The young man nodded, dismissing Abigail’s presence. A few seconds later, he came back with a glass of cool water and took Preston’s order.
As he waited for the sushi to be made, he brushed Abigail’s hair lazily. His thoughts shuffled to earlier this week when he’d had a talk with the three men who’d take part in her orgy. Now she wasn’t an anal virgin, she could take the men from all her holes without trouble.
A whimper kissed his ear as he pulled her hair back, but he didn’t give in to the sweet sound. He kept on playing with her hair, eliciting muffled noises from her mouth as he thought of the men who’d take what was his—what belonged to him. He’d made the process so sterile, it had felt more like a business transaction than giving his slave away for others’ enjoyment.
He released his grip on her scalp when the waiter placed a plate of lobster tempura rolls in front of him. Preston grabbed his chopsticks and smeared the roll with soy sauce before taking a bite.
Below him, the sound of a starved stomach rumbled. He chuckled and took another roll into his mouth and another. He tapped the chin of his slave and motioned for her to open her mouth. With the rim of the glass, he let the water wet her lips. A mutinous ice cube slipped from her plump lips and slid down her neck.
He grabbed a sushi roll, smeared it with soy, and placed it on top of her closed lips. The sauce and water created a saline pool in the hollow of her neck.
“Open,” he ordered.
Abigail parted her lips and took the whole roll into her mouth. After three famished bites, she was begging her master for more. He obliged. They ate dinner in peace. He’d take a roll for himself and give her another. He’d take a sip of his water and offer her a taste.
As she swallowed the last bite, Master Trice crooked a finger at her.
She moaned as he sneered for her to get under the table. Her skin turned bumpy and clammy under his blunt order. She hoisted the tablecloth and slipped underneath the circular table.
His zipper was pulled down by ably fingers. His cock sprung under her soft touch. He breathed in and out harshly as her velvety tongue licked him from the base to the tip where she sucked his pre-cum into her mouth.
She bit the tip of his dumbbell piercing and gave it a jut that had him gripping the table with both hands. She took his erection in her small hand and stroked upward once, twice, thrice. Her lips kissed the top of his head before bringing her mouth to his cock and sucking it fully into her mouth.
Her licks were languid and her sucks teasing. Annoyed and extremely turned on, he gathered her hair and thrust his hips forward. When he felt her gag, he pushed deeper and faster. When he felt saline drops moisten his trousers, he came with a low groan.
Abigail zipped him up and came out from under the cloth just as the waiter made his way to their table.
“Dessert, Sir?”
“I’ve already had it.”
The young man looked down to Abigail who licked a bead of cum off her bottom lip.
He coughed. “I’ll bring the check.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Melissa Sinclair stared at the bottom of her hand-written list. She fixated on the only box she had yet to check off. There was more than one reason why she’d left it for last. One, she dreaded conversing with that arrogant man. Two, she had hoped by the time she planned her daughter’s birthday party, she’d be single.
There was something unsettling about Preston Trice. The aura he carried was tainted with darkness and sardonic wit she wasn’t fond of. He might have thirty million dollars to his name, but he’d never make Melissa Sinclair, or Abigail Bennett feel like a ragdoll.
Oh, yes, Mrs. Sinclair had done her research. What mother wouldn’t?
Abigail had been single for years and out of the blue, she started dating a businessman who she was now head-over-heels for. But as much as Melissa hated to admit it, she had never seen her daughter this happy.
It was as if Preston had lit the fire inside her she’d given up feeding long ago. The way she looked at him with eyes blazing of admiration, truly stunned her. It was a bond deeper than that of a girlfriend and boyfriend. It was the deepest love she’d ever seen in her forty-eight years.
She felt as if she was mourning her children. In a matter of months, she’d lost her son and daughter to love. Even though they were in their mid-twenties and lived on their own, in her eyes they were still six and eight. Although she cheered their achievements and looked forward to every milestone, she couldn’t help but feel as though each spread them farther apart until the distance was so large, they’d learned to live without her.
Melissa never wanted to be the meddling parent who was her late mother. She wanted her children to make their own mistakes, but she also wanted to protect them from heartbreak. Though it was from heartbreak one gained wisdom, it was an agonizing feeling neither of her children should suffer from.
She picked up the phone and dialed the number a simple Google search produced.
“Trice Architectural Designs, Jacqueline speaking. How may I help you?”
“Good morning, may I speak with Preston Trice?"
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Melissa Sinclair.”
“Do you mind if I put you on hold for a minute while I inform Mr. Trice of your call?"
“Not at all, sweetheart.”
Elegantly dressed in her black and white pantsuit, Melissa moseyed around her office as she waited for the very busy businessman to answer his very busy phone. She caught a glimpse of Abigail as her eyes swung from a manuscript to her computer.
She had returned from Paris with a serene state of mind. Now her shoulders slumped with the weight of deadlines. Melissa wanted to offer her daughter the same serenity she’d found in Paris.
A throat cleared on the other side of the line, followed by a manly voice. “Mrs. Sinclair, what a lovely surprise.”
“Mr. Trice, nice of you to keep me waiting.”
