Was it Abigail’s job now to take care of the honeymoon? She already had a place in mind.
Somewhere in the Mediterranean with blue roofs and white bricks. A place with an abundant history, rich enough to fill an entire library. The motherland of the Gods who’d brought her to her soon-to-be husband.
Abigail felt the presence of a little human behind her, she diverted her eyes to Eloise who carried a tufted pillow in her hands. In the middle of the white pillow, she saw two wedding bands and then the hand of Preston as he took the thinner band.
The exchange of rings wasn’t for them. Not for the “them” that lived inside either one. A ring was a smaller collar and at times represented less than a collar around the neck did. However, it was deemed of most valued importance to civilians.
The ring was step number four.
The vows followed next.
Preston didn’t need to profess his love with overused proclamations, so he spoke from the heart in a voice so low it felt like susurrus to her ears. In a voice so low, no one heard but for the person the words were intended for.
Although his words were kind, grandiose, and filled with the purest of love, her shoulders sagged as doubt clouded the day. She began to think he would never utter the words she yearned to hear. But then he did.
Three words he had said before, but today held great significance.
Not thinking it twice, she dropped to her knees.
Her place was on her knees next to Master Trice. It was on her knees how she wanted to be, and it was on her knees she had found true love and submission.
She held no control over her own breath or the rhythm of her heart. Her fingers intertwined with each other repeatedly as she waited and waited and waited and waited some more. If Preston didn’t have a hard-on in front of their families, she swore she’d change her last name.
Elliott handed Preston a black box to which Preston opened with a key he’d housed in his front pocket. He took a deep breath when he saw the bonded leather and the lone silver hook hanging from the middle.
Somewhere around them, the voice of Mrs. Sinclair was heard as she asked Mrs. Trice what in the hell her son was doing to her daughter.
“It’s a Greek wedding tradition, dear,” Mrs. Trice said in a calm voice that was far from shocked. She patted Mrs. Sinclair’s hand to keep her steady and not interrupt the intimate scene before her eyes.
“Oh.”
As her son clasped the collar around Abigail’s neck, Mrs. Trice’s hand touched the thin collar around her neck as memories of the past conjured in the present.
Abigail felt a profound peace as the top-grained leather kissed her larynx. She’d never felt more submissive. She’d never felt more loved. She’d never felt more owned or possessed. Her eyes fluttered as she held back a cascade of tears, and that was where she found it.
Resting by the side of her thigh was a leash. It was long and black with detailed stitching on the sides that matched the needlework on her collar. He’d collared her, but a collar alone meant nothing without a leash, and a leash was only given to a master who knew of its value.
Abigail found herself in a position she rarely was in her D/s relationship with Master Trice. For the first time, she held all the power. The last puzzle piece rested in the palm of her hand. She didn’t need any time to think it over. She knew what she needed to do as soon as she saw the leash.
But a defiant part wanted to drag it out a little. Not solely for the purpose of remembering this day, but because she wanted Preston to wait. After all, he’d made her wait days to reach orgasm. Months to earn her collar. Years to meet him. But those wasted years now seemed like measly minutes.
She understood a collar and a ring meant she’d never be shared again, and neither would he. She understood this meant they’d live together. She also understood although she was on her knees, she was never below him.
With blazing gray eyes, she tilted her chin and gave him the epitome of her trust, commitment, and love. The breath that expelled from Preston’s lungs was so profound it touched her cheeks and warmed her shoulders.
As he clasped the hook onto the round ring of the collar, they both sighed. It was good to breathe again.
“You may kiss the bride,” the officiant announced.
Preston tugged on the leash as Abigail slowly rose from the ground. Her eyes stayed on him until she melted into his kiss.
He’d married his Abigail.
He’d collared his whore.
He’d leashed his Angel and he’d never let her go.
“You are mine, forever,” he told her with intense eyes and an authoritative tone. “And I am going to show you exactly what it means to be mine.”
Abigail’s entire body chilled with the promise behind his words.
It was a myth the first humans were created with two heads, two faces, four legs, and four arms. In some way, they angered the Gods and Zeus split them in half with a vicious lightning bolt, leaving them to find their other half.
Since the day Abigail was born, she felt a shallow void within her. She spent the mid-years of her life searching for her other half.
Today, that myth wasn’t a myth but a reality. She had finally found him, and he was better than any other dominant she’d read about in books.
He was real, most importantly he was hers and it was love that made them whole again.
Books By This Author
Collared
“He fulfilled her deepest desires.”
On a journey to fulfill the desires spewing inside her, Abigail Bennett finds herself at an anonymous club that looks more like Greek Heaven than a shabby BDSM establishment. It is the perfect place to meet the Greek God that is Preston Trice.
He's ruthless, robust, arrogant, and believes he can walk on water. Most of all he's willing to fulfill all of Abigail's fantasies as long as she gives him total control.
Drawn to a life she only read about in books and fantasied about in her dreams, Abigail is taken on a sexual awakening that enlightens her entire being.
Leashed
“What's a collar without a leash?”
On a cold January night, Abigail Bennett stepped into a club that changed her life forever. In it, she found a master who fulfilled her deepest fantasies.
Now the tables have turned, and it is Preston Trice who steps into her room one night, telling her of a past she never imagined was his and asking her to fulfill a desired fantasy.
Collared (Masters of Desires Book 1) Page 39
