed her opened palm on his groin. It jerked and snaked under her seductive touch.
He leaned on the table with his elbows and turned to her, eyes red with drunken haze. A black wave danced above his forehead, obscuring his sharp widow’s peak. This was why he needed those hair products her father was complaining about. She swiped the wave back and despite herself, smiled at his goofy smile.
“Keep teasing me and I’m going to bend you over this table and fuck you in front of our families.”
“Hmm, please do,” she whispered, knowing he’d never do such a thing, or so she thought.
Her heart thumped when she heard the screech of his chair. Her smile spread when she felt his hands on her waist, hoisting her up. She started giggling, not caring everyone’s eyes were on them as he placed her bottom on the table and kissed her passionately.
Her tongue caught his as he entered her mouth. His sharp teeth ran over her bottom lip.
“Are you drunk, Mister Trice?”
“Not even a little, Miss Bennett,” he said. Hearing a throat clear behind them, his hazy eyes shifted around the room and widened when he saw what he’d done. Yep, he was definitely tipsy.
“Let’s go to the pier.” She slipped off the table and pulled his arm forward, ignoring her mother’s outrageous gasp. Abigail had heard more than her share of orgasmic moans coming from the master bedroom as a child. Melissa Sinclair was far from prudish.
Like two lovesick teenagers, they entwined their fingers and followed the rocky trail that led to the pier. Abigail held onto Preston’s arm as she slipped off her flip-flops and walked barefoot on the wooden surface. They sat on the edge of the pier, their feet dangling over the cool water.
She rested her head into the crook of his neck as he wrapped an arm around her waist. Tonight, the sky was covered in stars that rounded a full moon and reflected above the black water. A soft breeze caressed the branches of the forest and kissed Abigail’s cheek with pine-scented lips.
She didn’t know how to bring up her concern and didn’t want to shift the serene mood or sound like an overbearing mother, so she waited for him to initiate conversation. When he didn’t, she let out a sigh. When that didn’t work, she gave another overdramatic sigh and sagged deep into his arms.
He chuckled. “What’s wrong, Angel?”
With her big toe, she drew half circles in the water. The coolness of it sent migrating chills up and down her spine. “Dr. Campbell said you shouldn’t drink.”
“Angel, relax. Drinking won’t give me a tumor.” The sentence was an earworm inside his head and a lyric Abigail hated listening to.
She removed his arm from her waist and turned to face him. “Could you stop it? Two glasses a week. No more.”
“I don’t tell you what to do and you don’t tell me what to do.”
“You’re right, you order me to do things. Plenty.”
He touched her nose with the tip of his index finger. A silly smile lined his lips as he said, “You’re cute when you’re mad.”
“Then I must look like a supermodel right now because I’m furious.” Preston thought the statement was hilarious. He burst into bubbles of laughter that chained with every hoot.
Had she ever heard a sound so contagiously sexy as his laugh? No, she had not. And that was because the words contagious and sexy were never in the same sentence. Most things that were contagious weren’t sexy. But his laugh was. It spread through her bones and aroused a laugh from within her.
This laugh wasn’t a courteous chuckle like the ones he’d been giving Mr. Bennett and the Nolans all weekend. This was a full-on belly laugh that stung his eyes with mirthful tears. How in the world was she supposed to argue with him when he was being this adorable?
A whistle left his lips as he wiped under his eyes. “You’re really funny, Abigail.”
Well, that surprised her. She arched a brow. “Really?”
“Really.”
“May I get that in writing?”
He leaned forward with yet another smile that melted her panties and cooked her bones. “Nope,” he said, stealing a kiss that stole her heart and left her breathless. “Let me see it.”
She placed a rebellious strand back into the ponytail attached to her nape and bit her lip.
Gray eyes circled her surroundings.
The families were a good three-hundred meters away. Their drunken laughs rang around their dome, unaware of the two lovers at the pier.
At any moment, Mrs. Trice could move her chair, Mrs. Sinclair could look ahead, the girls could run down the trail, and they’d get caught. Such thrill excited her all the more.
Abigail loved her body, more so when it was branded by its owner.
She unstrapped the skinny knot behind her neck and watched as the top fabric of the bathing suit fell over, exposing her breasts. The cuts from earlier were just beginning to form bruises around her thighs and lower back.
Preston removed the tape around the bandage and traced his initials with his finger. He pressed the pad of his thumb on the injured skin. Blood oozed from the cut, slipping down her belly button.
A pleasing moan left her lips under his cruel touch. His eyes darkened with an arousal that mimicked her own. Her body was unsteady from the intensity of his pressure and trembled on the wooden planks. The coolness of the night dotted her ardent skin with goosebumps.
“When this heals, I’m going to cut you again and again until my name is imprinted on your body forever. Until it’s a tattoo no amount of laser could ever remove.”