“I apologize for the wait. I was finishing a conference call. Is Abigail alright?”
“Yes, she’s fine.” She breathed heavily. “The reason as to why I am interrupting your very important meeting is to inform you about Abigail’s twenty-fifth birthday in a couple of weeks.”
“I am very aware of Abigail’s birthday.”
Melissa rolled her eyes. He wasn’t making this any easier. She reminded herself she was doing this for her daughter, not Preston.
“I wanted to throw her a surprise party at our home in Rye. I’d like to invite you and your family to join us for the weekend of her birthday.”
“I’m sure we’ll all be able to make it. Thank you for the invitation.”
“Of course.” As she was about to say her goodbyes, Preston stopped her.
“Now that I have you on the phone, I wanted to speak to you about Abigail.”
“I am listening.”
“I will not ask for Abigail’s hand in marriage as I know you do not own her. However, I would like to make you aware of my intentions to spend the rest of my life with her.”
“Your intentions with my daughter are farfetched, Mr. Trice. If you knew her as you claim you do, you’d know she doesn’t want to be chained to a man for the rest of her life. You may propose to her, but she won’t accept it.”
“If you knew your daughter as you claim you do, you’d know she’d never deny me.”
“Preston,” she managed to say his name through gritted teeth. “If you ever break my daughter’s heart—”
He didn’t let her finish. “If there’s any heartbreaking, it’ll be your daughter holding the sledgehammer.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
“Abigail.”
When Mike used her full given name, it usually meant something catastrophic had happened. Only two possible scenarios came to Abigail’s mind. One, his wedding venue hadn’t been reserved. Two, Mom was getting on his last nerve. She placed her money on the latter.
“What did she do this time?”
“You wi
ll not believe!” He was hysteric. “Look, I am only telling you this because I love you and I know you’d have a terrible birthday if you find out on the day of.”
She began to worry her bottom lip. “Mike, what’s going on?”
“Dad called to ask about the wedding and mentioned Mom’s plans for your birthday this weekend. So, apparently, she’s feeling guilty because she’s been spending all her time with me and feels as if there is no time in her schedule left for you. Our thoughtful mother came up with the brilliant idea of throwing you a birthday party in Rye.”
Abigail shrugged. Although unhappy with the idea of spending her birthday entertaining a crowd, she expected nothing less from Melissa Sinclair. “I am not surprised. I kind of saw it coming.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s not what surprised me, either. The guest list, that’s the biggest shocker.”
“Is it our cousins from Jersey?”
“At this point, you’d wish. The fucking Trice’s.”
Her mouth was left agape. “What?”
“Yep. Preston, his mother and sister with her husband and three kids.”
She felt as if the walls in her office began to shift around her, moving closer together until she had no room to move or breathe.
“Abbs, are you there? Are you okay?” His worried voice brought her back to the now.
“No, I am not fucking okay. I have a mentally insane woman for a mother.”
“I know, but hey, she also invited Niall’s parents, so we’ll both be miserable.”
“You don’t understand, Mike. I don’t know his family. The last time I saw his mother was at the restaurant when they brought the tables together. I don’t even remember his sister’s name.”
“Relax, this will give you time to get to know them better.”
“I just told Preston how I felt about him. I can’t have his family over for a weekend. It’s too much, too soon. He probably thinks I’m as crazy as my mother,” she mumbled the last part more to herself than to Mike.
“I don’t think he will ever think you’re as crazy as Mom.”
“I’m so fucked and not in a good way. I need to call Preston.”
“You can’t. It’s supposed to be a surprise.”
“Please.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll call you later.”
“Don’t say anything to Mom, then. I already have enough with the wedding.”
After reassuring Mike she wouldn’t mention this to their mother, she sent Preston a swift message.
[Abigail]
Morning! Can you give me a call when you can?
A second after, her phone started ringing.
“Hey,” she greeted.
“Did something happen?”
“Why must you assume something happened?”
“You never call.”
“That’s because you didn’t think I was privy of your number.”
“It seems as though your privilege will be revoked. We’ve been on the phone for nearly three minutes and you’ve yet to reach your point.”
“Did you have to put a fancy client on hold because of me?”
“Don’t flatter yourself. My alarm went off as your message came through.”
Her witty tone shifted. “For your medicine?”
“Yes.”
“When was the last time you ate?” she inquired, dreading his answer.
“Ten minutes now,” he said, his patience running thin.
His dismissive answer led her to believe he hadn’t eaten since the morning. Considering he woke up before the sun rose, Abigail did the math in her head. It’d been approximately seven hours since the last time he had something in his stomach.
She sighed. “Can I take you out to lunch?”
“Is this why you’ve called?”
“I wanted to ask you something, but I’d much rather ask you in person.”
“My schedule doesn’t allow time for lunch. I have meetings all day. One after the other.”
At that moment, an unlikely thought came to mind. “What if we do lunch in your office?
He released an exasperated sigh. “That will work.”
“I’ll text you when I am on my way.”
“I’ll see you soon, Angel. I love you.”
She cleared her throat, the words still rusty for her to articulate. “I love you.”
