Collared (Masters of Desires Book 1)

by Paula Dickson

  He gave her exposed knee a hard squeeze. Warmth rushed down her spine at his touch. Her skin ablaze as she thought of the last time he’d marked her. It’d been too long. As his hand began to creep up her thigh, it seemed as though the thought was on his mind as well.

  Before she could give it another thought, she gave in and allowed herself to be consumed by her desires.

  She moaned against his lips. They were the lips of an ardent lover—possessive, yearning, and aggressive. She followed his lead. Her tongue in tune with his, gliding and tasting her until she was seeking air. Her breath caught in her throat as he twisted her arm behind her back.

  There he was.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  The lustful couple stood outside their hotel room.

  Their hearts hammered between their thighs.

  Their eyes glossed with unchaste desire.

  Abigail reached for the knob just as Preston touched her elbow. Her eyes raised to his. What she saw in them scared her. They were dark, so dark they covered the Paris sky. With work now behind him, Master Trice was sure to give into his pending sadistic pleasures.

  “When you enter this room, you will go to the guest bathroom and change. Come into the master naked.”

  “Yes, Master Trice.”

  “Proceed,” he commanded her to open the door.

  As her master had instructed, she rushed to the bathroom. Not wanting to waste another unnecessary second, she snuggled out of her clothes and eased out her cup. As she removed the pins that had kept her waves intact, she thought of the pleasures Master Trice would give her the privilege of enjoying tonight. Would he tie her up, legs spread wide as she stood naked by the window? Or was he on the phone right now, calling room service to publicly scold her for being nude? The possibilities of his punishments were truly endless.

  There was only one way to find out what was on Master Trice’s mind, and so Abigail twisted the knob of the door that kept her from receiving the comfort she’d desired throughout this trip. She knocked on the master suite, not needing a reason to anger him with her lack of manners.

  “Come in,” he said.

  With her eyes cast down, she entered the room. Unaware of what was before her, she knelt by the door. It was an act of obeisance and pure submission devoted only to the one in charge. When Abigail knelt before her master, she relinquished all her willpower. In a sole position she told him he was in charge, he owned her, and she was nothing but his.

  Her eyelashes rested atop her cheeks as she inhaled a longing breath. She counted to ten, releasing the tension in her muscles as she breathed in and out. The potency of his presence rendered her defenseless—so fragile, so small, so immensely turned on.

  “Chin up, whore.” His voice blanketed her body with goosebumps.

  As her eyes searched the dimmed room for Master Trice, she couldn’t help but gasp. Her nails dug into her thighs as she tried to keep them from covering her mouth. It wasn’t the all-around white sheets on the bed that elicited such reaction or the lighted candelabras that gave way to where her master sat by the window. It was the fact he’d known she wanted this that had her body burning with passion.

  He walked over to her, wearing nothing but a hard cock. “You like, slave?”

  “Yes, Master Trice. Thank you.”

  He licked his teeth, sliding a pink tongue over his upper teeth. “Thank me by being a good slave and getting on the bed. Arms out. On your knees. Spread your legs.”

  She was a woman born only to fulfill the pleasures of her master, and as she climbed onto the bed, it had never felt so right.

  Master Trice rounded the bed and walked to the armoire. From it, he removed a white box and placed it in front of Abigail. Her heart beat so anxiously, she was afraid she’d faint. The lid came off to reveal white ropes, a white flogger, and a white bottle of lubricant. It all looked so virginal, and she couldn’t wait to find out what he had in store for her.

  He teased a string of rope along his fingers before twisting it around her left wrist. Hypnotized by his deft technique, she was startled when he turned her to face the city and fastened the rope tightly to the bedpost. He did the same to her right wrist, only this time Abigail didn’t fall for his sorcery.

  Master Trice stood behind her with the flogger in hand. He allowed the leather strands to tickle her shoulder. Her head dipped as it kissed the hollow of her lower back. With her arms spread out, she was defenseless against Master Trice’s touch. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

  The first strike burnt her shoulder.

