If they gave their final approval, she’d have no other choice but to wear the dress and beg Master Trice not to stain her body with passion. It was a task she knew he’d fail purposely.
It really was a superb dress that flowed to the movements of her legs. Her boobs didn’t topple over, and the hemline wasn’t too short or too long, either. From the front, she looked like a beautiful Maid of Honor. As she turned her back to the mirror, a palette of purples, yellows, and greens loomed over her shoulders and spine.
Mike knocked on the door. “Abbs, come on. We wanna see it, too.”
The door ajar, she called for Mike to enter the changing room.
“Stand up. Let me see it,” he said as his eyes roamed her body.
“I will but there’s something I need to tell you first.” She patted the empty space on the bench for Mike to join her.
His hands covered his mouth. “Oh, my God. You’re fucking pregnant!”
“What the fuck? No! Stop saying that and shut up before Mom hears.”
“What happened then? What’s with all the secrecy?”
“Okay, so um...” It wasn’t easy for her to say the words. Knowing she broke the NDA didn’t make this any easier.
How could she explain to an incurable romantic she liked to be treated like trash by her partner? How could she explain to a BDSM virgin receiving pain made her feel whole?
“Abbs, come on. We still have to find a dress for Mom and Mrs. Nolan.”
“Do you know what BDSM is?”
“Like Fifty Shades of Grey?” he asked.
“Not really, but that’s a start. The SM part stands for sadomasochism. It’s when people get pleasure from either inflicting or receiving psychological or physical pain like being humiliated in front of a crowd or being flogged and tied up.” Although Mike’s face contorted in horror, Abigail continued, “Preston and I are part of that community.”
“Very funny, Abbs. Now come on, stand up.”
She stood and twirled in place. It was the only way he’d believe her. When she heard the loud gasp and curse that slipped from his lips, she knew he’d gotten it.
“Now you understand?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
He reached to touch her back but recoiled as his eyes welled with tears. “Oh, Abby…”
“No, no. I’m okay. I promise, Mike.” She wiped his tears. “I’m okay.”
“How? How can you be okay?” His ass dropped onto the bench.
She squatted before him. “Because I like it when he hits me. It turns me on when he tells me I’m a whore. I can’t...” She gave a sigh and whispered, “I can’t orgasm unless he hurts me in some kind of way.” She shrugged unapologetically. It felt good to say it aloud without the fear of judgment because the only opinion that mattered was Preston’s and he accepted her just as she was and understood her as no one else had.
Abigail hoped the silence offered Mike the time he needed to process his thoughts. His eyes slowly pieced together moments of the past.
“Is this why you sometimes dress like a nun?”
She nodded.
A small smile began to form on his lips. “I mean, I’ve always thought you were a closeted whore.”
“Do you think I’m psychotic?”
He kissed her forehead. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I like it in the ass. You like it with whips and chains. Whatever feeds your poison.”
“That’s not how the saying goes,” she pointed out.
He shrugged. “Does he treat you right?”
“He adores me.”
“Did you tell him, yet?” Mike returned her smile. “I want to talk to him about this.”
“I rather you not. I don’t talk to Niall about your sex life. Neither should you with Preston.”
“Fair enough. But if he ever takes it too far—”
“We won’t ever take it there.”
“Let me finish, Abbs,” he said. “If he ever takes it too far or if you ask him to stop and he doesn’t, promise you’ll tell me?”
Finding it unnecessary to indulge Mike in the details of their agreement, she smiled and promised.
Her shoulders slumped. “I know this is your wedding and I’ll wear the dress if you really want me to, but—”
“We’ll get another dress. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable at my own wedding.”
She hugged her brother with all she had because no amount of words could express her gratitude better than a sister’s hug.
He coughed. “You’re choking me. Hmm, I bet you like that, huh?”
They burst into bubbles of laughter. This new knowledge was going to bring some inappropriate inside jokes.
“What’s all the laughing about? I wanna join the party, too!”
Abigail quickly slipped off the dress before getting into her jeans and coat. Dressed in comfort, she opened the door to Niall.
“I don’t think this is your kind of threesome.”
“What happened to the dress?” Mrs. Sinclair asked with droopy eyes.
“I didn’t like it,” said Mike. “It was too revealing. I want everyone to be looking at me, not my hooker sister.”
“Hey!” She swatted his shoulder.
Abigail’s phone went off roughly around the time Mrs. Nolan walked through the door. Abigail welcomed her with a kiss on the cheek. It was a gesture she’d learned from the Bessettes she was fond of.
“I have a doctor’s appointment. I have to go.”
“Are you okay?” Mrs. Nolan asked.
“Yes, I just have to get a shot.”
“Take Carl with you,” her mother suggested.
“What about your dress?”
“Mike can pick one out for me. He knows what I like.” She winked as she walked out the door.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Preston hated the antiseptic smell of hospitals. It penetrated his nose and stayed on his skin like a pungent cologne that just wouldn’t go away, not even after a shower.
Just as it did Judith, Mount Sinai reminded him too much of his father and the last days he had spent here. He closed his eyes and drowned in the memory of that painful, heart-aching day.
