Leashed (Masters of Desires Book 2)

by Paula Dickson

  The woman raised a brow and finished her apple juice. Her eyes went from Abigail to Preston and from Preston to Abigail who gave an apologetic smile.

  “Miss, are you okay? Is this man bothering you?” the woman asked Abigail, taking in her swollen eyes.

  Preston didn’t like whatever the woman was insinuating he’d done with her questioning.

  “Lis—” Abigail squeezed his arm.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” she said to the nurse. “My husband and I are just very excited to see our child. Could you get a doctor, please?”

  The woman threw her empty juice box into the trash and got up from the chair. She walked in front of the couple and motioned for them to follow behind her.

  “This way,” she said, taking Abigail and Preston down a hallway to the left and into a colorless room. “A doctor will be with you shortly.”

  “Thank you,” Abigail said as the nurse closed the door behind her.

  Preston wasn’t anxious. He wasn’t freaking out, either. He simply needed to take a breath, walk around the room, get a good look at his surroundings so he’d remember the first time he saw his daughter.

  A bland chair in the corner of the room. An ultrasound machine next to an exam table. Posters and flyers of a woman’s reproductive system. Pictures of pregnant women. Pictures of babies—newborns and toddlers. Pictures of the perfect family smiling all around.

  He’d be the perfect father. Superb. Just as his father had been. No pressure at all. The sweat above his brow wasn’t due to jittery nerves. It was due to excitement. Preston Trice didn’t get nervous. He wasn’t nervous. Not at all. Not even a little.

  He heard Abigail ask a question, her voice sounded distant, far. Preston shook his head out of his not-so-nervous trance.

  “What?”

  “I asked if I should sit?” She pointed to the exam table.

  “Oh, um, yeah. Probably. Seems about right.” Preston helped Abigail get up on the table and kissed her temple. “Don’t be nervous,” he said. “It’ll be okay.”

  “I’m not nervous.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “Well, I mean, I am a little nervous.”

  “It’ll be fine,” he said again, more to ease his nerves than hers.

  “So…” Abigail said, raising an inquisitive brow. “You smelled an awful lot like roses. How much did Mrs. Bessette harass you in Paris?”

  Preston chuckled.

  “She moaned the second she saw my left hand. She practically orgasmed at the thought of this finger inside her.” He made a crude gesture with his ring finger.

  Abigail pushed his shoulder playfully.

  There was a knock on the door followed by the door opening. A blonde woman in her mid-forties walked into the room with a stethoscope hanging from her white coat. She shook Abigail’s and Preston’s hands as she introduced herself.

  “Hello, I’m Dr. Polner, head of the OBGYN department here in Mount Sinai. I’m told Mrs. Bennett is pregnant and Dad wants to see the baby?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know how far along you are?”

  “I think maybe about two months.”

  “Let’s see what we got here. Raise your shirt for me, please.”

  As Abigail raised her shirt, Dr. Polner turned off the lights. She brought the ultrasound machine closer to the couple and herself.

  “This might be a little cold,” Dr. Polner warned before squeezing clear gel onto Abigail’s stomach.

  Preston’s heart rested in the middle of his throat. He tried to swallow it down, but it didn’t budge. Abigail squeezed his hand. Both of their eyes were on the black and white sonogram.

  Dr. Polner swept the wand this way and that way, trying to get a clear picture of the baby.

  And then he heard it.

  The sound was as strong as the gallops of a powerful stallion.

  Ba bum.

  Ba bum.

  Ba bum.

  “There it is, Mrs. Bennett. That’s your baby,” Dr. Polner said cheerily. She pointed at a tiny image on the screen. “Let’s measure this little guy. Hmm, it’s around nine weeks and five days, that’s good.”

  “Is it healthy?” Abigail asked.

  “Yes, Mrs. Bennett. The fetus looks healthy, and the pregnancy seems to be processing as it should be for nine weeks.”

  “I’m going to be a father,” Preston said. It was the first time he’d spoken the words aloud and they felt utterly right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Abigail blew warm breath on the head of her husband’s cock. She kissed the rounded mass and allowed it to part her lips as she took every inch of him as far as she could into her mouth.

