Collared (Masters of Desires)

Perched on the edge of one of the most prestigious lakes in Westchester County, stood a beautiful shingled home with atrium windows overlooking a gleaming lake. The craters of a lone moon reflected on the blue-black water and the only noise that was heard in the midst of the night was the chirping of crickets.

Standing amid a grove of cypress trees, Abigail took a bated breath as the faintest breeze caressed her cheek. It cajoled her mind to drift to childhood memories of idyll vacations at the waterfront.

Water-balloon fights with Mike and the Williams, grilled fish and toasted marshmallows, pillow fights in the summer, and a first kiss on the pier. Today, she added meeting the in-laws to the list of unforgettable occurrences in this very cottage.

She swept her forehead with the back of her hand and chastised herself. Not only had she made the dense decision to date the biggest sadist she could find but brought him home to Mommy and Daddy for a meet-and-greet.

Melissa Sinclair was a businesswoman and merciless feminist who took offense to every word that came out of a man’s mouth, especially if said man was dating her daughter or son. Not even Mr. Bennett or Mike were safe. Not even Abigail was.

Preston was a businessman and merciless sadist who took pleasure in inflicting physical and emotional pain. He’d make sure Mrs. Sinclair ate every word that came out of her mouth. He wouldn’t back away, and neither would her mother.

Well aware of their antics, Abigail easily predicted how the weekend would pan itself out.

Mrs. Sinclair was sure to start subtle, show a couple of baby pictures, and reminisce about the eighties. This was how she’d bond with Mrs. Trice and Mrs. Nolan. She’d lure Beth into telling stories of her daughters’ childhood and compare it to her upbringing.

Once everyone was laughing and conversing, drinking wine, and having a good time, her mother would turn her attention to Preston. She’d ask a few innocent questions here and there, and then boom! Before he knew it, she would have twisted his words and had made him look like an anti-feminist who hated women.

In. Front. Of. Everyone.

In spite of what could be, she regretted nothing because she knew Preston and her mother so well, she could easily play their conversations in her mind and step in before things got too heated. Mike, however, was a different story. Abigail never knew how far he’d take a joke and if there was any chance of him impressing the Nolans, there was no shutting his mouth.

“What’s on your mind?” Preston’s gruff voice tickled her ears and warmed her stomach.

Her eyes looking at the yellow lights behind the windows of the two-story house, she said, “I told Mike, about us, I mean.” She cleared her throat and spoke a little louder, a little clearer. “I told Mike I was a masochist, and that you were a sadist.”

“What did he say?”

She shrugged. “To each their own, pretty much. Are you mad?”

“The NDA was more about my projects than our sex-life, though there was a clause or two you might have violated.”

“Oh,” she said. “I should really read through it one of these days. Do you think I could edit a few things?” She smiled up at him. Maybe she wasn’t as nervous as she seemed, or was she using humor as a coping mechanism?

His lips twitched at the corners of his mouth. “I think you missed your deadline.”

He planted a kiss on her forehead, lingering there a minute too long. Her eyes slowly closed under his soft caress. She inhaled deeply and felt her shoulders relax.

“It’s not that I don’t trust Mike. I do, really. He just has such a big fucking mouth. He’d spill secrets unintentionally or make inappropriate innuendos. I don’t want to give Mom or Dad any reason to feel iffy about you.” She’d hate to have to choose between her family or lover.

“What’s the worst thing that could happen if they find out what their daughter likes to do behind closed doors with a consenting adult?” he asked. “If your mother can’t accept your lifestyle, then she’s being a hypocrite. Her entire career is built around respecting a woman’s right to do as she pleases with her body, whether it be to be kissed and fucked or set on fire and fucked.”

Her eyes lit up with definite fear at the idea. “Would you set me on fire one day?”

“Would you like me to?”

“Yes.”

He smirked. “Then no.”

Abigail contained her smile. He was a cruel, cruel man who she loved with all her might.

“I think Mom would be glad I signed that NDA,” she said.

“Good, then stop worrying,” he commanded, and just like that her worries evaporated.

They followed the cobblestone path that led to wooden stairs. On the wraparound porch, she heard the serene sound of the night, which only meant pure chaos inside. Inhaling a deep breath, she gave the door a rattle before opening it.

She knew to steer clear of the living room as the jolly chatters of women echoed down the hall. Mike’s loud banter directed Abigail to the patio. Before she made her escape to the other side of the house, Mrs. Sinclair was already calling her name.

“Abigail, is that you?” The sound of her heels followed her voice.

Abigail placed the cat carrier on the floor and unzipped the netting in the front. Mr. Grey instantly jumped into her arms.

She kissed her mother’s cheek. “Hi, Mom.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Sinclair,” Preston greeted as he rested their bags by the door.

“Evening?” she gushed. “It’s practically night. Your nieces have fallen asleep waiting for the two of you to get here. We’ll have to cut the cake tomorrow.”

Abigail rolled her eyes, but Preston wasn’t bothered by her light shade. He’d kill her with kindness and a panty-melting smile. Then in the bedroom, he’d take his anger out on her daughter.

