Collared (Masters of Desires)

“Cozy up New York! A winter storm is expected to hit the east coast Friday morning. Temperatures will be dropping to the double negatives…” Mike read on about the storm.

“This winter storm is such a nuisance!” Abigail shouted from the restroom in her office. She shimmied out of her pants and settled her bottom on the toilet. A satisfying sigh left her lips as she released her bladder. Straightening her shoulders, she stole a peek of the city from the small circular window that rested just above eye level.

Snow bled down the narrow streets, powdering the city in flecks. She idly watched the white and gray flakes fall tediously on the windowsill. Could someone remind her once again why she lived in the coldest state in the United States? She could live in Florida, basking in the sun or in California working on her tan. Yet for whatever reason, Day After Tomorrow New York was where she resided.

Don’t get her wrong. Abigail loved the city. The diversity around her made New York a true America. She enjoyed the liberties that came with not owning a car, especially in a city where everything was within walking distance. She’d also become friends with Bernie. They talked all the time in the subway when she visited Niall and Mike in East Village. Of course, Bernie was a rat but that was beside the point. All she wanted was for winter to be over.

Abigail gathered toilet paper in her hand and wiped herself. She rolled her eyes at the sight of blood. She had doubted Master Trice would pick her up with the roads being closed because of the winter storm. Now there was no doubt in her mind he wouldn’t pass by when she was on her period.

To Mike, she asked, “If you had to contact someone, and you didn’t have their number, what would you do?”

Abigail heard a mocked gasp come from outside the restroom. “Don’t tell me you’re pregnant!”

“God, no!” The thought made her shiver.

“Google the writer,” Mike suggested. “They probably have a media following. Tweet them or something.”

“He’s not a writ—huh? That’s actually a really good idea.” This might work. Abigail reached for her phone. She typed the name Preston Trice into Google search. In less than two seconds, Preston Trice stared back at her.

The man was heaven and hell—pure sin.

Her holy grail was to get his phone number. However, a rebellious finger flirted above the Images tab. There were so many pictures of him—alone in his office, with Prime Ministers and Presidents, buildings he’d designed and built. They were top-notch extravaganza—regal and impressive. It awed her how so much talent was stored inside a human being. She could spend hours gazing through his portfolio, but her current task was to get his number, so she put his portfolio on the backburner, and clicked on All, where she found his website and contact information.

Knowing she couldn’t contact his office with Mike in the other room, she reasoned email would work best.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Exposé

Good afternoon Mr. Trice,

This is Abigail Bennett from Sinclair Press writing to you about the exposé Sinclair would like to showcase on our website. I’d love to ask a few more questions to authenticate the article.

Please give me a call. Preferably a text as I tend to be in meetings all day.

Cheers,

Abigail Bennet

Lead Editor of Sinclair Press

It was complete bullshit, but Abigail figured Preston would get the gist and text her.

Abigail discarded the plastic tube in the wastebasket and washed her hands.

Mike knocked on the door. “Girl, are you giving birth or something?”

She opened the door, annoyed. “What’s with all these pregnancy references? Jeez, Mike.”

“Pfft. Relax. We all know the only thing coming out of that pussy is blood.”

She tried to hide a laugh but couldn’t. Mike had no filter. It was a blessing when she needed wardrobe advice—a curse when he couldn’t read a room.

“Did you find him?” he asked.

“Who?”

“The writer.”

“Yes! Just waiting for him to email me back.” She walked to her purse and pulled out a bottle of water. “Speaking of blood…”

“Ugh, come on, Abbs!”

“I am not in control of my menstrual cycle.” She pointed a defensive finger at him.

“You rain checked me last week. We have to work out today. Plus—” Mike looked down in a nonchalant way that piqued Abigail’s curiosity. Michael Bennett was not nonchalant. “—there are some things I want to talk to you about.”

Abigail gathered her gym clothes. “Now you’ve piqued my curiosity. Into the bathroom I go.”

“I’ll wait for you in the lobby. Hurry before the streets get too slippery to jog.”

Abigail rushed into the bathroom, yet again and removed her work clothes. She sheltered her body in fleece and a waterproof vest. She tied her tennis shoes as fast as her fingers allowed before heading out.

As Abigail rounded the corner, she encountered her meddlesome boss.

“Miss Bennett, where are you going?”

She whirled with a smile on her face. “I, Mrs. Sinclair, am going on a date with a very handsome man.”

Mrs. Sinclair looked her up and down, no doubt judging her appearance. “Dressed like that?”

“He’s into fitness.” Abigail gave an apologetic shrug that made her mother jump with glee.

“Please be cautious. The weather is treacherous right now.”

Abigail ignored her comment. “His name is Michael in case you’re wondering.”

Her nose wrinkled like she’d eaten something bitter. “Like your father?”

“Sort of but he looks a lot more like my brother.”

“Abbs, let’s go. I have to get home soon,” Mike whined from the foyer.