  She smiled at a job well done when it jerked and stiffened to attention. His cock was like a balloon, the more she blew it the bigger it became. She savored his tangy taste, reminding her of a sunny day at the beach in Santorini.

  “Hmm,” Preston moaned as he raised his hips and drove his cock deeper into her mouth.

  Abigail’s heart skipped a frightening beat. She looked up at him and exhaled a relieved breath when she noticed his brown eyes were still hidden behind his lids.

  Preston would wake any moment now as his breathing altered between fantasy and reality. So, she took advantage of the time she had with him while he was asleep because the moment he noticed what she’d done…

  She shuddered.

  Arousal slipped from her pussy and smeared her inner thighs at the thought of what would come from his anger.

  All she wanted was a proper orgasm. One that carried her over the ocean and was as infinite as the waves of the sea. Her orgasms lately had been flat. One quick shock to her body that lasted less than a second.

  The last time she came, really came and flooded the floor, was five months ago.

  Five.

  Months.

  God, had it been that long?

  Abigail gazed down at her swollen stomach. A smile kissed her lips as she ran a hand over her belly. She couldn’t wait to meet her gymnast daughter who loved to do cartwheels in her mother’s tummy.

  “Keep your eyes closed,” Abigail told her before taking Preston in her mouth again.

  Pregnancy, aside from providing the gift of life and glowing skin, had turned her into a highly promiscuous woman. And with a husband as handsome as hers, Abigail wanted to fuck every minute of every hour.

  If she could mold his cock and walk everywhere with it inside her she would.

  And Preston, bless his sweet, sweet soul had tried to comply to his wife’s every sexual desire.

  Oh, but he’d been so soft, so gentle, so overly carrying that at times she just wanted to smack him in the face and ask, “What the hell have you done to Master Trice and when can I have him back?”

  Abigail wanted him to forget she was pregnant for an hour of each day, at least, and fuck her as savagely as she knew he wanted to fuck her and as dirty as he knew she was.

  Being pregnant didn’t mean she had to give up on the things she loved, and she loved fucking her husband hardcore.

  His inane theories were getting on her nerves and not on a particularly desirable nerve.

  “Nipple stimulation can cause preterm labor and contractions,” he’d said when she suggested nipple clamps.

  “The abdomen can’t be constricted,” he’d chastised her when she asked about suspension.

  And when Abigail had begged to be choked, Preston simply laughed and shook his head.

  Gosh, he was like a walking WebMD.

  But today, it was Abigail’s turn to play doctor. And with the small scene she’d prepared, she was going to show Preston just how sane and safe deep thrusting a six-month pregnant woman really was.

  “Fuck!” Preston’s orgasmic groan was like music to Abigail’s ears.

  He finally woke with an intense orgasm that sprung into the back of her throat. She moaned as she sucked the last drop of cum from his piercing.

  Abigail settled in between Preston’s hips and licked her
lips sensually with the tip of her tongue.

  “Good morning,” she said breathlessly as she bent down and kissed his pubic bone, spreading her fingers onto his chest.

  “Good morning,” Preston said with a boyish smile. If she had a camera handy, she would’ve snapped a picture.

  Preston went to stretch his arms but failed. He tried to raise his torso off the bed but was flung back into the mattress. His eyebrows furrowed in the sexiest way as he followed his outstretched left arm to the red rope wrapped around his wrist and tied to the headboard. His head quickly turned to his right wrist. It was tied, too.

  His chest rose with heavy, blazing air. He was like a dragon, shooting fire from his nostrils, threatening to scorch anyone who happened to be standing in his way. At the moment, that was Abigail.

  Abigail saw the smoke in Preston’s brown eyes as they locked with hers.

  Uh-oh.

  Abigail gnawed her bottom lip.

  She knew she was in deep trouble.

  “Abigail,” it was all Preston said. It was all that needed to be said for Abigail to sense he wasn’t playing around.