  The fifth licked her back.

  The tenth kissed the apples of her ass.

  The fifteenth hugged her waist.

  The twentieth caressed her neck.

  The thirtieth had her feeling every stroke thereafter on the lips of her pussy.

  He dropped the flogger and pushed her forward. Her hands still tied, she fell on the bed, carrying her weight on her chin. He parted her ass cheeks, pushing the plug she’d been wearing for weeks further inside her before taking it out and thrusting it back again. He fucked her with the plug for a couple of minutes as she breathed through the pleasure and moaned through the pain.

  He leaned his front to her back, rubbing the ridges of his muscles on her open welts. He whispered sinisterly in her ear, “Are you ready to be fucked in the ass?”

  “Yes, Master Trice,” she said as her plug joined the flogger on the floor.

  Master Trice snaked her hair around his wrist and pulled her to sit upright. He untied the tassels around each bedpost that had kept the curtains open. With the tassels freed, the canopy closed instantly, offering complete privacy.

  Abigail felt like a young girl offering her innocence for a night in bed with the king. Except her king didn’t hold a scepter. He held a flogger. He certainly didn’t need a crown above his head to prove she was to be commanded by him.

  Preston sat in front of Abigail. His legs were crossed as were hers. His cock stood straight against his stomach. His piercing was smeared with pre-cum. He inched closer to her, lifting her by the hips as he sat her ass atop his thighs.

  Her legs circled his waist.

  Her breasts teased his face. He couldn’t resist a taste. He suckled her nipple into his mouth, running his expert tongue around the areola and savagely biting the tender skin. She threw her head back, pushing her chest into his mouth, but he withdrew.

  He looked her straight in the eye as he smeared a generous amount of lubricant on his erect cock. Abigail saw it pulse under his large hand as he drew the shaft down and up again. The head of his cock was pink with raging veins ready to spill their seed inside her.

  With both hands spreading her cheeks, he hovered above the taut entrance. His cold piercing was the first to contact her hole. He raised his hips as he pushed inside her slowly. She stilled at the pressure.

  The pain was foreign to her, unlike anything she’d experienced before. It rose from her tailbone and settled in the center of her spine, spreading like acid through her ribs.

  She felt a need to push him off her. If she had access to her arms, she’d done so by now. But with her arms spread wide, he controlled her every move. He’d only given her the illusion of power by having her on top. It was the most sadistic mind trick he’d done thus far.

  His left hand began to draw circles on her clitoris while his teeth grazed her nipples. He continued stimulating her erogenous zones all the while thrusting inside her. Inch-by-inch he filled her completely to the tilt. And just as she was getting comfortable to his size, he pulled out of her entirely and impaled her with one rapid thrust.

  He moaned in ecstatic pleasure as she whimpered in his arms.

  The word “rainbow” hovered above her like a cloud. One word and this would end.

  Yet she uttered nothing but moans and groans.

  Yet she fastened her legs around his waist and pushed him deeper than ever before.

  Yet her vision welled with tears, she accepted his deliberate thr
usts graciously because her pain was his pleasure and she lived only to please him.

  Soon, the cocktail of pain she’d been sipping on morphed into pleasure. A sensation she was too familiar with took control of her movements as Master Trice kneaded her clitoris and pushed two fingers inside her pussy.

  She felt every inch, every curve of his cock as it slid in and out of her, touching nerve endings she hadn’t known existed. As her eyes downcast to where her body met his, she saw a shadow of crimson on the inside of his thigh. A wave of orgasmic euphoria curled her toes as she thought of Master Trice being the only man who’d been inside her taut hole. The thought alone was all she needed to release the tsunami of pleasure brewing in her clitoris.

  Breathlessly, Abigail asked, “May I come, please?”

  “You may,” he said.

  She moaned her release as she thrashed and withered in his arms. Her cries filled the canopy as he too succumbed to his pleasure.