He’d received a call from his mother telling him to rush to the hospital because his father’s tumor had progressed so largely, he had no sense of balance and had fallen.
Without thinking it twice, Preston walked out of a very important meeting that had cost him two million dollars. He drove to Mount Sinai with lighting speed only to find his mother crying by her husband’s side.
Beth was there, too, carrying a then eight-month-old Eleanor. As soon as she saw her brother, she handed Eleanor to Joel and ran to him. The two hugged like siblings who knew they’d be fatherless soon. In the sixty seconds of the embrace, they mourned the death of their father because even though he was breathing, he wasn’t really alive.
Eyes burning with unshed tears, Preston shook off the memories of that horrid day and kept on walking. If he focused on anything other than the sterile smell of this Godforsaken place, then he could make it to Dr. Campbell’s office without a problem.
He pulled out his phone from the front pocket of his slacks and typed a message to Jacqueline, telling her to take the rest of the day off. As much as he wanted to get his results and go back to work, he knew Jackie had a life of her own.
As he waited for her response, a wave of caramel strands covered his vision and bumped his shoulder. Why people had to be so clumsy he didn’t know. He gripped the woman’s upper arm, ready to tell her to watch her fucking step, but then she spoke. And it was her sweet voice that offered comfort to his woe.
“Woah, I’m sorry,” Abigail said with a frown that turned upward when she saw him.
She shook the bangs from her eyes. Her hair was getting longer, reaching the middle of her back. He felt the need to brush the strands with his fingers, hold her scalp in place and tell her to leave. If she was anything like Mrs. Trice, she would want to know what he was doing here.
“
What are you doing here?” He beat her to it.
“I came to get my contraception shot. What about you?”
“It’s nothing that concerns you.”
“Everything you do concerns me.” She paused as her brown eyebrows furrowed. “Prest, what’s wrong? Is everything okay? Is this about the migraines?”
Yep, just like his mother.
He shrugged and with that gesture he gave her the answer. “A few months ago, I came to get an MRI and they didn’t find anything. The doctor prescribed a higher dosage of migraine pills, but they did nothing to alleviate the ache. I came Monday to get further tests and the doctor just called, saying he had the results and wanted to meet in person.”
That was never a good sign.
If there wasn’t anything wrong with him, Dr. Campbell would’ve said so over the phone.
Abigail stilled for a second. In her eyes, Preston saw how much more she wanted to say, but she refrained from doing so, which he appreciated greatly. He didn’t need a migraine right now. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and gave a sole kiss to the side of his neck.
His heart pulsed under her lips as he melted into her healing touch. He closed his eyes and breathed her in. His body was seconds from shaking. He couldn’t end up like his father. He couldn’t make his mother and sister suffer again. He couldn’t lose Abigail to a fucking tumor.
“Would you like me to stay with you?”
He shook his head. “No. Go to your appointment. I’ll be fine.”
“I can always reschedule. It isn’t that big of a deal. I want to be here for you. Would you let me, please?”
A part of him wanted to do this alone because he didn’t want Abigail to see his face when Dr. Campbell told him they’d found a tumor. The other part, the most sensible part of his brain, wanted Abigail around because she was the only person who knew him better than he knew himself. She’d know what to do, what to say, how to act if the results were as expected.
He made the smallest jerk with his head and guided her to the doctor’s office where he signed his name on a short waiting list of three people. The two sat side-by-side, their hands clasped tightly together as they waited for his name to be called.
After a few minutes that felt more like hours of waiting, a nurse came into the room. She read his name off the silver clipboard she held in her hand.
Abigail gave his hand a squeeze before they stood. “You’ll be okay.”
He nodded and followed the nurse behind the tinted door. Abigail stayed by his side every step of the way. They entered a room that housed a desk and two chairs in front of it.
Dr. Campbell stood and extended his hand in greeting. “Good afternoon, Mr. Trice.”
“Good afternoon. This is my girlfriend, Miss Bennett.”
“Hello, Miss Bennett.” He shook her hand, motioning for them to take a seat.
Preston lingered by the door, ready to bolt at the first word that didn’t please him. Suddenly, he was twenty-four, waiting for the doctors to tell him his father had a tumor and had only months to live.
Abigail turned her head. Her face fell when she saw him by the door. But there was compassion in her eyes as she understood why he lingered. So many things Preston Trice controlled, this wasn’t one of them.
Dr. Campbell let out a breath at Preston’s posture. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and opened the manila folder atop his desk. He flipped through a stack of papers before finding the one he wanted to show.
“I asked you to come in today because the results of your latest MRI and blood tests are back. Your scans show no tumor, Mr. Trice.” He looked up at him through the rim of his glasses. Preston physically relaxed while Abigail braced for the worse. “Due to your family history—”
“Family history?” she asked, propping herself on the chair.
Dr. Campbell looked at Preston. When he didn’t speak, Abigail turned her pleading eyes to him.
“My father died of a brain tumor. It started with mild migraines that turned chronic. When they found the tumor, it was too late.”
“Oh, my God. Why didn’t you tell me?” her voice raised an octave.
“Not now.”