  “Yes?” she asked timidly.

  She was as beautiful as beauty itself. Thighs spread wide, glistening with arousal. Her vaginal lips were pink and swollen, ready to be impaled by his cock. Her enlarged breasts that itched to be touched, rested atop her tumid belly.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  She shrugged innocently. “Lauren gave me a few tips. I thought I’d try them. You’ve been so gentle lately. You don’t choke me anymore. You don’t tie me up. You don’t cut me…”

  “Abigail if you don’t untie me right n—”

  “Shh.” She pressed the pocketknife she had by her thigh onto his lips.

  “This is what we’re going to do,” Abigail started as she ran the blade across his chest. “I’m going to ride you as deep and as fast as I want. And while you’re inside me, I’m going to cut myself right here…” She pointed to the inside of her thigh.

  “Because I’m extremely horny, Prest, and I can’t take light flogs and spanks to my ass for three more months. Look how wet I am for a little blood…” With the tip of the blade, Abigail spread her vaginal lips. She brought the wet blade to Preston’s mouth and glossed his lips.

  Despite his anger, Preston licked his lips. Abigail felt him thickening behind the cheeks of her ass.

  “And when I come, three times, at least, then you’re going to be happy and you’re going to fuck me like you’ve done before. You won’t punish me by denying me because you’re going to remember I’m carrying your child and denying Mommy isn’t good for Mommy’s body, which is the baby’s sanctuary for three more months. Deal?”

  “Let me go and I’ll hurt you like you want me to.” He tried to bargain with her, but Abigail was no fool.

  She shook her head lazily. “I’m not stupid, Prest and I’m not wearing my collar. So, shut up and enjoy the ride.”

  She couldn’t help but giggle at her own pun. She rose on her knees, gripped his cock with her right hand, and balanced herself with the other hand on his chest. Abigail hovered above his erect cock, lining his head with her soaked entrance.

  “Abi—”

  Abigail’s entire body shook as with one sole move she sank into him. Her inner muscles complained at first. He hadn’t been this deep inside her in months. But she’d see this through. She closed her eyes, concentrated on the feeling of him inside her. She tilted her hips back and forth, side to side, widened her vagina to take full advantage of his girth.

  His cock pulsed inside her to the same throbbing vibrations as her clitoris. She became slicker when she felt the head of his piercing hit her on that one spot.

  “You’re going to damage your cervix.”

  Abigail pressed the knife onto his lips again, shushing his killer mood. She should’ve gagged him like Lauren had suggested but she thought he’d be a good sport. Pfft. Who was she kidding, she knew he’d be a bad boy.

  “Yes,” she said in pure bliss as she found the perfect rhythm, closed her eyes, and tilted her head back.

  “Shit!”

  At the curse, Abigail opened her eyes. Slightly above Preston’s top lip was a tear of blood.

  “Oh, my God,” Abigail said as she threw the pocketknife on the nightstand. She ran her thumb over the cut. “I’m so sorry.”

  Preston shook his head. “You’ve had your fun.”

  He flexed his triceps and the knots magically slipped off his wrists as if greased with butter. She’d known her sailor knots had been amateur, but she hadn’t known they were this bad.

  Oh, fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Preston flipped her over as carefully as his rage allowed. Now her back was pressed into the bed, and he hovered above her. He reached for the pocketknife, opened it. The blade kissed and caressed Abigail’s throat.

  “You got out…” Abigail tried to lick her lips, but her mouth was as dry as the desert itself.

  “Thirsty?” Preston asked.

  Abigail didn’t have enough saliva in her mouth to produce words. She simply nodded and even that was hard to do.

  “Open.” He touched her chin with the blade just as she’d done to him, except Preston had all the intention in the world of cutting her on purpose.

  Abigail opened her mouth and swallowed Preston’s bloody spit. He spat on her chin the second time and let it drool down her neck.

  “Your pregnancy doesn’t make you the dominant in this relationship,” he said, tugging on her hair. “Don’t ever forget your place, whore.”

  “I’m sorry. I never meant to cut you.”

