His hits became intense as with every strike her vaginal lips swelled and dripped with sexual wanting. His cock thickened at the sight of the horizontal stripes of crimson the cane left behind. Her cries of pain surged through the air around them, penetrating his cock to fully erect.
Master Trice brought the top of the cane to her opening and entered her slowly, just the tip, enough to make her wanton, enough to have her inching back, taking half of the cane inside her folds.
Lubricated and warm, he brought the cane to her ass and delivered the last strike. The cane dropped on the floor as he admired his masterpiece.
Her ass was a painter’s palette.
Her body a sculpturer’s dream.
Her pussy glistened like morning dew atop the petals of a blooming flower. Like a keen gardener, Master Trice was beguiled by such beauty. Bent on his knees he entered her, parting her folds with the head of his cock. As he slid in and out of her, he traced the welts with his nails, reaching orgasm in five determined strokes.
With a heaving chest, he slid off the bed and went straight to the bathroom. He turned the water to the hottest degree imaginable, hoping it’d burn his memories to ashes. His forehead rested on the cool glass of the shower as he inhaled a shaken breath.
Tender fingers swept the concavity of his back, crawling to meet the hair resting at the nape of his neck. The feeling was so soothing, it made him shiver at the secrets he held she wasn’t privy of.
His body withdrew from her touch, undeserving of her worry. “Go back to sleep.”
Preston felt her warmth retreat. “Please, don’t shut me out.”
Vulnerability was a far more intimate act than sex. It was an emotion Preston wasn’t ready to show Abigail. Not wanting to leave her in the dark, he gave her a generic response, “Athens isn’t my favorite place to visit, that’s all.”
He swung open the door of the shower and stepped in. Tilting his head forward, he let out a sigh as hot water poured down his back. His hands rested on the damp tiles as he fought to keep his migraine at bay.
“What’s wrong with Athens?” Abigail asked, opening the glass door, and stepping inside.
Damn it. He should’ve locked the bathroom door when he had the chance. His wife was tenacious and wouldn’t let this one go.
“Holy shit! That’s blazing hot.” Abigail pushed him aside and twisted the faucet to an accommodating degree.
Worriedness lined the curve of her eyebrows. She rose on her toes and began to pull at the roots of his hair. He melted into her healing touch.
“What’s wrong with Athens, Prest?”
“Family,” he was vague in his response.
She let out a laugh. “What, you’re scared I’ll divorce you after meeting your paternal family?”
He found no humor in her words, and so he slapped her ass harshly.
“Ow!” she shouted. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to. We can stay here or go to Crete.”
Preston flirted with the idea for a minute but quickly released it.
This trip could be the last time he saw Yiayia. He’d never forgive himself if he was able to see her and chose not to for selfish reasons.
“Yiayia would be very upset if I was in Athens and didn’t stop by to say hello. She would kill me if she found out I was with you.”
Abigail reached for the cloth and lathered it with body wash. “Yiayia sounds scary. Is she scary?”
Preston laughed, feeling Abigail’s fingers shake under his erupting chest. “Wait until she finds out she wasn’t invited to the wedding.”
“She’s going to hate me, isn’t she?”
“No.” He shook his head. “No one could hate you as much as your mother hates me.”
She slapped his chest. “Oh, my gosh. Could you stop with that? My mother doesn’t hate you. She went to our wedding for goodness’ sake. How did you even get her to go?”
“I thought you were trying to get rid of my headache, not induce it.”
She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I’m just curious. Knowing Melissa Sinclair as well as I do, you must’ve sold her on the idea, otherwise, she would’ve spoiled the ceremony.”
“I told her the truth. I love you and want to spend the rest of my life with you. I knew if I spoke to you about it beforehand, you’d overthink it, which was why I kept it a secret. She wasn’t sold on the idea, but I told her if you didn’t walk down the aisle, she could have both my balls. She liked the bargain.”
“Of course, she liked the bargain. Your balls are a gem, Mr. Trice.”
Abigail stood on her toes and kissed his chin. He groaned when her hand cupped his balls, feeling as her index ran down his shaft to the head of his penis.
“When did you get this?” she asked, curious as ever.
Preston raised both eyebrows, amused by where the conversation was steering. “A long time ago.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Yes. Why don’t you kiss it and make it better?”
Abigail smiled. “Was it worth it?”
“I think you should answer that.”
“I think she should answer that.” She pointed to her pussy. “Ask her,” Abigail encouraged Preston with sultry eyes.
The glass shower grew steamier, hotter, and vaporized the air with sexual particles.
“Was it worth it?” He played along, looking down at her.
Abigail spread her legs, giving him a full view of her already soaked pussy. “She likes to be on eye level with the people she speaks with.”
He smiled and bent his knees, kissing her inner thighs.
His migraine was long gone.
His worries evaporated.
“Is this your way of asking me to give you oral sex?”
“This is my way of relaxing you,” she said with fluttering lashes as he parted her folds with a lavishing tongue.
CHAPTER FOUR
What was it about Greece that took Abigail’s breath away?
