Collared (Masters of Desires Book 1)

by Paula Dickson

  “Lie down. Spread your legs.”

  Her breathing accelerated as she laid with her back on the tile floors.

  Her gray eyes faced the white ceiling.

  Her legs trembled as she tried to keep them from touching.

  A rush of endorphins kidnapped her senses as the knife waltzed down her throat. With the pointed blade, he traced along her collarbone and scraped it with enough force to inflict pain but not cut the visible skin. It was a cautious touch that was meant to be taken as a warning, a “look what I can do” threat.

  The sharp tip outlined her areola and perked nipple as it made its way down her stomach. It rounded her belly button and danced along her lower abdomen.

  Everywhere the carbon steel went, she felt it a thousand times on her clitoris. A humble touch in the right place would untangle the deep knot between her legs. She silently begged him to touch her where she needed it most, but Master Trice was a sadist. He’d take his time making her wanton.

  He dropped to his knees, touching her trembling thighs with the stainless steel. She felt the coldness of the blade part her outer labia and tease her sensitive nub.

  Rhapsodic gasps of pain flew from Abigail’s mouth as he snipped her inner thighs. He repeated the lashes four times, each a punishment for the rules she’d broken. Hot liquid slid down her thighs, outlining her legs with pink puddles.

  Hoisting a leg over his shoulder, he licked his way up her thigh and cared after her cut with a sensual kiss.

  Abigail held onto the floor with opened palms as Master Trice brought his lips to her labia and took a languid lick of her pleasure. He parted her folds with the sharp tip of his knife as he inserted a teasing finger inside her.

  Her eyes rolled behind closed lids as she pleaded with her body not to come. She mustn’t disobey him again. Not like this. But the bastard bluntly challenged her.

  Her back raised off the floor as the butt of the knife entered her. He plunged into her so forcefully, she felt the sharp end of the bolster nip her entrance. His thrusts were furious, and she screamed, terrified he’d push the whole knife inside her.

  Master Trice removed the knife instantly and pressed it to her throat. He hovered above her as his heaving chest rested against her breasts. He stared intently into her eyes that were gray no more, reflecting the crimson water around them.

  “I warned you what’d happen if you screamed.”

  “I’m sorry, please—”

  “Shh...” He quieted her words by pointing the knife at the fragile skin under her eye. Her pupils widened as she tried her hardest to stay still. “You little rebel. You broke the rules again. Now you must pay the consequences.”

  Abigail focused on the white specks on the ceiling as Master Trice straddled her hips.

  As the tip of the blade carved the skin beneath her left breast, she breathed to stay calm, knowing the calmer she stayed, the more pain she could withstand. She focused on the waves of pain as they created an ocean of pleasure throughout her body.

  Master Trice leaned back and admired his handy work.

  Satisfied by what he’d left behind, he placed the knife under her back and parted her knees as he entered her slick sex with a determined thrust. He fucked her raw and with hurried strokes that numbed her pussy and shredded her lower back with ladderlike cuts.

  She shook her head from side to side as tears streamed down her face, feeling as if in any second, she’d pass out.

  He let out a harsh groan as he hoisted her hips and angled himself in just the right way for Abigail’s body to obey his assault. Her inner walls clenched around his girth as the first wave of pleasure shook her body. She held onto it for as long as she could because the longer she tried to hold onto this feeling, the better it got. But the tingling wave was too strong to keep captive as before she knew it, it’d spread throughout her body and radiated outward, making her thrash beneath her master.

  Master Trice bowed his head, delving in the way she milked his orgasm and sucked it deep inside her. He came with a loud groan that elicited a small shock of pleasure to course through her.

  They stayed on the floor of the shower as lukewarm water washed away their pleasurable sins. With the pounding of their hearts now beating at a slower pace, Preston pulled out of her and sat upright. He pressed the back of his head against the wall. His eyes remained closed, and his Adam’s apple bobbed with every hoarse swallow.

  He cleared his throat.

