She hadn’t the face to tell her brother of her sinful weekend with a man she honestly wasn’t sure she’d see again. Abigail knew not a thing about Preston Trice. His number was always under unknown as if he were hiding his true identity from her.
“Oh, you didn’t know. Guess he’s keeping secrets from everyone now. He wasn’t like that three months ago, you know.”
“I knew he was thinking about marrying Niall,” she lied. No one would break the bond of siblings. She’d defend her brother ’till the end. “I didn’t know he’d told you, too. That’s what surprised me.”
“I know I shouldn’t be worried. He says everyone he dates is the one, but I think he’s serious about this one.”
“Shouldn’t you be happy then?”
“I should, shouldn’t I? But that’s the thing. He’s never said the word marriage before. I’m afraid Niall will break his heart. Really hurt him.”
She gave her mom a small smile, engulfing her with her arms. “You’re such a good mom, Momma. I’ll keep an eye on him at the club, okay? He listens to me, for the most part. If I don’t like Niall, I’ll tell him.”
“Thank you, Abby.”
“Why don’t you come with me tonight? Tell Dad to go, too.”
“I’ll have to ice my eyes all the way home. Seriously, Abigail, pepper spray?”
She jiggled the bottle in the air. “It was your idea to have one.”
“Yes. I remember telling you to use it on others, not me.”
Fifteen minutes later, two cars departed from 23rd Street. One led to The Blue Oyster, the other to the Sinclair-Bennett household where Mrs. Sinclair would ice her eyes and shower.
Abigail hoped her parents would make it tonight. It would mean the world to Mike to have them there, even if he hadn’t invited them.
Melissa and Michael Sr. weren’t the religious type. They never went to church. They never prayed or read the Bible, although they were both taught its teachings from their parents.
They carried God in their hearts. They never had the urge to flaunt their faith in front of others. They both believed in God and so they believed He was only to judge while humans were only to love. So, when Michael Jr., their only son, told them he was gay, they accepted him with open arms because they were made to love and not judge.
Those were the values Abigail and Mike grew up with. Unfortunately, most parents didn’t teach those beliefs to their children. They picked and chose what they wanted them to learn about God. If someone didn’t look like them, they were to disassociate themselves from them. If someone loved the same sex, they were a walking sin. Their religion trumped all others, those who didn’t follow them would perish in hell.
Did they miss the part in the Bible that said they were all children of God? Did they miss the part in the Bible where it said they were made in His image? Did they forget to bookmark the part where Jesus hung out with thieves, prostitutes, sinners, outcasts, those who were shunned by society and left alone?
And so, because of parents who neglected to show the truth to their children, Abigail’s brother got bullied and shunned in school by not only students but parents and school staff.
Opening a gay club in the city was Michael Bennett’s way of returning the stones he never should’ve gotten to the people who never should’ve thrown them.
“Congrats, hotshot!” Abigail shouted over the loud music.
Mike turned around with a beaming smile on his lips. He grabbed his sister by the hand and took her up the stairs to the second floor where they both took a moment to admire what he’d created.
“Can you believe it?”
The pictures he’d shown her on Sunday hadn’t done the club justice. The bottom floor was where all the partying was happening. It hosted a bar, DJ, and a dance floor with flashing lights that resonated throughout the club.
From the ceiling hung the cages Abigail had loved since she’d first seen them in photographs. One had a man wearing a speedo dancing with a cowboy’s hat. The other had two men performing sensual dances.
The second floor also had a bar and dance floor but was smaller than the first. This one had sofas and tables that could be reserved and rented for a private party or bachelor/bachelorette night.
“I can, Mike. It’s packed.” Abigail sounded like a proud mother.
He jumped up and down with excitement. “I know!”
“I’m so happy for you.” She smiled. She thought about asking him about the Niall situation but figured they could talk about it on one of their walking sessions around Central Park next week. She didn’t want to ruin his night or cause any discomfort.
“Dad called about five minutes before you got here.”
“What did he say?” she asked innocently.
“They’re on their way.”
“How do you feel about that?”
He raised a shoulder. “I know it was you, Abbs.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m so sorry! Mom was following me, and I sprayed her with pepper. Then she asked where I was going, and I told her I was going to your event. Mike, she had no idea what I was talking about. I felt bad.”
“Relax. I’m not mad or anything. I didn’t invite them because of Niall. Today is supposed to be my night. Abbs, I worked so hard for this and I don’t want Mom to ruin it or feel hurt because if it comes down to it, I’ll pick him over her.”
“You really love him, huh?” she asked
“I really do.”
She let out a sigh, followed by a promise. “Mom won’t ruin anything tonight.” Abigail gave Mike a wink and tilted her head to the woman behind him with a headset and clipboard.
Michael spoke to her for a few minutes whilst Abigail admired the empire her brother had built all on his own. Having had graduated with an MBA, she knew he had it in him to make something as great as this.
The customers were genuinely having a good time. If this was the crowd he’d get on a Thursday night, she could only imagine how busy it’d be tomorrow or on the weekend.