Was it the exotic beaches that bordered the islands of the Aegean Sea? The ocean that greeted her every morning with vast cobalt arms? Or was it the mellow culture that was unlike any she’d experienced before?
The citizens took their time conversing with tourists and said signomi and kalimera. They were friendly, cheerful, and filled with mirth and warm hugs. As she snuck into little shops, she was introduced to the owners who were eager to greet her, some even offered her food. Although Abigail had her own private translator, the locals didn’t allow the language barrier to intervene in any interaction they had with her.
The ancient city of Athens rendered her speechless, encompassing her in all its history.
Acropolis was a time capsule to a past era. One where philosophers contemplated the universe and gave wisdom to future civilizations. Where actors performed their greatest tragedies in the Theatre of Dionysus while devout Athenians carried Athena Parthenos in the grovel roads leading to the Parthenon. And Olympians fought in honor of their supreme God, seeking a decorative olive wreath atop their heads.
As Abigail snapped a picture of the neoclassical residences in the district of Plaka, Preston tugged on her leash. There went her leisurely stroll down the narrow, cobbled streets.
The locals and tourists didn’t mind her fine jewelry, too enthralled in the beauty around them to notice a woman in a collar guided by a man with an empty gaze.
Athens held some of Preston’s most precious belongings.
She thought its mythological Gods and childhood memories would overwhelm him with tremendous joy. She thought he’d be anxious to share in all his knowledge. But it seemed as if with every step, he counted down the seconds to their departure.
When she’d asked about the columns of the Temple of Olympian Zeus and inquired about the architecture of the Arch of Hadrian his answer had been short, lacking any interest.
Abigail tilted her chin to meet his lips.
She brought her hands to the back of his neck and deepened the kiss, parting his lips with the tip of her
tongue. The kiss was slow and in no need to rush. They had all night and tomorrow—the rest of their lives to love one another.
His forehead touched hers as he breathed heavily. “Abigail.”
Her name lingered in the air like the remnants of a pungent perfume. She loved how her name parted his lips. How every time he said it, it sounded like a vow, a prayer, sometimes even a question. Almost as if asking himself if she was really there, with him—alive.
“Preston—”
“I’m starving. Are you ready to eat?” He dismissed her before she had the chance to voice her concern and pulled out his phone to call their driver.
“Where are we going?” she asked as she buckled her seatbelt.
“Up Mount Lycabettus.”
She looked ahead to where perched atop a limestone hill was Mount Lycabettus. The mountain overlooked the city as if sent by the Gods to watch over the citizens of Athens. Anxiety filled her chest as a ball formed in her throat. The further the car moved, the higher the mountain became.
She swallowed an audible gulp. “That’s really high.”
“It’s the highest point in Athens. When Athena was carrying a rock to place on Acropolis, two birds gave her bad news. Distracted by the troubling update, she accidentally dropped the rock which became Mount Lycabettus.”
“What did the birds say?”
“Not sure. Dad never revealed that part of the story to me.” His eyes glazed over hers, but they were lost in a taunted past.
Although Athens was a new experience for Abigail, it wasn’t a first for Preston. Every place they’d visited shared a memory of his father, repeatedly reminding him his presence existed no more. She hadn’t taken the time to realize that everything they had done might have been difficult for him. Had she been so distracted by the beauty of Athens to notice the sorrow it was causing him?
“Preston…” she reached for him, but he pulled away.
He swept his thumb and index finger across his brows. “Don’t start, Abigail.”
Abigail wore her collar. It clasped around her neck like climbing vines hugging the walls of a historic estate. Whether she wanted to or not, she had to obey her master. But this issue wasn’t between Master Trice and whore. It was a conversation that needed to be dealt with as husband and wife.
Not for the first time today, Abigail’s concerns were left muted. As soon as the car came to a stop, Preston stepped out. Not waiting for her, he entered the funicular station.
Abigail rolled her eyes. She hated when he was uncommunicative. Being in Greece only added to his closed-off personality. If only his concerns were of a migraine, then he’d allow himself the help he so desperately needed.
She caught up to him as he was placing his wallet into the pocket of his shorts. They stepped into a crammed cable car where strangers bumped into either side of her shoulders. She slowed her breathing and honed in on Preston’s text messages, focusing on his feverish typing so that the walls around her wouldn’t shrink.
Preston made his escape as the doors rushed open. He extended his arm and pointed to a nearby restaurant. “Get a table for two. I have to make a phone call.”
She stopped him. “Wait. Preston, what’s going on? I’ve noticed a change in your mood since this morning. What is it about Athens? Who are you texting? Who are you going to call?” Her worries came out in a spew.
“How many times do I have to tell you to let this go?”
“No, Preston. I will not let this go. Something’s obviously wrong and it’s affecting not only you but us. Whatever it is, you need to tell me.”
He exhaled a breath as his shoulders slumped. “It’s hard to be here and experience happiness in a place that fills me with sorrow.”
“Is this about your dad?”
“It isn’t just about my father, Abigail. Athens is so much more than my father. It’s about Yiayia and her and so many fucked up memories I rather not think of when I’m with you.”