  He dismissed her apology. “Stand on all fours and turn around.”

  She shook her head slowly. Terrified.

  “Abigail do not fucking test me right now. Do as you’re told, or I swear to God you won’t get out of bed for the rest of this pregnancy.”

  “Prest, please…” Abigail begged him to reason.

  She could always use her safeword and this all would be over, but did she want it to be over? This was the most exciting thing that had happened to her in the last five months.

  With trembling legs and arms, she got on all fours in the middle of the bed. Although this aroused her like never before, she could feel her body ooze with the fear Master Trice inflicted in her. The possibility of her not coming was what frightened her most.

  Master Trice ran the sharp blade up and down her arms, in between her quivering legs.

  “You’re shaking like a scared kitten. Is this not what you wanted? To be fucked and treated like the whore you are?”

  He pulled her hair back, bit her neck, and left a bruise. Master Trice placed the blade of the knife in between his fingers and slapped Abigail hard on the ass. He didn’t insert the blade all the way inside her skin. It was a mere cut that multiplied with every slap, similar to the vampire glove he’d used on her before.

  With those small, repeated incisions, Abigail saw the beach from afar, saw the empty waves dance above the sand. She saw herself running toward them, ready to be taken by the current into an orgasmic storm.

  She let out a scream as Master Trice slapped and cut her other cheek. The potency of her cries soared through his sadistic veins. He slapped her over and over again. Abigail didn’t know if the pool around her knees was from blood or the abyss that drowned her into orgasm territory. Maybe a mix of both?

  Master Trice threw the pocketknife on the floor. His heavy breathing resembled her own. When he pushed a thumb inside her vagina, her arms gave out, and her sweaty face stuck to the sheets. She was exhausted and wanted him inside her already. Enough with the fucking foreplay.

  “Please,” she begged as tears of agony streamed down her face.

  “Please what?”

  “Please, fuck me.”

  “Like this?” He shifted his hips and entered Abigail easily. She was wet and warm and ready. It didn’t take long fo
r her body to quiver and her mouth to moan into the bedsheets.

  Master Trice clamped his strong arms around her tumid belly and raised her to her knees. Her orgasm induced body was easy to maneuver. He had her sit on top of his thighs and ride his cock with her hand behind his neck. His lips latched onto her neck while his thumb worked exquisite circles on her clitoris.

  She didn’t care she’d have to change the sheets, probably buy a new mattress as this one was tainted with blood. This…this was how she’d yearned he’d fuck her. With pistol hips that sprung her breasts wildly as he plunged deep inside her, seeking his own orgasm, and dismissing hers because she was nothing more than a cheap whore for him.

  With one final, brutal thrust that extended the current of her previous orgasms, Abigail came.

  EPILOGUE

  Six years later

  “Mrs. Trice.”

  “It’s Mrs. Bennett,” Abigail corrected the man with a stern voice. She knew where the conversation was steering, but she wasn’t going down without a fight.

  Principal Anderson cleared his throat and turned his eyes to Preston. “Mr. Trice. Mrs. Bennett. I called you into my office today to inform you of your daughter’s behavior in class, yet again. Leda has told a classmate that, and I quote, ‘I am going to hit you in the nuts and whip you on the ass if you do not do as you are told.’”

  Preston fought a chuckle all while Abigail choked on a gasp of utter disbelief. She brought a hand to her forehead and wiped away the perspiration that had built there. How many times would she have to get out of work early because of her daughter’s foul mouth?

  The first time she’d received a call from the principal of Leda’s first school, she had told everyone in her kindergarten class Santa Claus wasn’t real. The fifth call came from her second school when she told all the girls they couldn’t talk to boys because boys were monsters who wanted to suppress girls.

  Where she’d gotten such vocabulary at her age, Abigail didn’t know. She guessed it had something to do with having Mrs. Melissa Sinclair as Leda’s grandmother, Preston Trice as her father, and the many sleepovers at Eloise’s house.

  “We cannot allow a student to use this kind of language, especially in the classroom. I’m afraid we—”