Chapter 34: Collared: Chapter 33

seismic wave followed Abigail’s initial shock when she first saw Preston in a domestic setting on a Wednesday afternoon. She could not comprehend what was happening. But as she watched from across the bistro, Preston was the calmest she had ever seen him.

He ate lunch with an elderly woman who Abigail assumed was the mother of the gorgeous brunette who sat next to him.

The similarities between the two women were endless. She’d known they were related since the moment they passed by her table.

The two held the same petite stature, same chestnut hair, and light eyes.

Neither looked like Preston, which left Abigail to believe the younger brunette was either his estranged wife or long-term girlfriend.

Abigail was a woman’s woman.

The knowledge that she had not only cheated Lauren but destroyed a potential marriage, made her skin crawl in disgust.

All of a sudden everyone around her knew what she’d done with Preston three days ago. No longer were the two closeted sadomasochists sitting in front of their oblivious family members. The whole world knew of their sexual encounters. Their farce had come to an end.

And then Preston locked eyes with her.

His dark eyes depicted a cocktail of surprise with a sprinkle of delight. It wasn’t what she’d expected to see in them. She’d expected him to roar for her to get out of his sight. She’d expected him to leave the restaurant the moment he saw her.

But he didn’t.

He stared.

And stared .

At his lack of a reaction, she excused herself from the table. Neither Mrs. Sinclair nor Mike paid her any attention. The pair too engrossed in wedding venues to care she was now a low-class mistress.

In the bathroom, Abigail splashed cold water on her face and cursed herself for not wearing waterproof mascara. Groaning, she folded a piece of toilet paper and dabbed it under her eyes. As she tried to make herself presentable again, her mind wandered back to Preston.

She enjoyed the kindness of others. However, she wasn’t used to receiving such a manner from him. Lately, it had been too much too soon.

He’d forgone their usual hand-written essays for pillow talk. He’d allowed her to sleep in his bed. He’d called her Angel not once, but twice and spent almost half a million dollars on a bottle of whiskey for a man he didn’t know a thing about. All for what?

Where was her master? And why did her chest feel compressed?

Looking at her reflection, she calculated her next move.

She was going to pretend like the family man sitting across from her was a stranger. If he picked her up Friday, she’d confront him and if her theories were confirmed to be true, she’d break things off.

Simple as that.

Except it wasn’t that simple.

Whether Abigail was ready to admit it or not, she cared about Preston in more than just a friendly way. Their bond had evolved over time to an unbreakable alliance. One stronger, deeper than any other. She not only felt physically safe with him but emotionally. She knew she did the same for him, too.

It’d be hard to throw it all away, especially when she’d been seeking him her whole life. Nevertheless, she had to. She refused to be the other woman.

Pleased with her conclusion, she threw the paper in the bin and walked out of the bathroom and right into Preston’s chest.

“Abigail.”

She ignored the electric shiver that slithered down her spine at the mention of her name.

“Preston.”

“What are you—” he stopped mid-question. His brows knitted together. Wrapping his hand around her chin, he tilted her head to his. “You were crying.”

“It’s the mascara. Excuse me.” She shook his hand off her. The farther she was from him, the easier it was to get away.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to my table. You should get back to yours, too.

”

He grabbed her before she took another step. He twisted her arms behind her back and her front became acquainted with the wall. “Why are you mad?”

“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 stood 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.”