  Exhausted by her orgasm, she collapsed onto his chest. With her ear near his heart, she heard his rapid pulse turn into a subtle murmur. Sated by the susurrus beat, she didn’t wince as he pulled out of her. As he unraveled the ropes around her wrists, each arm fell lazily to her sides.

  Preston retired to the bathroom, leaving Abigail to lie on her front with ladder-like cuts on her back. As she heard the water run, she thought of the stamina she’d need to regain in order to properly tend to her wounds. The thought but fleeing as she felt strong arms cradle her worn-out body.

  He was careful not to touch her cuts but failed miserably. Her face rested on the crook of his neck as he walked into the bathroom. Her heart thudded loudly as Preston submerged into the water with her. She hissed through gritted teeth as the hot water entered her opened wounds.

  He sat behind her and inhaled a staggered breath almost as if a wavering thought halted him from proceeding. She felt the need to encourage him, tell him he’d do great because he knew what she needed better than she knew herself. But she held back, fearing he’d never give himself the chance again if she acknowledged his care.

  Preston used the basin resting on the curve of the tub to soak a washcloth. As he wrung the excess water over her back, Abigail watched the clear water by her toes turn a shade of pink. He squeezed soap onto the cloth and dabbed at her cuts. He continued the process until her back was lathered in foam. The warm water on the basin was poured down her back as Preston reached forward and emptied the tub, filling it back up with clean water.

  He cleared his throat before asking, “How did it go for you?”

  Her head rested on her knees as she turned her eyes to meet his. “It went great. Thank you for tonight.”

  “Would you like to try it again?”

  “I would love to.”

  “Good,” he said.

  Love wasn’t an object to be collared or leashed, nor was it meant to be possessed. It was an unseen feeling many rarely got to see or experience. It was as Preston brought his mouth to her wet skin and stamped each welt with soft kisses that Abigail felt true submission to love. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to feel each tender caress. Some asked for healing, most made up for lost time while others begged for more.

  Preston stepped out of the bathtub and wrapped a towel around his waist. He retrieved another and covered her back and shoulders as he sat her on the vanity. As his fingers softly applied antibacterial cream on her cuts, a tear slipped down her cheek. The love he was exuding overwhelmed her. He’d place her needs before his own and Abigail didn’t find it fair she loved him in secret as it was only when the words were said aloud, he’d find her worthy of his love.

  He covered the deep wounds with gauze before turning her to face him. He tilted her chin up as he searched her eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  Overcome with a current of emotions, she said the only words that depicted her feelings, “I love you, Preston.”

  His body shuddered at her words as if he’d finally been accepted for all he was. His expression but fleeting as he joked, “Had I known fucking you in the ass would’ve given us this moment, I’d done it sooner, Abigail.”

  She laughed as she brought her lips to his and kissed him with as much love as he deserved.

  “I love you,” he whispered on her lips. “So much.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  Thursday evening found Mrs. Sinclair draping yellow fabric over Abigail’s forearm. She shook her head, displeased at the piece of finery, and reached for another. This one was white and flowy still her mother wasn’t appreciative. She dragged Abigail by the arm to an array of orange dresses and conducted the earlier process.

  “Mother,” Abigail said, exasperated. “I already told Niall and Mike orange wasn’t my color.”

  “Oh, but honey, this isn’t your wedding. It’s theirs.” Someone needed to tell her that. “If they like orange, they’re getting a tangerine Maid of Honor.”

  Abigail rolled her eyes and looked at the clock above the cashier’s desk, wondering where the hell Mike was.

  Her appointment with Dr. Mitchell was in forty-five minutes. She was close to hitting her mark since her last contraceptive shot and she wasn’t going to chance pregnancy for an extra hour in a bridal shop that made her skin crawl with every hideous dress she saw.

  Leaving her mother to skim through the curtain of dresses on the rack, Abigail pulled out her phone. As her thumb hovered over Mike’s name, the bell on the main entrance of the boutique chimed open.