  “No bikini today. I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Don’t be. I brought a one-piece suit just in case. No bikini today,” she repeated the last three words, wanting him to feel human again.

  She straddled his lap and reached for the washcloth because she wasn’t the only one in dire need of aftercare. She lubricated his chest with bubbly soap and worked the knots around his neck. She shampooed his hair just as he’d done to her before.

  Throughout the duration of the shower, his eyes remained closed. The rise and fall of his chest were the only indicators he was alive.

  “Prest,” Abigail whispered his name as she pushed his hair back.

  Abigail felt the need to reassure him. “I trust you. I trust you with my life, with my soul, with my body, and with my heart. I trust you to hurt me and to never go too far when you do.”

  His eyes opened and he let them speak for a while.

  The couple gazed into each other’s eyes with a divine love that had to have been cultivated in another world. It was inhuman and heavenly, pure and authentic, deep and infinite. It was the kind of love that came from the softest part of the human body.

  He grabbed the washcloth from her fingers and cleaned the cut on her inner thigh and under her breast with precise attention and care. He did the same for the cuts on her lower back.

  “I trust you to never let me go too far, to never break my heart, and to never break my trust,” he vowed the words.

  Together, they healed their bodies and minds. They rinsed themselves of blood and soap and dried one another with a cotton towel. Preston applied a medicated cream on her cuts and concealed each one with gauze.

  He dressed in swimming trunks and a tee while she wore a one-piece bathing suit with a long maxi skirt. He sat on the bed and waited patiently for her to finish getting ready, watching Mr. Grey weave between her ankles.

  “I’ll make sure he doesn’t jump into bed with us tonight,” she said, catching the way Preston watched him. “He’s used to sleeping with me.”

  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  She smiled as she walked to him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ll try my best. I still have to dry my hair before going downstairs. You don’t have to wait for me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” She kissed his lips sweetly before he went out the door.

  When Abigail heard his heavy steps faint down the hall, she rushed to the bathroom. After unstrapping her bathing suit, she removed the bandage Preston had sealed under her breast.

  A luminescent smile reflected in her gray eyes as the pad of her finger traced the letters he’d carved into her skin.

  PDT.

  Preston Dimitriou Trice.

  Three letters that would remind them both of who her true owner was.

  He’d cut her so deep, the letters would leave their shaped curves. No amount of Mederma could reduce or remove his mark. It’d stay on her body forever and she’d wear it proudly. Now all she needed was a collar around her neck and a leash in his hand.

  She sealed the bandage back up and adjusted her bathing suit. She dried her hair and let it lay lazily over her shoulders. Examining herself one last time in the full-body mirror, she made sure no cuts or bite marks were visible to the inquisitive eyes residing on the estate.

  Happy with herself, she went down the curved staircase and made her way to the kitchen with Mr. Grey following her every step. Her stomach was complaining, and she was in dire need of food. Rounding the corner, she peeked into the kitchen where s
he saw Beth feeding a baby girl in a highchair.

  Abigail twirled in a different direction, making a frail attempt to sneak past Beth. But she’d already seen her, and when she called for Abigail, she had no other choice than to meet the little girl with yellow purée lining her lips and fingernails.

  “Good morning,” Abigail greeted, standing as far as she could from the tiny human. “How did you guys sleep?”

  “Good. The girls loved their room. They’re outside swimming in the lake.”

  Abigail gazed out the atrium windows.

  Eleanor and Eloise were swimming around Mrs. Trice and Mr. Nolan as they played a friendly round of water volleyball. On the far left side of the patio, Preston played basketball with the men, while Mrs. Sinclair and Mrs. Nolan basked in the sun, talking about their latest read.

  “They don’t waste any time. We live in a townhouse back in the city, so there’s not much space to run around,” Beth said as she held a spoon full of purée high in the air and made a helicopter noise.

  Abigail made herself a bowl of cereal and lingered by the island away from the impolite human who refused her mother’s food and babbled nonsense.

  “I should probably go outside.”

