“I’m not mad. I want to finish my lunch so that I can get back to work. Right now, you’re making it very difficult.”
She let out a whimper as his grip tightened in warning. If he wanted to, he could easily dislocate her shoulder. The thought terrified yet thrilled her.
“Why are you mad?” he asked again.
She stayed quiet. She wasn’t going to let him bully her into telling him the truth. The truth she hadn’t allowed herself to feel, let alone acknowledge. The same truth everyone around her seemed to know but her.
“I don’t think you want to explain to your mother and brother how you dislocated your shoulder in the bathroom. Now speak, Abigail. Why are you mad?”
“Because I...” she groaned her frustration. “I hate you!”
He dug his fingernails into her cheeks. With her face centimeters from his, he whispered, his eyes on fire, “Good because I hate you, too. I hate you so much it burns my life into ashes. It’s the air I consume every fucking day.”
And then his lips crashed into hers.
It was a kiss that stole her breath, stole her senses, and if she’d let herself go, she would’ve felt the empty space in her chest he’d owned for a while.
“Is she your wife?” she asked, afraid of the answer.
“Who?”
Her voice was so low she felt minuscule, “The younger woman at your table.”
“Beth? Beth’s my sister. The other woman, now she’s the one you should be worried about.” He kissed her lips, whispering upon them, “I think you’re the only woman I’d ever—”
“Preston!” There was a distant shout at the far end of the hallway. They both turned to the voice to see Mrs. Trice with her hands on her hips wearing a luminous smile that lit the dimmed hall.
Abigail was glad for the interruption.
She didn’t know how she would’ve reacted had he finished the sentence.
Taking a deep breath, she ran her fingers through her hair. She was so nervous her heart was thudding furiously.
“I should warn you,” Preston said as Mrs. Trice walked toward them. “My mother sells my soul to any single woman in the city.”
“Good thing I’m the highest bidder,” she countered. “Are you going to cane me for this?”
“Only if she likes you.” He winked and turned his attention to his mother. “Mother this is Abigail. Abigail this is my mother, Judith Trice.”
Abigail extended her hand. “Hi, it’s so nice to meet you.”
To her and Preston’s surprise, Mrs. Trice blanketed her in her arms. “Oh, I can’t believe it’s you. You’re beautiful. Do you tell her that, Preston? Does he tell you that, Abigail?”
They both answered with a sincere, “Yes,” because in his own way he did.
As they made their way back to their tables, both Abigail and Preston came to a complete stop.
Their respective families were now sharing a table. Neither knew how it came about, but they figured it had something to do with Mrs. Trice’s prying self. By Mike’s mischievous grin, she knew this new turn of events would get their bridezilla mother off his ass.
“I hope you don’t mind. I asked the waiter to connect our tables,” Mrs. Trice said, scouting in her seat.
“Oh, I don’t—I mean, I have to get—Okay.” She didn’t know what to say. On the one hand, she had to be polite. On the other, she needed to get back to work. Hence her confusion as to why Mike and their mother were buying into this charade.
“Elizabeth this is Abigail, Preston’s girlfriend.”
Mike practically choked on his vodka tonic. Their mother? Mrs. Sinclair leaned back in her chair and took the whole fiasco in, preparing for her biggest interviewee. Mrs. Trice’s comments were a breeze compared to the brazen questions her mother was about to ask Preston.
“We’re actually not—”
Beth stood from her chair and hugged Abigail just as her mother had.
“Hi, Abby. Can I call you Abby?” She nodded. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too.”
As Abigail took a seat, Preston introduced himself to her mother and brother. The whole introduction felt icky and uncomfortable and completely out of place. It felt more like a casual Sunday brunch than a hectic Wednesday afternoon.
Under the table, Preston placed Abigail’s hand on his bulging erection. She swallowed a gasp and clenched her thighs.
“Please, relax. Your misery is giving me an erection,” he whispered in her ear.
“Now Preston,” her mother interrupted their interaction. “Could you tell me how you’re my daughter’s boyfriend and yet I’ve heard nothing about you?”
“I think that’s a question for your daughter.”
Everyone’s eyes turned her way.
At any moment now, Mike would step in and have her back like she had his many times before. But Mike seemed too interested in her response to focus on her pleading eyes.
“Uh...Well, Preston and I—This is very new.”
“Oh, honey! It isn’t that new. You’ve been together for months!” Mrs. Trice gushed to Abigail’s dismay.
Mrs. Sinclair arched an eyebrow that Abigail tried to ignore.
She was twenty-four and lived on her own. She could hide whatever she wanted from her mother, and she wasn’t going to feel guilty about it. She had told one parent about Preston, so she was off the hook. If her mother didn’t know about him it was Mr. Bennett’s fault, not hers.
“What do you do for a living?” Her questionnaire began.
“I’m an architect.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“Cornell University.”
“An Ivy League.” Mrs. Sinclair sounded impressed. Then again, Abigail had known her for twenty-four years. Preston might fall for her farce, but she waited for the sting. “That’s a very expensive school. You must have plenty of debt.”
“I got in on a basketball scholarship.”
