Collared (Masters of Desires)

Lauren awoke early in the morning with a pivotal mission in mind. She washed up in the en-suite and quickly made her bed just as her master liked it made. She ate breakfast perched on the island and gazed out onto the city. Snow slowly pooled on the balcony and the streets below were mostly empty.

When the weather got too rigid, Preston bypassed his daily runs and played basketball for hours on the inside courtyard of his penthouse. It was a favorable sport and one he was good at thanks to his towering height.

Engaged in her master’s routine, Lauren found the time to wander the halls. She told herself it was the universe who’d made the weather this bitter to allow her just enough time to conquer her exploration.

When she’d walked into her room last night, it’d felt uninhabited and impersonal as if his new precious slave existed no more. There wasn’t any body wash or towels hanging in the bathroom. The bed smelled musty and stale—the closet empty of clothes.

All the women he’d been with shared the same bedroom, which was the one Lauren had been sleeping in for the past five years. The fact her room was lacking character, led her to believe Abigail slept in another room.

The question was which one?

She was going to get her question answered today.

There were eight rooms in Preston’s apartment—the master bedroom, playroom, office, sub room, and the rest were guest rooms used for family members and friends.

She loitered the house, opening, and closing doors, never finding so much as a brown hair on the floors. Mrs. Thomas was a great housekeeper, but even she wasn’t this good. There was no sign of Abigail—no dirty sheets, no perfume, no personalized foods. Nothing.

Lauren came to a halt as she faced the last room in her quest. It was the only room she had not searched. It was Master Trice’s sanctuary, only used for tranquil sleep. No submissive was allowed inside his bedroom.

She had followed his most stringent rule for five years.

Today, she obeyed it no more.

She fanned her perimeter, not finding any eyes in sight other than the camera in the corner. She didn’t worry about it. Preston only checked them if something horrid happened. He’d never know of her rebellious act. And even if he did, he wouldn’t do a thing about it simply because it was Lauren who’d broken the rule.

Enraged by the thought, Lauren twisted the knob.

With her back pressed against the door, she closed her eyes. She allowed his unique scent to seep into her pores. If for a mere optimistic second, she considered the future. Preston made sweet love to her as her toes curled with every sensual touch of his lips on her. It was a farfetched future—a daily fantasy that fed her hysteria.

She searched his bathroom, bypassing the bed as she knew he wouldn’t be that careless. She found no feminine products and a sole towel. The walk-in closet was empty of skirts, dresses, and heels. Lauren directed her search to the bedside tables. She opened each drawer, finding condoms, keys, and his wallet.

Defeated, Lauren deflated on the floor with an audible sigh.

Where did Abigail sleep?

She had to be missing something.

Think, Lauren, think!

Just when she was about to give up, a precious thought entered her mind. The thought was so precious, she nursed it in her heart. His new shiny slave hadn’t satisfied his dark urges. No wonder he only used her once a week at the club. No woman was good enough for Master Trice. None but her.

Stretching her arms, she let a victorious smile graze her lips. Her arm connected with the side-table, causing the sketchbook atop it to stumble on the floor. She picked it up as fast as her heart could beat. Not fast enough to unsee the comforter hidden under the bed. She brought it to her nose—the scent unfamiliar to her.

And just like that Lauren had found Abigail’s sleeping quarters.

Her eyes twinkled with unshed tears. Her throat wrung. The new smile on her face showed no teeth.

He’d found her. He’d found the woman he’d always wanted—the one she could never be.

One minute.

She allowed herself sixty seconds to mourn the death of her unrequited love for Preston Trice. A tear for the years they’d known each other.

When the minute was over, Lauren wiped her grief away and folded the blanket, placing it back in its hiding spot. She put the sketchbook back on the table, knowing the drawings inside weren’t of buildings but of the woman who’d taken her place.

She stepped out of the room, leaving her angst behind her.

Lauren thought herself a masochist for willingly going to the source that brought so much sorrow. Though her mind knew Preston was no good for her heart, her heart ached to have him close.

She sat on the bench facing the basketball court and admired the most talented man she’d ever met. His skilled fingers created the most prestigious buildings. The man had the power to own any room he stepped foot in. A flick of his dark eyes had any woman bowing to her knees.

“Hey.” Lauren made herself known. If she didn’t, he’d forget she was there.

Preston turned to her. His hair was a mess of waves. His chest heaved furiously as if annoyed she’d spent the night. She hadn’t done so on purpose. Her past had a way of visiting her at night. She sought refuge in the only man she trusted.

Being this close to him, she couldn’t help herself. Although she was sure he’d retreat, she ran her thumb over his forehead and pushed his hair back. His widow’s peak was one of her favorite features.

“Is she everything you’ve ever wanted?” she asked, searching his eyes for the truth.

His brows wrinkled but he didn’t pull away. Lauren smoothed them with her thumb. “Who?”

“Abigail.” The name tasted bitter on her tongue. “Does she give you everything I was never able to give you?”

He pushed her hand away. “You need to stop comparing yourself to others.”

How could she not when she’d been with Preston for five years and not once had she visited his bedroom? He’d known his new slave for a month, and she was already sleeping beside him.

“Do you love her?”

“You need to stop, Lauren.”

What she needed were answers. “Do you love her, Preston? I need to know,” she pleaded.

“The only women I care about are my mother, sister, and nieces. I don’t love anyone else.” His words were lethal to her heart. Had five years meant nothing to him?

She walked away, feeling herself losing control again.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To the club.”

“I’ll ask Kenneth to take you.”

“It’s fine. I brought my own car.”

“I’ll see you this evening.” Although it was a statement, she heard the questioning tone in his voice.

“Of course.”