“Oh.” It was all her vocal cords managed to form. She hadn’t expected Preston to let her in on everything he was dealing with, but she hadn’t expected him to be vague either. Although he hadn’t completely opened up to her, he’d allowed her to get her foot in the door. This was a big step for Preston and because of this, she decided to let it go until he was ready to speak to her about it. And then her mind registered the pronoun her and it skyrocketed. “Who is she?”
Preston kissed her forehead. “Get us a table. I’ll be right back.”
He went off to the left side of the restaurant where he pulled out his phone and began having a conversation. She wanted to follow behind him, offer her support in whatever way he needed but what he needed at that moment was space. Knowing this wasn’t a conversation for her to hear, Abigail went into the restaurant. She did as her master requested and asked the hostess for an outside table.
A minute after Abigail sat down, a woman came to their table. She offered Greece’s most prestigious wine and tastiest appetizer.
As Abigail tore apart a piece of bread and dipped it into olive oil, she thought of the women in Preston’s life. Other than Mrs. Trice, Beth, and Lauren she couldn’t add another to the list.
A her.
Who could this woman be?
Preston was a sadist who broke more than just hearts. He broke skin and bones, minds and souls. And he did it without reproach and without guilt because watching others suffer was his kryptonite. The fact that this woman had managed to seep into his thoughts, left Abigail with no doubt in her mind that whoever she was had broken his heart.
A her.
Definitely a woman he’d fucked. But hadn’t he fucked other women before Abigail? Hadn’t he fucked Lauren right in front of her eyes? Why did this woman feel different?
A ball of fire settled in the pit of Abigail’s stomach. It screamed and nagged like a voracious animal. The word jealousy came to mind, but she drowned it with a gulp of wine. Abigail scoffed. She wasn’t the type of woman to get jealous, especially when it came to Preston.
There was no other woman in the world who could satisfy Master Trice as she did. Just as there was no other man in the world who could make her squirt like Master Trice did.
However, remnants of the heartbreak lingered in his thoughts, which meant there was still some unfinished business between the two. But wasn’t there always between exes?
Abigail wished she’d meet with all the men who’d called her a freak and show them just how wrong they were. She’d also never told Preston about Jackson or the other useless men who’d fucked her in the past. She hadn’t told him about the dads that propositioned her and the moms who didn’t let her be friends with their daughters because their husbands had a thing for their friend.
Sometimes the past was too painful and rehashing it only tainted the present and prevented the future from flourishing. If one is always looking back, how will you ever move forward? If someone’s always punishing you because of your past, how can they expect you to be better?
Her was in his past and whoever she was didn’t matter because Preston was with Abigail. And she wouldn’t and couldn’t change Abigail’s feelings for him. She wouldn’t and couldn’t taint their present or let alone their future.
The sun had begun to set by the time Preston made it to their table. He sat opposite her as he took a sip of wine. They were quiet for a minute, watching the sun sink into the horizon as it stained the sky with iridescent pastels.
“I just got off the phone with Yiayia,” Preston was the first to talk. “She’s anxious to meet you.”
“Yiayia’s your grandma, right?” He nodded as he popped an olive into his mouth. “What did she say?”
“She’s happy we’re coming to Greece. She’s not happ—”
Abigail stopped him. “Wait. Wait. ‘Coming to Greece’? She doesn’t know we’re already here?”
“If she knew we’ve been in Greece for almost a week and haven’t visited her, she’d beat the shit out of me. I’m not joking about that
last part. She believes in corporal punishment.” The epiphany amused him. “I guess that’s who I got it from.”
She giggled. “So, why isn’t she happy?”
“She’s not happy we’re staying in a hotel instead of her house. Oh, and she’s furious we got married and didn’t tell her.”
“I thought you were going to ease her into it, not tell her everything over the phone.”
Their conversation stalled as the waitress hovered over their table waiting to take their order.
Abigail’s hairs stood on their ends as heat spread throughout her body. When Preston spoke Greek, it enticed every part of her being. The words spewed from his lips like morning dew dripping from the needles of a pine tree.
Soon after the waitress left with their order, Preston dipped a piece of bread into the oil. Her eyes traced along his jaw as each sensual chew tore the cooked dough to pieces. Each one of his swallows thrust his Adam’s apple forward.
“What were you saying?” Preston asked with a smirk.
Abigail shook her head and focused on his eyes, only his eyes. “Does Yiayia speak English?”
“As much as you speak Greek.”
“Great, so nothing.” She rolled her eyes like a petulant teenager.
Was it not Preston who had told her if she spoke English, she could speak Greek? What a fucking lie that was. She could not speak nor understand a single word the locals spoke unless it was common pleasantries or plain English.
Oh, God.
Yiayia was going to tear right into her. She was going to hate her and think of her as all foreigners thought of American tourists—entitled assholes. As if she wasn’t already dreading the interaction entirely. If Preston didn’t have to think twice when hitting her, would his grandmother spare her?
Preston chuckled. “Why are you mad?”
“I’m not mad. You asking me why I’m mad is making me mad.” She sized his nearly empty cup of wine. “You need to stop drinking.”
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