“Were you not smart enough to get in for your grades?” Abigail had prepared herself for her mother’s invasive questions but never for her condescending attitude.
She knew not to interrupt their parley as Preston could stand his own ground when it came to Mrs. Sinclair. She was also extremely curious about his answers, so she perked up her ears and shut her mouth.
Preston placed his elbows on the table and leaned in. At that moment, she saw the sadist in him surface. He was going to take great pleasure in putting Abigail’s mother in her place.
“I graduated Summa Cum Laude from both high school and college. Grades weren’t an issue for me. I have a bachelor’s in architecture, a master’s in business administration, and a doctorate in engineering. I am president and CEO of Trice’s Architectural Designs. I assure you, Mrs. Sinclair, I am not with your daughter for her money or her name.”
Abigail began to scratch the floor with the back of her heel. She hoped to dig herself a hole deep enough that could swallow her embarrassment. And while she was at it, buy herself a new set of panties because hers had dissolved.
“Why are you with my sister?” Mike chimed in.
“I’ll keep that to myself. I’d like for Abigail to be the first to hear those words, not you.”
That shut them both up.
Finally.
Soon after that awkward, dreadful, and humiliating conversation, the topic switched to Beth and her children. Abigail found it hilarious how Preston was surrounded by so many women. She would’ve given anything to see him interact with the three youngsters.
As much as she tried to listen to Beth talk about her daughter’s upcoming birthday party, Abigail couldn’t help but wonder what words Preston wanted her to be the first to hear.
His cryptic answer was enough to make her uncomfortable.
She wasn’t ready to hear those words and so she tried her best to ignore her wandering thoughts.
Abigail and Preston were both glad to see the lunch crowd disperse.
Mrs. Sinclair s
tood and said her goodbyes, asking her daughter to take the rest of the day off to which Abigail replied with a sharp no. She needed fictional lives to fix because she couldn’t fix her own.
Outside the restaurant, Preston sent his mother and sister with Kenneth while Mrs. Sinclair and Mike went with Carl. With no driver of their own, the pair decided to walk to Sinclair Press.
The majority of their walk was spent in silence.
Abigail wanted to say more, so much more but she didn’t know where to start. She was afraid if she started talking, she wouldn’t be able to stop. She’d dig herself a hole too deep to climb out of.
She needed a voice of reason because hers had broken long ago.
She needed someone to tell her not to be afraid of what she knew Preston wanted to say because deep down she felt the same as he did.
Outside of Sinclair Press, Abigail finally found the strength to speak, “I’m sorry about my mother.”
“She doesn’t like me.” He shrugged in a way that suggested he was used to people hating him.
“She does. She’s just overprotective when it comes to her kids. You should see what she’s done to Niall.”
“She’s the first person to accuse me of sleeping with someone for their money. It’s usually me pointing that finger.”
That made her smile. “Mom likes role reversals.”
“I’ll see you Friday afternoon, then.”
“Yes, Master Trice. My bruises are beginning to fade.” She lowered her turtleneck to show him the fainted yellow and green hues on her collar.
He lowered his body for a better view.
Anywhere he saw a bruise, he healed with his lips.
There was something about Preston Trice Abigail couldn’t stop chasing. He was magnetic energy and she traveled to him at infinite velocity.
Lowering her hand to his chest, she caressed the bumps on his abdomen. She ran her thumb over the white shirt that covered his nipples and felt them turn hard. As he continued to kiss her neck, she became the explorer of his body. She felt a need to plant her flag on his chest and mark him as hers.
She might be submissive at night but in daylight, she felt empowered. Standing where they were, gave her the courage she needed to ask, “Why are you with me?”
“If I tell you, do you promise not to run?”
Abigail couldn’t stick to that promise.
Not yet.
To avoid a fib, she stayed quiet and waited for him to speak. Because he wasn’t ready to lose her, he didn’t speak the words she wasn’t ready to hear. Nevertheless, he made it a point to let her know, “Be ready to hear them because they’re coming soon. And we both know what happened last time you ran.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The clock read 11:29 am.
At 11:30 am, Preston closed his laptop, rolled up the blueprints on his desk, and went out the door.
He took a detour to the main foyer and informed Jacqueline of the rescheduled meetings for today.
“They will now take place Monday morning,” he said. “Make it happen.”
Ignoring her shocked expression at seeing him leave early for the first time in the three years she’d worked for him, he called for the elevator.
His feet shifted after the first second of waiting.
Deciding he’d get where he needed to be faster, he turned toward the stairs. Trotting down the steps, he pulled out his phone and called for Kenneth to bring the car. He couldn’t waste another precious minute waiting.
“Where to, Sir?” Kenneth asked from the driver’s seat.
“Sinclair Press.”
He raised a meaningful eyebrow, his stoic expression replaced with interest.
“You have something to say, Ken?”
“No, Sir.”
“Then do what you were hired to do.”
With a keen nod, he eased into traffic.
Preston rested his head on the headrest, feeling an ounce of stress leave his body. It had been difficult to work with one eye on the computer, while the other was glued to the clock. He’d been anxious for the clock to hit 11:30 am. Now that it had, he just wanted to get to his destination already. To his dismay, when he opened his eyes, he was on the same street he’d been minutes ago.