Abigail scooted behind as she leaned back and used her arms as support. It allowed for Master Trice to dip his head and kiss under her breast where he sucked the residual blood. Abigail felt the suction on her neck, her nipples, her clitoris.
“Shall I take you here, in front of our families?”
She stayed quiet, made sure not to move a muscle. If she seemed eager, he wouldn’t do it and if she seemed indifferent, he’d teased her until she begged and then he’d deny her.
The top of her knee touched her chest as he parted her thighs wide. She closed her eyes and begged her body not to betray her. Abigail swallowed a moan as his finger ran up and down her slit.
“Your body betrays you, whore.” Now that was an endearment she loved to hear. His hands shook as he lowered his shorts. Her thighs quivered in anticipation of what she knew was to come. “Do you feel this?” he asked, pushing into the thick fabric of her swimsuit.
“Yes, Master Trice, I feel it.”
“What is it you feel?” He rocked his hips, pushing her body further into the wooden planks.
>
“I feel you. I feel you teasing me. I feel how bad you want me and how desperate I am to have you inside me.”
With a groan that scared the ravens resting on the trees surrounding them, Master Trice pushed her panties aside and rammed into her. Not giving her time to adjust to his size, he withdrew and pushed inside her again with enough force to rattle the pier.
His face hid on the inside of her neck. His breathing was hoarse as he pushed into her with vigorous thrusts. He wasn’t gentle and she didn’t need him to be. In fact, he fucked her like an animal—selfishly and without remorse, seeking his pleasure rather than hers.
Each thrust was fury and violence. It was rage and lust and utterly filled with overflowing love. Her walls clenched around him as she felt splinters prodding at the cuts on her back. Her hips jerked high, seeking to collide with his. Her back arched off the floor and her mouth was agape with an orgasm on the horizon.
At the entrance of the pier, a ringing voice called for Uncle Preston.
“Fuck!” they cursed in unison.
“I hate kids,” Abigail murmured to herself while Preston laughed and kissed her lips. “We’re going to get caught.”
“Does that not excite you?”
“It does, but not by innocent eyes.”
“Then you better come. Eloise makes it a habit to snitch on people,” it was all he said before he brought both her legs over his shoulder and penetrated the deepest part of her body. Unbothered by his niece’s calls, he lifted his pelvic bone to grind on her clitoris as the head of his cock stroked her G-spot.
“Abby? Uncle Preston?” Eloise’s energetic voice was closer than before.
“Don’t. Don’t stop. Please,” she begged, raking her nails over his shirt and thrusting his ass into her. “I’m so close. Don’t stop. I won’t stand it.”
“Keep begging.”
“Please, please, please, please.”
“We’re coming, Eloise!” he shouted with double meaning.
Warmth spread through her veins, tickling her skin in orgasmic bliss. She bit into his shoulder to prevent a yelp as her orgasm shook her body senseless. Preston groaned as he thrust his hips and stilled above her.
“Uncle Preston, hurry!” the little girl shouted. When no one answered her, the couple heard the pier creak.
“Eloise, stay right there,” Preston made sure to tell her as he pulled out of Abigail. He got to his feet and pulled his shorts up in a swift motion.
“Go to her, I’ll be fine.”
“You’re bleeding.” His eyes were on her left side.
“Just...” She paused and took a breath. She could hear the small anxious steps of Eloise behind her. Although the sex had been amazing and out of this world, it wasn’t what she had intended to happen when she asked him to go to the pier. They reached no conclusion other than he dominated her with sex, which they both already knew. “Please, listen.”
Preston ignored her request and helped tape back the bandage under her breast and lower back. He reached for the straps of her bathing suit and hooked them behind her back. Giving her a hand, he helped her up and kissed her shoulder blade with a deep breath. The small gesture relaxed her. She leaned back into his front as he clasped her waist with his arms, her height perfect for him to rest his chin atop her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I worry sometimes, that’s all.”
“I understand. I’m sorry, too. I won’t drink anymore, alright? I promise.”
“Uncle Preston!” Eloise ignored her uncle’s command to stay put and ran into his arms just in time for him to squat for her hurried embrace.
“We’re going to cut the cake for Abby,” she made an attempt to whisper but anyone within a foot could hear her. She leaned back into her uncle’s arms with a crooked brow. “Your lips look like they’ve been stung by a bee.” Her caramel eyes shifted to Abigail who was pretending to look like she hadn’t just been fucked on the same pier her family fished at earlier today. “Your lips look like they were stung by a bee, too. Were you kissing?”
“Yes, Eloise, we were kissing.”
They followed the pier back to the house.
“Mommy and Daddy close the door when they kiss. How come you do it in front of everyone?”
“Uncle Preston likes to show off his kissing skills.”
“Ew, Abby, he’s my uncle!”
“Yeah, Abby, I’m her uncle!” Preston shot back with a chuckle as they reached the deck. Abigail raised her hands in surrender and laughed.