Her eyes settled on an attractive man behind the main floor’s bar. He was nothing like Master Trice, though. His left arm was colored in dark ink. He wasn’t very muscular, and he wasn’t very tall, a few inches taller than her 5′4 height. What he had that Master Trice was yet to show her was a panty-dropper smile that was sure to make any man in this club fall to his knee.
“Is it okay if I leave you alone for a sec? I have to take care of something.”
She waved him away. “Yeah. Yeah. Of course, I’ll go get a drink. I’ve got my eye on that blondie over there.”
Mike leaned on the railing, searching for the blonde in the crowd. He chuckled when he found him. “Go for it. Send him my way when you’re done. Don’t forget to plump those tits, girl!”
Master Trice wasn’t here and even if he were, he’d told her she was allowed to date other people. It was also Thursday night, not Friday evening, so she wasn’t breaking any rules. With determination, Abigail went down the stairs, her eyes on the prize. She was ready to have fun and gain some intel.
She settled on an empty stool and did just as her brother had suggested, she leaned against the counter with her elbows and thrust her tits forward. It took everything inside of her, not to coward and apologize for her bluntness but she was cringing on the inside.
“Can I get a cosmopolitan?” she asked in her sultriest voice.
The blonde looked down her breasts and up to the second floor where she’d stood earlier. Had he been watching her, too?
He smirked and nodded, giving her his back as he mixed her a drink. Her mouth watered as the man poured the blue liquid into a chilled glass and handed it to her. Her fingers purposely touched his as she grabbed the thin handle.
“Thank you.”
Her head felt woozy after the third drink. She giggled at anything the bartender said or was he just that funny? Abigail was starting to like this guy more than when she’d first met him, and she felt the need to tell him just how much, something s
he’d never done before.
“I like you.”
The man seemed surprised by her admittance but was happy. He set the towel resting on his shoulder down and asked her, “Wanna dance?”
She looked at the full bar with parched customers. “Wouldn’t you get in trouble?”
“Nah, I’m dating the boss.”
She raised a suggestive eyebrow. “I’m the boss’s sister.”
“Looks like we’ve got something in common.”
They laughed, their charade coming to an end. She accepted Niall’s hand as he guided her through the crowds of men grinding on each other.
In the middle of the dance floor, she was the only girl, and even if none of the men were sexually attracted to her, it felt just as in her fantasy. Abigail closed her eyes and enjoyed the moment.
She twirled and moved her hips to the loud tempo. She grinded on other men as they playfully did the same to her. None touched her inappropriately. No one drew her body closer. No one thrust their hard-on in her ass. No one kissed her neck and growled in her ear like a wild beast.
None but for one.
“What is it you think you’re doing, whore?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Abigail Bennett was going to be the death of Preston Trice. He could already see the salacious breaking news.
TWENTY-FOUR-YEAR-OLD FEMALE MURDERS NEW YORK’S MOST ELIGIBLE ARCHITECT, PRESTON TRICE.
PRESTON TRICE: DECEASED
CAUSE OF DEATH: ABIGAIL BENNETT
He’d been at The Blue Oyster for almost an hour, shooing all the men who attempted to flirt with him while Elliott did whatever Elliott did at a gay club.
Meanwhile, Preston’s eyes were focused on the one person he was trying to escape. Preston felt like a stalker as he watched Abigail strut into the club in whore’s clothing. The sinful dress she wore was murderous, exposing her breasts every which direction she moved. The thigh-high boots were the sexiest thing he’d ever seen on a woman.
Her dress moved with every step she took up the stairs to oversee her brother’s empire. Preston could never forget the proud smile on her face as she looked down at the club her brother had built. He could tell they were close, and for a second, he thought of what it would feel like to be that close to her. To hug her in a room full of strangers. To make her smile. To make her happy. To make her proud.
Although his memory suggested The Blue Oyster was a gay club, his hands ignored the signal, turning into fists at the man who flirted with her behind the bar. When she accepted his hand to dance, the beast he was trying to tame growled loudly. Would the blonde apologize for flirting with his property without his approval?
She and Elliott seemed to be having a good time whilst Preston was not. His hairline began to sweat. His left eye started getting poked by an annoying migraine. Suddenly, the night turned into a competition he needed to win. There was only one problem. A competition could not be won if the participant was not allowed to play.
Albeit Preston had broken many rules where Abigail was concerned, their scheduled agreement withstood. If he continued to break rules, he’d lose control and things would get very dangerous. He wouldn’t allow that.
Preston waited patiently, as patiently as Preston Trice did, for the clock to strike twelve.
11:56 pm.
He ordered another glass of bourbon.
11:57 pm.
11:58 pm.
Through the rim of the glass, he watched her hips sensually sway. Mocking him.
11:59 pm.
One more fucking minute.
One more treacherous minute.
12:00 pm.
He chugged down the rest of the bourbon and made his way to Abigail.
He was going to show her who the God in her life was. Who not only controlled but owned her.
When Preston got close enough to smell her addictive scent of cotton candy, he couldn’t help but reach out. He wrapped an arm around her hip, drawing her close to him. She grinded on his bulge for ecstasy filled minutes. Her hands came back, wrapping around his neck as she twisted her own for him to kiss. The beating of her heart sent vibrations straight to his dick.