Did this city not know who he was? He had places to go and a very special girl to see.
His fingers combed his hair back as his foot began to bounce on the floor mat. The acceleration of his heartbeat only adding to his anticipation.
He didn’t know what had gotten into him.
Actually, he did know, and it wasn’t a what as much as it was a who.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this eager to see Abigail.
Although his thoughts were filled with recent memories of her, his heart felt hollow.
When he’d seen her at the bistro, he hadn’t the chance to touch her as he liked to touch her. He hadn’t the chance to kiss her as he wanted to kiss her or hurt her as she liked to be hurt.
He longed for the days when he had her all to himself.
It seemed like lately, all he did was share her—with her family, his family, Lauren, and the men she slept with during the week. Albeit, Preston made sure to extort her body as much as humanly possible. Now all was left of her to do during the week was recoup so she could offer a fresh canvas to fulfill her master’s desires.
And that was why today was so very special.
He’d have Abigail all afternoon to hurt and to love until Lauren showed up in the evening.
He’d hurt her as he’d never hurt her before, hoping she’d feel his love by the use of his actions instead of his words because she wasn’t ready to hear them. And after it was all over, he’d cradle her in his arms and cocoon her in his warmth.
It was but a few months back when he’d made a promise to himself not to fall for the siren who’d enchanted him before she even spoke a word to him. He never held a chance keeping the promise.
As much as he tried to remind himself she was no different than his other submissives, she refused to let him lie to himself. She pushed and pushed, and fucking pushed until she reached into his chest and ripped out his heart. Now he doubted he’d ever get it back.
Kenneth parked on the curbside of Sinclair Press. The silver lettering glittered against the burgundy brick with the afternoon sun. Through the black rims on the windows, Preston could see Abigail rapidly typing on the keyboard. Her eyes didn’t strain from the computer screen. Her hair was tamed, pulled back in a low ponytail.
He opened the door of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk. Adjusting his suit jacket, he took the final step and pushed open the door into the reception area of the publishing house.
“Good afternoon, Sir. How may I help you?” the blonde receptionist asked. Preston ignored her ravenous eyes as they swept over his body.
“I’m here to see Miss Abigail Bennett.”
“May I ask for your name, Sir?”
“Preston Trice.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll let her PA know you’re here.”
“Thank you.”
“My pleasure,” she said in a sultry voice.
Preston dismissed her sexual undertone.
It amazed him how Melissa Sinclair was pleased with the hiring of a woman who’d blatantly offend a visitor with her flirtatious manner. Had a man done that to a woman, he was sure he’d get an earful. Yet for unbeknownst reasons, a woman was allowed to flirt with a man who didn’t want to be flirted with and it was all in good fun.
The double standards needed to change, but Melissa would not bring upon such a revolution. He hoped Abigail would someday, however.
Knowing the misandrist was somewhere in the building, Preston took a seat on the couch. He skimmed through the magazines on the coffee table, aware of the eyes on him. The last time he’d been here, no one but Abigail was in the building. He’d had free reign to roam around the house as he pleased.
&nb
sp; Today, everyone was around.
He made sure not to make a scene and patiently waited for her PA to appear even if his ego urged him to bypass such wait.
A skinny man with more hair than body, obstructed his sight. He introduced himself as Abigail’s assistant.
“Sir, I do not have you on today’s schedule. However, Miss Bennett can see you Tuesday afternoon.”
Preston reserved the need to laugh. Ha! Who did this boy think he was talking to? He hadn’t just irritated him. He’d broken the last nerves Preston had been holding on to.
Fuck it.
He ignored every word that came out of the imbecile’s lips and walked past him and right into Abigail’s office.
“Yes, I’ll send you the revised copy now and—” she stopped mid-sentence, her eyes dancing over him with crazed lust. “I’ll call you later.”
“Miss Bennett, I apologize for the intrusion. Security is on its way,” her PA said.
“It’s okay, Linc. Don’t worry about it.” She smiled at him. “Leave us.”
A fucking smile? He thought Abigail was smarter than to sleep with men in her workplace. He’d been wrong.
“Are you su—”
“The lady said to leave,” Preston pushed him out with a finger. He locked the door and blinded the glass walls that allowed intruders such as her “PA” to gaze inside her office.
“You’re barging into people’s offices now?”
“Are you fucking him?”
Her brows furrowed. “Who, Linc? He’s a teenager. That’s gross, not to mention extremely unethical.”
“Does that change the fact he’s got a dick between his thighs?”
“Ugh, not this again,” she said, exasperated. “I wouldn’t know if he had a dick or not because I haven’t seen him naked.”
“Don’t be a smart-ass.”
“Come here,” she said in the most sensual way. Like the shipwrecked sailor he was, he went toward the siren. She wrapped her hand around his silver tie and brought his lips close to hers. “I don’t need to fuck any other man. You’re the only man who’s ever satisfied me.”
“Is that why you’re with me? Because I satisfy your needs?”
“Is that not why you’re with me?”
Collared (Masters of Desires Book 1) Page 22