  “Before you go, can you watch her for a second? I just need to change into my bathing suit.”

  “What if she cries?”

  Beth giggled. “Just carry her. She’s not bad, I promise.”

  Before she could politely refuse the favor, Beth had left the room.

  A worried Abigail was accompanied in the empty kitchen by a hungry baby who she swore was giving her an evil two-teeth smile.

  The seven-month-old threw the spoon on the floor and Abigail picked it up just for Emilee to throw it back. This went on for a few more times until Abigail gave up and placed the spoon onto the island.

  “No more,” she said to Emilee who began to cry.

  “Oh, no, no, no. Shh. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry. Here.” She handed her the spoon, but Emilee didn’t stop. Her cries grew louder and piercing. Her round face turned red with fury as tears streamed down her chubby cheeks.

  Believing the child would die of asphyxiation, Abigail picked her up and rocked her back and forth just as the movies advised but it did nothing to quiet Emilee’s cries.

  “Emilee, please, stop.” She looked straight into the large brown irises on her face that reminded her so much of Preston. “You need to stop crying so that you can breathe.”

  Emilee bowed her back with another wrenching scream, prompting Abigail to do the same.

  “Do you know where our Mommy is?” For a second, she thought the question came from Emilee, but the voice was sweet and soothing. The complete opposite of what Emilee was being at the moment.

  Abigail twirled to two girls in similar pink one-pieces. One was taller than the other with matured eyes that lacked a sense of humor while the shorter girl had mischief written all over her knotty hair.

  “She’s upstairs,” she encouraged the girls to find their mother. She couldn’t handle two more kids to watch after. “Please, tell her Emilee needs her mommy.”

  The taller girl whispered something to her sister before jogging up the stairs in search of their mom. The knotty-haired child stayed behind as if on a mission to make sure her little sister was in good hands. She sat on the same chair her mother had used to feed Emilee and swiped a finger inside her bowl.

  “Emilee gets gassy after feedings.” She licked the yellow purée off her index and made a gagging noise. “She’ll poop soon and then she’ll stop crying.”

  A couple of minutes after the little girl’s advice, Emilee let out the loudest gas.

  “Woah.”

  “Told ya,” she said.

  “I don’t have any diapers, so we’ll just have to wait for your mom to come back.”

  “They’re in her diaper bag.” Her brown eyes swept the room, finding the bag slung on the back of a chair. “Here it is.”

  “Oh. Well, I think it’s best to wait for your mommy.”

  “Why? Don’t you know how to do it?”

  “Uh, no.” Was she supposed to? “Do you?”

  “I’m five!” she reasoned with her.

  “Okay, okay, fair enough.” Abigail tried hard not to laugh. “Could you bring me the bag?”

  The girl followed Abigail into the living room where she placed a sheet under Emilee and removed her clothes. She read the instructions on the diaper and tried her best to clean her all the while a five-year-old giggled by her side. She removed the dirty diaper and placed it on the coffee table that just yesterday was covered with baby pictures of herself and Mike. She spread the baby’s bottom with rash cream and tied the new diaper around her waist.

  Voila!

  Just like that, Emilee stopped crying.

  “I did it, huh?” Abigail was very proud of herself and never wanted to do this again. She’d make sure to tell Preston to say no to babysitting the girls.

  Preston’s niece swung her little feet on the couch and raised a brow. “Are you Uncle Preston’s girlfriend?”

  “I am.” She bounced Emilee on her knees. The baby now entertained with the waves of her hair, Abigail was able to hold a conversation with her big sister. “I’m Abigail. We didn’t get a chance to meet yesterday. What’s your name?”

  “I’m Eloise. Do you love Uncle Preston?”

  Abigail giggled. Eloise was a brazen girl who got straight to the point.

  She liked it.

  “I do. I love him very much.”

  “Why?”

  She touched her chin to humor Eloise. “Well, he’s very handsome and super tall, but I guess you already know that, right?” She nodded her head in a go-on motion. “But what’s special about him isn’t his height or good looks because lots of boys are handsome. What he has that no other boy has is my heart.”