Abigail kissed her mom on the cheek. “See ya, Momma!”

As the door closed behind her, she heard her mother say, “Look at that. He doesn’t even say hi to his own mother.”

There was a time Mike and Mom would spend weekends together, drinking wine by the fire, gossiping about the latest political mishaps. Now they rarely acknowledged the other’s presence when in the same room. Abigail felt like the very snowflakes that rained upon her. She was blown this way and that way by the comments each made about the other. Her chest felt rigid at the words that spewed from their lips. Her heart puddled at being incapable of stopping her family from falling apart.

Why couldn’t they let bygones be bygones, forget the past, apologize, and move on? They were all doable tasks, none required effort from the other party, so why couldn’t they do so for the sake of Mr. Bennett and Abigail? For the sake of their family?

Within minutes of getting to Central Park, Mike and Abigail were circling the perimeter. They decided a speedy walk was safer given the weather conditions.

The Blue Oyster was the main topic of conversation. She’d yet to fathom the name, though it suited Mike’s bawdy personality to a tee. The club had quickly become the talk of the gay town, cashing in a very large revenue every weekend. The revenue, large enough to plan a wedding.

Abigail came to a complete halt. “A wedding?”

“Oh, stop it. I know our nosy Mom told you all about my ‘irresponsible’ plans,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Briefly,” she said.

“Do you agree with her?” Here she was, feeling the walls closing in on her as she felt the need to pick a side. She’d fallen into that trap too many times before. She won’t fall into it again.

“It’s not a matter of me agreeing or disagreeing with Mom. I just want whatever is best for you and if that is Niall, then so be it. Get married, have kids, do the whole family thing. I just want you to be happy.”

“He’s the one, Abbs. I’m sure of it. I fall asleep wanting to wake up with him and wake up wanting to fall asleep with him. I love him.” She’d never seen the glint in Mike’s eyes when speaking of another man before. And because she’d never seen it, she knew his love for him was pure. After kissing many frogs, Mike had finally found his prince.

She elbowed the side of his stomach playfully. “Look at you! A boyfriend hopefully, fiancée, a business. You’re living the American Dream, brother.”

“You’ll get it soon enough.”

“I don’t want that.”

“Says the girl who reads romance novels.” Abigail wanted to point out she didn’t read the novels for the protagonists’ love ventures as she did for the sex scenes, which brought her to a question she’d been wanting to ask Mike for a while.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something…”

“Yeah?”

She seemed very interested in her nail polish. “How did you know you were gay?”

“Oh, my God, you’re gay?”

“What? No! I’m just wondering if kissing the same gender and doing…other things would make someone gay or bisexual.” Mike choked on air. “Jeez, relax. It’s just a question. Never mind.” She kept walking, a little faster than before.

“Hey! Wait up. Sorry, sis. In all seriousness, having sex with the same gender doesn’t make you gay because people can’t be made gay, they’re born gay. I’d say not to focus on labels. You like what you like, no need to be placed in a category to comfort others. People fall in love with the heart, not the gender. It’s also about attractiveness. I’ve had sex with girls, and I didn’t like it. It did nothing for me. Vaginas are weird and it’s much easier to make a man come.”

The sound of her phone ringing interrupted Mike’s advice.

“Hold that thought.” She raised a finger, her heart in her throat when she read unknown on the screen.

“Is that him?” he whispered.

Abigail nodded, shooing his nosy self away when he scooted close to her.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, is this Miss Abigail Bennett from Sinclair Press?” Her entire being smiled at the playfulness behind his words.

“This is she. May I ask who is calling?”

“This is Mr. Preston Trice from Trice Architectural Designs. I’m calling about the exposé you’d like to feature me in. I must say, I was a little taken aback when I searched your firm and read it was all about feministic work. Now you want to feature a male in the architectural field?”

“Feminism is about inclusion and equality for all genders, Mr. Trice. It is not a male versus female rivalry.”

“What’s the problem, Abigail?” The playfulness from earlier left his tone. She knew she spoke to Master Trice now. What had caused such an abrupt change in his attitude?

“I don’t want to get into much detail as I know most men are skittish by the topic, but I got my period. It usually lasts for five days, meaning I’ll have it this weekend.”

An exasperated sigh came from the other line followed by utter silence.

“Hello?” she asked.

“I’m here.”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“I did and I don’t see the point of this conversation.”

“You don’t?”

“If what you think I do is about sex, then you clearly do not understand this. Caning you is a pleasure in itself. I don’t need to penetrate my subs. I do that part solely for their enjoyment.”

“You’ll still pick me up then? With the storm and everything?”

“Take the weekend off, Abigail. Are we done here? I have real issues I must get back to.”

Wait. What?

Something was off.

Master Trice would never allow a slave to break their agreement. That gave them too much power, and as he said, it was all about dominance for him.

“Pres—”

“This conversation is over. Goodbye, Abigail.”