Abigail continued working on Eveline Rose’s manuscript, changing run-on sentences into two independent clauses, and switching commas for periods. She highlighted various character inconsistencies, wanting Ms. Rose’s vision to shine through the pages yet stick to the character’s values and personality traits.
Although people sometimes conflicted with their own values, as did Abigail the editor with Abigail the whore, in writing, abrupt personality changes had to be done in small progressions for the reader to develop a deep bond with the characters.
As Abigail finished typing her email, she thought of the moral dilemmas in her life.
Being the daughter of a feminist mother who was a borderline misandrist, Abigail was raised to believe in the prejudiced definition of gender equality—whatever a man could do, a woman could do it better. If a man held the door for her, he deemed her weak. If a man didn’t hold the door for her, he was a pig who had no manners.
Either way, men lost in Mrs. Sinclair’s book.
An internal conflict arose when Abigail’s vision of Prince Charming consisted of a collar and a leash as he dragged her along a verdant pasture in his galloping horse. When she found her sexual needs to be of punishments from the fifteenth century, she’d asked her mother if their insurance covered therapy.
With these conflicting ideals in mind, Abigail thought it impossible to ever be a sensible girlfriend. Now she was one, she hated the thought of being an overbearing partner, especially with Preston Trice being the recipient of such suffocating behavior.
When she heard the last time he’d eaten was around four in the morning, her first thought was to reprimand him. But the idea of chastising her master struck fear, leaving her to invite him to lunch. Now she was left wondering what he would agree to eat.
He wasn’t a fan of Manhattan’s ubiquitous cuisine of coal-oven pizza or hot dogs from a cart vendor. He was overly particular when it came to Asian food and compared everything he ate to the Mediterranean flavors of Greece.
As she sent the email to Ms. Rose, a quaint taverna came to mind.
Abigail typed the word Ambrosia into Google search and used her phone to dial their number. It rang three times before Irina answered. Her voice was as cheery as it’d been the first time they’d met.
“Ambrosia, Irina speaking.”
“Hi, Irina. This is Abigail. I am not sure if you remember me, but Preston took me to your taverna a few months ago.”
“Of course, I remember. I never forget when he visits. How is my boy doing?”
“He’s good just very hungry. I was wondering if you would be able to make an order of his favorite plates to be delivered to his office today?”
“I’ll get right on it.”
Abigail thanked Irina and called Lincoln into her office as she gathered her belongings.
He entered with a notepad and pen in hand, ready to write all of her requests. At first, it had made her feel uncomfortable to have someone at her beck and call to answer all her wishes. Now she was thankful for such a helpful assistant.
“I’m going out for lunch. Not sure when I’ll be back. If Mrs. Sinclair asks where I went, tell her I’m at lunch. If my mother asks, tell her I went to buy a new bathing suit for the weekend.”
Linc shifted on his feet. “Miss Bennett?”
“You can just tell her I went out for lunch, Linc,” she said with a smile. “Call me if there’s an emergency, okay?”
He nodded.
Abigail traveled by foot to Trice Architectural Designs, figuring it would give Irina extra time to get to the city during the lunch rush hour.
She came face-to-face with a towering building framed wit
h glass paneling. Catching her reflection, she ran her fingers through her hair and adjusted her waves. She received the all-clear from security and asked to be pointed to the stairs. Abigail slipped off her heels as she took the first step, her anxiety getting the best of her as she thought of Preston’s reaction when she mentioned Rye.
What if his family declined the invitation?
What if he wasn’t going?
What if he was going?
What if they were all going?
Now it was Abigail who suffered from a headache.
As she pushed open the door to Preston’s floor, she was met with Irina and Sakis at the front desk. She quickly slid on her shoes and rushed to their side.
“I apologize but Mr. Trice did not order this food. He’s been in a meeting for the past three hours,” the secretary said.
Feeling the need to step in, Abigail said, “Hi, Irina. Hi, Sakis.”
“Oh, Abigail. I brought food for my boy.” She pointed to the three bags on the desk. “Where is he? I want to say hello.”
Abigail turned her attention to the lady behind the desk. “Did you say he was in a meeting?”
“Yes. He won’t be out for another hour.”
Another hour?
Oh, fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
At that moment, she realized her mistake. It’d slipped her mind to text him she’d been on her way.
Abigail turned her attention to Irina. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize his meeting would run this long. But I’ll tell you what, I’ll make sure to get him to Ambrosia next week.”
Irina’s eyes wrinkled as a smile grazed her lips. She kissed both of Abigail’s cheeks and shouted for Sakis in Greek. The young man rushed to her side, running into a well-groomed older man.
Abigail hid a laugh. He really needed to watch his steps.
With Irina and Sakis in the enclosed doors of the elevator, Abigail directed her gaze to Preston’s secretary.
“Hello, my name is Abigail Bennett. I am here to see Preston.”
“Hi, Miss Bennett as I told Ms. Irina, Mr. Trice is in a meeting. If you would like to set up an appointment, I can help you with that.”
“Oh, no. I don’t need an appointment. I am his girlfriend.”
Collared (Masters of Desires Book 1) Page 32