Was she wet? He had to know.
His hand hitched the bottom of her dress, under lace panties, and inside a wet, warm, pussy. He growled and tugged her earlobe with his teeth. “What is it you think you’re doing, whore?”
She stilled but recovered soon enough to turn around. Her eyes widened with shock.
“I—” she stumbled on her words.
Satisfied by her frightful eyes, Master Trice gripped the back of her neck. It was so small, so fragile, he could snap it with a quick jerk if he wanted to.
“Walk.”
She swallowed and followed his command but not without being her impertinent self and enquiring, “Where are we going?” She sounded scared. Her voice was distant over the loudspeakers.
“Restroom.” He tightened his hold on her nape and pushed her forward.
Pushing open the door, they stepped inside the restroom that looked more like a waiting room than a lavatory. Chairs, couches, snacks, and a relaxing tempo played from the speakers. Just as he’d guessed, it was empty.
Abigail stood on wobbly knees, ready for her master to chastise her.
“What the fuck were you doing out there acting like a slut?” He flickered her dress like it was a dirty rag. “Wearing this.”
She giggled and twirled, opening her arms wide. Her dress showed her entire ass. Her hair fanned over her shoulders.
With her eyes closed she sang, “Today, today is Thursday, not Friday, meaning I don’t have to follow your rules. Meaning, I am allowed to fuck whoever I desire as much as I desire.”
Abigail wasn’t aware today was technically Friday. He decided to keep it that way. Mind tricks were his favorite sadistic weapon. Ignorance was bliss, and he’d make sure tonight was a blissful punishment.
Her eyes opened, though they weren’t looking at him. Probably the door behind him. She pointed a finger that was supposed to be directed at him but instead pointed at the wall. “Your rules, not mine. Seeing as you didn’t let me come for three whole days, I decided to go to a club and get thoroughly fucked. And I was going to make sure you’d hear me come all the way from your penthouse.”
He jumped her. Literally jumped. Like a cheetah does when she sees a lost fawn. He pinned her against the wall with a harsh smack to the back of her head. Maybe now she’d remember who she was talking to.
Wrapping both hands around her neck, he pressed hard on her airway. Her hands came up, scratching his neck as she tried to save herself. Silly girl. She had no chance.
His grip didn’t falter when her heart rate started to decrease or when her face lost its sunny hue, turning as white as the snow that rained over New York. Just as Abigail’s gray eyes began to close, losing the glint that’d been there before, he slowly released her neck. She fell against the vanity, gasping and choking on air. Not letting her compose herself, he grabbed her hips, adjoining her ass with the dent in his pants.
“Do you think any other man would make you come as I will?” He unbuckled his belt with strong determination to show her just what his dick could do to her pussy.
“I wouldn’t know,” she coughed. “I’m starting to think you’ve denied me because you can’t make a woman orgasm.”
They locked eyes through the mirror in front of them. Her brow was arched in defiance, daring him to hurt her. Her brown hair was tousled in a way that made it look as if she’d been fucked. Her breasts were thrust against the vanity and her areola peeked underneath her dress.
Master Trice had never wanted to hurt another human being as much as he wanted to hurt Abigail. It wasn’t due to sexual pleasure and that fact frightened him.
Giving out a heavy breath, he ran a hand over his temples and reasoned with himself.
She was testing him.
She didn’t know what she was saying.
He was stronger than his urges.
>
He wouldn’t let her win.
And he didn’t.
He paid her no mind because if he did, he was afraid he’d hurt her, really hurt her. He ignored her words, but not before slapping her ass with his belt.
“Ow!” She made a frail attempt to get away. He came down harder with the second slap.
He wrapped the belt around her neck and drew her arms back, tightening the leather around her elbows all the way to her wrists. If she struggled to get away, if she moved her arms, she’d choke herself.
He opened her legs with his thigh and hitched her dress up. Her black panties barely covered the red slashes he’d given her days before.
“Have I not told you not to wear lace?”
“Have you not checked a calendar?”
He shook his head. “No, whore. That’s not how this works. If I am there, whether it be a Monday, Wednesday, or Thursday, you’re mine. You’re mine until I say you’re not.”
With a jerk, he ripped her panties, exposing her swollen pussy to him. He lowered his zipper and pushed his hips forward. They both moaned at the contact of skin to skin.
He teased her with his girth, slipping through her slippery folds so that her clit touched his piercing. Then he drew back achingly slow. Never entering. Always teasing her. Abigail’s lips moved but Preston didn’t hear a syllable she uttered.
Her body was his and seeing as her scars had started to faint, he needed to brand her again.
Pulling out a pocketknife, he dragged the blade over her damp skin. He ran it across her jaw, loving the way her body squirmed in fear. He rasped it across her cheek in search of the tear that slid down to her upper lip.
“This is not how I expected today to be.” He continued slipping in and out of her folds. “I thought it would be another boring night out with a friend. But then I saw you being a slutty whore and I couldn’t resist your invitation to play.”
“Please.” Her eyes shone with shed tears.
The blade took a leisure walk up and down her body as he spoke in a collected matter.
Collared (Masters of Desires Book 1) Page 11