  “Are you a feminist?”

  Abigail wasn’t sure if Eloise knew what a feminist was but figured nowadays, most parents spoke to their daughters about the importance of equality.

  “Very much so.”

  “Do you believe in God?”

  “Yes, I do.” Though she didn’t go to church. She believed God lived within her and she didn’t need to praise His words in front of everyone.

  “What’s your credit score?” Now that question made her laugh out loud.

  “Do you know what that is?” Eloise bit her lip and shook her head. “Where did you get these questions from?”

  She shrugged innocently. “I heard Mrs. Sinclair ask Uncle Preston.”

  “She did not!”

  “She did, I swear it!”

  “Oh, my God. I cannot believe my mother asked him that.”

  “Is that a bad question to ask?”

  “No, not really. It’s a little intrusive, that’s all.”

  “Intrusive? What does that mean?”

  “It means it’s a bit too personal. Just out of curiosity, what did your uncle say?”

  “He said he didn’t need a credit card because he paid everything in cash.”

  Abigail burst into bubbles of giggles. She couldn’t believe he’d said that to her mother and wished she’d been there to see her face. Although she was grateful she wasn’t. She could never choose between either of them.

  “You won’t hurt Uncle Preston, will you?” Eloise asked, her voice a whisper.

  “Never. I love him too much to do that.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “I pinky promise.” She stuck out her pinky and locked it with Eloise.

  “Eloise?” Beth said from the bottom of the stairs. “Sweetie don’t sit on the couch when you’re all wet. Remember, this isn’t our home.”

  She stood right up. “Oh, sorry, Mommy.”

  Beth sighed. “It’s okay. Here, put this on.”

  As Eloise slipped on a pink dress, Beth took Emilee from Abigail’s arms. She laughed at the horrible job she’d done with the diaper and put a new one around her daughter’s waist, t
eaching her the correct way for “future reference” and “just in case.” Abigail didn’t understand what that meant and hoped she never had to find out.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Abottle of beer played in Preston’s right hand. The bubbly liquid crashed and bowed against the crystal glass like the dangerous waves of the sea on a dark and stormy night.

  It was his sixth drink of the day, his ninth of the week. Suffice to say, Abigail was annoyed and more than a little pissed.

  Had she ever been this mad at him before? Had she ever had the desire to jump his bones for the mere pleasure of making him bleed with the shards of a beer bottle?

  The only time that came to mind was when he took her home after their time at The Blue Oyster. When he’d made a homophobic comment about her brother, she wanted to slap the ignorant words out of his smug face, and she did. It had been so fulfilling, and now she wished she’d relished in the moment more.

  Back then he’d drink a glass of whiskey, not six bottles of the mahogany.

  Had he not been in Dr. Campbell’s office when he said no alcohol? She was this close, this fucking close to tipping the bottle from his hand and uttering an innocent “oops” when it spilled onto the deck tiles.

  Abigail had stared at Preston for over twenty minutes and not once had he gotten her message. To their families, it looked like she was overly in love with him, but she had them all fooled. Although her eyes began to lose moisture, she calculated her next move.

  Would it be easier to stab him with a knife or should she make it painful and use the fork from her salad? Might as well cut off her father’s hand for handing him beer after beer, too.

  She sighed. Preston’s sadistic tendencies were rubbing off on her.

  Maybe it was time she gave it a rest. He was finally cooling down and seemed relaxed. For the first time since she’d met him, he was purposely telling jokes and cracked a smile that triggered her own. That alone made her happy, which was the dilemma.

  He was more than enjoying himself this weekend. While Abigail had spent most of the afternoon playing princess and changing dirty diapers, Preston played basketball with the rest of the family.

  Was it not her mother who’d said, “This is your birthday weekend, Abby.”? She rolled her eyes and internally scoffed. Lies. It had all been a bunch of lies wrapped in a pretty little box with a big phony bow on top.