  She propped both hands on either side of her hips and waited for them to find her. When Mike met her gaze, he let out a laugh and rushed to her side. He engulfed her with open arms. It had been days since they’d last seen each other. Abigail wanted to hug him as much as she wanted to strangle him for making her spend more unnecessary time with their mother.

  “You’re late.” She hit his shoulder as she kissed Niall.

  “Ow!”

  “That was my fault, Abby. I thought I could squeeze a quick audition before coming but the performance ran too long,” Niall explained. How could she stay mad at his pretty Broadway face? Simply, she couldn’t.

  “Okay, I forgive you. What colors did you say you were using? Mom tried to get me into an orange dress.”

  “Winter colors. So, blue, silver, and gray.”

  “Long or short?” Mom joined the conversation, hugging the men.

  “Long with sleeves,” Abigail was sure to advise. “It’s going to be in the middle of December, isn’t it? I don’t want to freeze to death.”

  “Oh, please, you’re not going to look like a nun at our wedding. Plus, it’ll be indoors.”

  Abigail had no desire to look overly modest at Mike’s wedding. It was her cuts and welts, her bruises and blisters that needed to stay hidden. If any member of their family or an acquaintance at the wedding saw her palette body, they’d call it domestic abuse and wouldn’t think twice before calling the police.

  Mike wasn’t the only melodramatic person she knew who’d be making an appearance at their wedding.

  Niall chimed in, “I think we both agree we want something chic and winterlandish.”

  “Do the same rules apply for the Mothers of the Grooms?” Abigail needed to steer the attention in a different direction, preferably one that didn’t point to her wrists. Although it’d been days since the last time Master Trice hurt her, her wrists were smeared with the indentations of the ropes he’d used to tie her up. Her back still carried the bruises and scabs the flogger had left behind.

  “Of course, just a bit old fashion because it’s Mom.” Abigail giggled at her brother’s joke, though she didn’t doubt he’d pick the ugliest dress for her just to watch her squirm.

  “Ha-ha, you two are so funny.” Melissa turned her attention to Niall. “Niall, will your mother be joining us today?”

  “She’s stuck in traffic but should be here in twenty minutes.”

  Rack after rack, dress after dress, the foursome searched the quaint boutique for just the right dress. A
fter fifteen minutes of continuous scavenging, Abigail felt her eyes turn a shade of rainbow. She was just about to give up when she heard her mother’s chirpy voice.

  “Oh, Abby, look. This dress is beautiful. You must try it on.” Though at that moment she hated her mother for picking the only dress she was sure had a low back, she couldn’t help but agree with the beauty of it.

  The navy-blue bodice that wrapped tightly around the waist was sure to showcase her hourglass figure. And the high-low hemline was sure to show off her toned legs. However, the deep slit that carried down the spine of the dress turned an otherwise beautiful piece of clothing into an open audition for judgment.

  She shifted from one foot to another, not sure how she’d convince Mike this wasn’t the dress for her.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, trying first with her mother. “Don’t you think it’s too revealing?”

  “Oh, Abigail, please. Niall, Mike come here!” she shouted across the store.

  “Mom, the wedding’s in the winter.”

  Mrs. Sinclair shook her daughter’s concerns off. “So, what? Wear a coat. Boys, what do you think of this dress? Beautiful, huh?”

  “Woah. It’s stunning.” Mike touched the fabric, chafing it between his fingers. “I think we might’ve found the dress. What do you think, Babe?”

  Niall kissed him sweetly on the lips. “I think so, too.”

  “Abbs, go try it on.”

  “Mike...” she warned.

  Should she be selfish and put her foot down? Add yet another stress-induced knot in Mike’s back?

  The word “no” crept on the tip of her tongue but daren’t come out. Mike had been planning his wedding for as long as she could remember. She’d seen how stressed their mother had made him when they were looking for a venue. As she searched her brother’s pleading eyes, she couldn’t find a good enough reason to crush his dream wedding.

  With a defeated sigh, she took the dress from her mother’s arms and went into the dressing room. She’d try it on, snap a picture, and show that to her family. No way would she twirl in a circular pedestal for them to see it.