“Due to your family history,” Dr. Campbell continued, “we ran some blood tests. These tests showed high levels of cortisol and low levels of serotonin.”
“What does that mean?” Abigail asked, saving Preston the need to do so himself.
“Well, there isn’t one known cause for chronic migraines. It is believed they happen because of an imbalance of chemicals such as serotonin in the brain. When your cortisol levels are high it means you’re suffering from stress. The overuse of medication can also trigger migraines, Mr. Trice. You should only take as much as I prescribed, no more. The pills won’t work if you aren’t using them properly. Your age should also be taken into consideration. You’re in your mid-thirties, that plus stress and a family history of migraines, mixed with alcohol isn’t a good combination.”
“So, I don’t have a tumor?” Preston questioned, needing to hear the words, so he could go on with his day.
“No, Mr. Trice, you do not have a tumor. You can tell Mrs. Trice to stop calling my office.”
“Than—”
“Is he likely to get one? I mean, he gets migraines pretty much daily. Sometimes he spends hours in a dark room or feels nauseated. I try to help him, but sometimes it doesn’t work.”
“I can’t rule out a brain tumor with his family history. What I’d suggest is to get checked at least once a year. He should be taking the medication as prescribed, lower his stress levels, and replace hard liquor with water.”
“I’ll make sure he does that.” Abigail stood and shook the doctor’s hand. “Thank you so much for your help and explanation.”
“You’re welcome, Miss Bennett.”
While Abigail shared pleasantries with the doctor, Preston stepped out of the room to give Kenneth a call. “Round the car, we’re walking out.”
He rubbed his forehead with his palm as he tried to process what the doctor had just said. The migraines weren’t tumors, but he should get checked at least once a year. He could work with that. What he couldn’t work with was a day of work wasted on a doctor who found it necessary to call him out on his work ethic and drinking habits.
“Hey,” Abigail said. She reached for his arm and wrapped it around her waist. “We’re good. You’re good.”
He clasped her waist a little tighter.
“Thank you for being here.”
“Of course. Let’s get out of here, huh?”
They followed the flashing exit signs to the main entrance where a black SUV waited for them.
“Drop Miss Bennett at home and take me to the office.”
“Will do, Sir.”
“Uh, will not do, Sir.” Abigail twisted in her seat. “Dr. Campbell just said you shouldn’t do things that stress you. Work stresses you out.”
“Fuck the doctor’s orders.”
“Stop, Preston. Please, don’t gamble with your health. Take the rest of the day off, go home, sleep, shower. Disconnect from the world for a few hours and tomorrow you can go back to work.”
“I can’t do that. I’m CE—”
“Because you’re CEO, you can do that. Please, Prest.”
He leaned his head back on the headrest as he closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
“Did you eat already?” he asked. Abigail shook her head. “Your mouth isn’t made solely to please me, Abigail. Use your words.”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“No, I haven’t eaten, yet.”
“Ken, take us to Columbus Circle.”
Abigail smiled at the change of plans.
Preston was very grateful for her presence today and he hadn’t known how to thank her other than by listening to her words of wisdom. He’d follow Dr. Campbell’s orders for as long as he could and dwindle the alcohol and work.
If only he’d known Abigail when Gi
orgio passed away, instead, he’d mourned on his own. All along portraying a strong fortress for his mother and sister that crumbled as soon as he stepped foot into his home.
Kenneth pulled up on the curve of Columbus Circle where Preston and Abigail stepped out of the car and walked the rest of the way to Time Warner Center. They jumped on the elevator and reached the fourth floor where an Asian hostess greeted them with a welcoming smile.
“Good evening, table for two?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me.” She grabbed two menus off the podium and walked ahead. “How has your evening been going so far?”
“Marvelous,” Preston lied.
“That’s great.”
As the couple followed the hostess to their seats, Preston couldn’t help but notice the scattered diners or the long tablecloths that grazed the floor, obscuring the legs of the table. He leaned close to Abigail as an idea came to mind.
“Do you want to play?”
“Play?”
“Yes, play.” His eyes shone dark with mischief.
Her tongue parted her lips. Her cheeks turned rosy, and her eyes turned a light gray. She knew just what her master wanted.
“Yes, Master Trice.”
The hostess left the two menus on their table and informed them their waiter would be back soon. Abigail pulled out her chair and was about to take a seat when he stopped her.
“Uh-uh.” He beckoned her to the floor.
Her eyes widened. “Here?”
“Yes, here. By my feet. Now kneel, whore. You know I don’t like waiting, much less for a whore who doesn’t know her place.”
She dropped to her knees, not once glancing around to see if people were looking.
“Good evening, Sir.” The waiter greeted. “Dinner for one?”
“Yes.”
“Can I interest you in a cup of our finest wine?”
Dr. Campbell had warned him about hard liquor, not savory wine. But Preston had made a promise and he was going through with it. “Water is fine.”
“Right away, Sir.” He rounded the table and stumbled upon Abigail. “Oh, my! Ma’am, are you okay?”
She said nothing.
“The lady’s fine. Go on with my drink.”
Collared (Masters of Desires Book 1) Page 31