“Eloise, get back here,” Beth admonished the second she saw her daughter. “I told you not to bother them.”
She slipped out of her uncle’s arms and went straight to her mother’s side with a shrug. “They were just kissing, Mommy. Abby says Uncle Preston likes to show off.”
Preston choked on his own saliva. Served him right for all the beer he’d drank.
“That girl is a firecracker,” Mike murmured by her side as they all gathered around the table. His inquisitive eyes scanned her body from head to toe, lingering under her breast. Abigail followed his gaze to the speck of blood that had seeped through her bathing suit. She raised her skirt higher to conceal the stain.
“I’m fine. I promise,” she whispered.
“Abi—” his words were interrupted by their mother who stepped out of the kitchen with a lit cake in her hands. Abigail had never been so relieved to hear her voice.
As Preston wrapped his arm around the back of her waist and joined in the celebration, Abigail could feel Mike’s questioning gaze. But as the most important man in her life kissed her temple and whispered just how much he loved her, her worries about Mike’s perception disappeared. Everyone around them didn’t matter because she had him and he had her and that was all she needed and it was all he needed, too, and everything was right in the universe.
Abigail expanded her lungs as the song came to an end.
“Wait! You have to make a wish,” Eloise encouraged before she blew out the candles.
Abigail closed her eyes.
She touched her naked neck as she made a wish.
She told no one of this wish, willing it to come true.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Michael Bennett Junior couldn’t fall asleep.
As much as he tossed and turned, cuddled, and counted sheep, his brain refused to fall into a deep slumber.
Sleep out of his reach, he turned to face Niall.
He was envious of Niall’s remarkable ability to fend off noise—how he could sleep through thunderous storms, high-pitched sirens, and pending nuptials. His eyelids shielded the crescent moonlight, and his breathing was deep and relaxed as it traveled past his slightly parted lips.
Mike traced along the vibrant stripes of Niall’s sleeve tattoo. His index curved around the two encompassed male gender symbols as they floated above a flowing rainbow flag.
He admired how Niall never shied away from who he was, so much so he’d made it a permanent reminder on his body. Unashamedly, he’d broken away from anyone who had anything against who he was as a person or who he loved. He accepted who he was to the core. If only Mike had met him at a younger age, he’d surpassed many of the struggles a closeted teenage boy carried.
Marriage and a family with a man had always been in Mike’s fantasied future. He’d always seen his partner by his side every night and their children running around their home. What Mike could have never put into words was the feeling that brewed in the deepest part of his stomach whenever his eyes locked with Niall’s. It was like the serendipitous moment when he’d finally realized he was in love, happening in an endless loop every time his gaze landed upon him.
Their love stretched across hundreds of fields and overcame all adversaries. In Niall’s arms, there was no chance of him ever being harmed. He could never imagine hurting him, emotionally or physically, much less on purpose like Preston did Abby.
Images of Abby’s red stain on her bathing suit flooded his mind. As much as his thoughts r
an back to Niall, he was unable to get the disturbing images from his head. Although it wasn’t for him to understand, he couldn’t wrap his mind around Abby’s need to be belittled. Was she that insecure? Did she find no value in her being? Or was she so deep in an abusive relationship she couldn’t tell love from manipulation?
“Babe?” Mike whispered, lightly pushing Niall’s shoulder. He needed his arms to cradle him back to sleep and his reassurance to soothe his worries. “Are you sleeping?”
At a snore for a response, Mike rolled his eyes as fast as he rolled out of bed.
He made himself decent by putting on a pair of sweatpants and shoes. Before making his way down the stairs, he closed the bedroom door behind him quietly. Rounding the curved staircase, he detoured to the left, past the living room, and into his father’s office. This was where Michael Bennett Sr. held his most prestigious bourbons. At two in the morning, Mike needed something stronger than beer to wash away the horrid images of his sister being mistreated.
Sneaking into his father’s office, Mike’s eyes scanned the dimmed room. His determined gaze sought the bourbon barrel where he grabbed a Glencairn glass and poured himself four fingers of the mahogany. He took a sip of the smoky liquor and shuddered as the charred oak traveled down his throat. Needing to dilute the tangy flavor, Mike made his way to the kitchen where he popped two ice cubes into the glass.
He took a second sip of the drink and exhaled in delight. “Much better.”
Mike’s eyebrows scrunched in question when he noticed the patio doors were slightly ajar. He opened them just enough for his head to peer outside. In the cloak of night, he found Preston sitting on the steps that led to the pier. Was he contemplating what he’d done to Abby?
Michael Bennett Jr. wasn’t one to pry into other’s relationships. He knew it was no one’s business what two consensual adults did behind closed doors. He did not wish to be the Overprotective Big Bad Brother, either. But he couldn’t feign the fact that when Abby showed him her bruised back, the first thing he wanted to do was punch the living shit out of Preston Trice.
Collared (Masters of Desires Book 1) Page 37