Ah, the sweet, sweet taste of revenge.

Mrs. Sinclair hadn’t a clue that with every ill-look and ill-word she sent his way, she tightened his grip around her daughter’s neck.

“Mom, it’s okay. I’m twenty-five and way past the birthday-cake-with-candles stage. We can do it tomorrow if it means that much to you or the girls. It’s not a big deal.”

Her mother rolled her eyes. “I need another drink. Would you like one? We have wine, champag—”

“Tequila’s fine,” Abigail said as she made her way into the living room. She needed something stronger than a twenty-year-old bottle of Chardonnay to get her through the weekend.

“Preston?”

Abigail turned to him. “Water is fine. Thank you.”

She visibly exhaled. She wasn’t going to babysit his drinking this weekend, but when given the chance, she’d hand him a glass of water instead of hard liquor. After all, a glass of water kept the migraines, the doctors, and tumors away, far, far away.

Walking into the living room, Abigail’s eyes were directed to the coffee table, where plastered atop it, were pictures of hers and Mike’s childhood.

And so, it had started.

“Hello, Mrs. Trice,” she said as Preston greeted his sister and Mrs. Nolan. “How are you?”

“I’m well. Happy birthday, dear.” She whispered, “I have your birthday present in my room.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to.”

Mrs. Trice dismissed her with her hand and turned her attention to Preston, accepting the kiss he placed on her cheek. “What kept you so long?”

“Traffic.”

As they all sat around the coffee table and chit-chatted about the evening, Preston took a photograph in his hand. Abigail watched as he examined the photo like a scientist does his variable—vigilantly and with keen curiosity.

His shrewd eyes met hers as he flipped the picture to her and crooked a brow. Her cheeks turned rosy. Her mother had always told her she could be anything she wanted to be. At the time, she wanted to be Wonder Woman, what else was there to say?

Mrs. Sinclair walked back into the room with a margarita and a bottle of water in her hands. She sat next to Mrs. Nolan who gave the phrase, “fashion is beyond age” true meaning. Her blonde-gray hair was wrapped around her head in a braided crown and her drop earrings gave radiant elegance to the Christian Dior dress she wore.

“Abby, you should’ve seen Beth’s girls. They’re precious,” her mother chimed.

“They’re very excited to meet their uncle’s girlfriend,” said Beth, a little embarrassed. Abigail wondered what she could possibly be embarrassed about, but she was sure she’d find out tomorrow.

She took a gulp of her drink just as Mr. Grey jumped out of her arms to weave through Beth’s legs.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Abigail said.

“No worries. The girls have been asking us for a pet for months now. We’re waiting until Emilee gets a little older to get one. I’m sure they’ll love your cat.”

“Preston isn’t too fond of Mr. Grey, so my feelings won’t be hurt if they don’t like him.”

She smiled at Beth and turned her attention to Mrs. Nolan who sat quietly on the couch. Her legs were pressed together and slanted to the side.

“Was Mr. Nolan unable to make it?”

“He’s here. Your father took the men to see the pier,” she explained.

“Oh, we should probably go say hi.” She encouraged Preston to stand with her eyes, but it was far too late as he’d taken the bait Mrs. Sinclair had placed on the table.

“No need. They should be back soon.” Just as Mrs. Nolan finished her sentence, Mike and Niall walked into the room.

“Mike!” Abigail jumped from her seat. She sighed into his warm embrace. It comforted her to know she wasn’t the only one suffering from their mother’s antics.

“Happy birthday!” Something about the way Mike cheered gave Abigail the impression he’d had more than a couple of drinks.

“Are you drunk already?” She turned to Niall. “Is he drunk already?”

Niall nodded. “Almost there.”

Abigail felt a strong presence behind her. It warmed yet chilled her body. “Niall, I don’t think you’ve met Preston.”

Niall’s eyes soared from Preston’s widow’s peak to the shine of his shoes. Her lips twitched. She loved the dilated desires of men and women who wanted her man yet would never have him. It was sadistic on her part to show them such an alluring specimen and not let them have a taste.

After the two men shook hands, she felt the need to wrap an arm around her boyfriend’s torso. Niall’s eyes went from her drumming fingers to her eyes, which she fluttered in a coquettish wink that tinted his ghostly cheeks.

She couldn’t blame Niall, no one could. Preston was a handsome man who demanded the attention of others. If she were him, she would’ve checked him out, too.

Minutes after their exchange, the foursome scurried to the kitchen where Abigail set up Mr. Grey’s bowls and litterbox.

“You were supposed to be watching Mom,” Abigail chastised Mike as she opened a can of cat food. “She’s shown everyone our baby pictures.”

“She must have done it when I stepped out.” He whispered as if withholding the biggest secret, “She’s evil, Abbs, I’m telling you.”

“That’s what I keep telling her,” Preston avowed by her side.

She waved a tuna-smeared spoon at them. “You two better be on your best behavior this weekend.”

Her words were halted by the opening of the back door.

Mr. Bennett, followed by Mr. Nolan, and Beth’s husband, Joel, entered the kitchen. They each held a glass of whiskey in their hands and were engaged in casual conversation.

“The night doesn’t do it justice,” Mr. Bennett said. “You must see it in the morning. The girls will love the water slide, Joel. Abby sure did when she was their age.”

Abigail’s heart blossomed and grew roots at the sound of her father’s voice.

Whereas Mrs. Sinclair was a no-nonsense kind of woman, Mr. Bennett was an all-nonsense kind of man. She loved her mother with all her heart and if she ever had a problem, she’d be the first person she’d go to for help. But her father was a romantic who believed love was the cure for war and hopeless diseases. She needed someone like him by her side this weekend.

She embraced him in a comforting hug, feeling safe in his arms. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Happy birthday, Abby. How’s my baby girl?”

“Not a baby anymore. She’s twenty-five and doing well.”

Wariness grew in Mr. Bennett’s eyes as he watched Preston from a distance. Although it seemed as though he was speaking to Joel, Abigail knew he keenly listened to their conversation.

“Is that the man who stole my little girl’s heart?” her father asked low in her ear, so only she heard.

He’d stolen much more than just her heart.

“That’s him.”

“Good looking fellow. Needs to ease up on the hair products, though.”

“Dad!” She hit his chest playfully. It was her father from who she had inherited her sense of humor.

Her father cleared his throat and straightened his spine as Preston walked to their side. He extended his hand to Mr. Bennett.

“Good evening, Mr. Bennett,” he greeted.

Mr. Bennett returned his firm grip. “Good evening, Preston. I expect you’re treating my daughter right.”

“I can assure you of it, Sir.”

Although she didn’t need it, Abigail appreciated her father’s attempt at intimidating Preston. He acted tough and a little gruesome as he asked him all sorts of questions about his past, present, and future. Preston accepted all his questions with sincere answers because he knew in reality, Michael Bennett was a big teddy bear who had fallen for him at the first sip of his birthday present.

Abigail shuddered at the brassy cry that came from the living room. It pierced her eardrums and strained her muscles. She turned to see Beth standing by the kitchen entrance.

“Emilee’s up,” she said to Joel, showing him the baby monitor.

Joel placed his glass in the sink. “That’s our cue to leave. Goodnight, everyone.”

And then there were nine.

The party slowly settled back in the living space where Mr. Bennett spent the rest of the night speaking to Preston and Mrs. Trice. Abigail eased Mike’s anxiety levels by conversing with the Nolans about wedding plans, though it seemed like there was nothing left to plan.

They had sent out the invitations, reserved a venue, caterer, and the tuxedos and bridesmaid’s dresses were months from being tailored. All they needed to do now was hire a band and photographer. Knowing Mike and Niall as well as Abigail did, she was sure they’d sneak in some dance lessons for the groom and groom dance. After all, Niall was an aspiring Broadway dancer and Mike basked in any attention he could receive.

The entire conversation amplified her belief as to why weddings were a waste of time.

Though Mike had adopted their father’s romanticism, Abigail had her mother’s ideals when it came to unrealistic fairytale endings.

She had no desire to feel like a princess for twenty-four hours. She didn’t want to walk down an aisle where Prince Charming awaited in a suit and armor. She’d much rather walk barefoot down a bed of hot embers to where Master Trice awaited with a collar in his hand and a leash in the other.

Mrs. Trice covered her sleep with a wrinkled hand. She placed her cup on the table and stood. Planting a kiss on her son’s forehead she said, “I’m going to retire to the bedroom. Goodnight, everyone.”

Seeing an escape route, Abigail stood. “I think it’s goodnight for us, too.”

She grabbed Preston’s hand before he got a chance to object.

The couple said their goodnights, leaving the Sinclair-Bennetts and the Nolans behind. They took the curved staircase that led to an arched entryway up to the second floor. At the end of a narrow hallway, they entered what would be their bedroom for the next two nights.

Preston’s need for cleanliness instantly kicked in as he began to unpack their bags. Although Abigail didn’t find the need, as they were only staying there for the weekend, she assisted him in the process. She unpacked some of Mr. Grey’s toys and placed his bed by the window.

Removing her clothes, she settled into the soft sheets and watched him brush his teeth. The muscles on his upper arm flexed with every motion and his bottom lip was smeared with white foam. She licked her own, wanting to taste him. He worked the ridges of his throat with a determined gargled.

A naked Abigail invited him to bed. He discarded his clothes and went to her side. Swinging an arm around her waist, he drew her back to his front. His chest felt cold against her warm skin as he leaned in close.

“I love you,” he whispered.

She turned in his arms and kissed him passionately as if never ever wanting to let go. “I love you,” she said. “Thank you for being here.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it.”

She wanted to stay up and talk about tonight, what he thought of her dad, but her body begged for sleep and her bones were too lazy to not obey. Before she drowned in sleep, she managed to wish upon a lone star that it’d always be like this between them, that no matter the circumstances they’d always go to bed together.