ABIGAIL BENNETT LOVED THREE things.
Her family, which now included her one and only husband and Master. It had been a “buy one, get one free” deal she couldn’t have passed out on. The question still remained on who she’d bought and who she’d gotten for free.
Her collar, that clasped around her neck like a branding iron, telling all she was owned and who she belonged to. And just in case she’d go missing in the island of Santorini, Preston had stitched his name and phone number on the inside leather of the collar.
And she loved the humiliation of walking around the small village of Oia on a leash held by her Master. Add that to the arousal of the collar on her neck and Abigail was a walking swollen clitoris. All she needed was a tentative touch, a smooth caress, a kiss on the lips and she’d explode into glittering pieces.
Three days they had spent in the picturesque island that held white houses and sky-blue domes along the hillside of cliffs. The ocean was a reflection of the azure sky. In the morning it was as blue as blue could be and at night it reflected the Milky Way.
Greece hadn’t disappointed, not since day one. It was a photographer’s paradise. An artist’s muse. Abigail had snapped her fair share of pictures when her Master wasn’t looking because she wanted to remember this moment forever.
Preston wasn’t a fan of pictures. He always said he looked better in person. Abigail couldn’t agree more. A picture of her husband was nothing but a big tease. A tangible Preston Trice was something worth experiencing, worth touching. Certainly worth fucking.
The streets didn’t only overflow with pedestrians, but horses and donkeys, too. It was a sight to behold and capture for the rest of her existence. A horse wouldn’t be caught dead in New York, much less a donkey.
The couple spent their days making a pilgrimage around the island doing touristy things and the nights fucking like sex-deprived animals in the house Preston had designed and built himself.
The extravagant home was at the top of a hill with panoramic views of the Aegean Sea and an infinity pool she’d begged her husband to fuck her in since their wedding night, but his sadist self hadn’t listened.
However, today was their last day on the island before flying to Athens to meet the mythological Gods of Greece. She still had some time to get him to fuck her in that pool with the possibility of someone catching them on the act.
Now she was more than his Angel, more than his whore. She was his wife under God’s eyes and under the United States law. He’d do best to please her.
Preston tugged on the leash once more. Abigail all but fell on the narrow streets. Tourists gawked at what the couple was doing, at the way that in today’s society a man was walking a woman around on a leash. They’d be appalled if they spent a minute inside their bedroom.
She lived for the exhibitionism. For the course of adrenaline mixed with humiliation that ran through her veins. The villagers weren’t as impressed by Preston’s mannerisms. They merely whispered.
Having reached their destination, Preston ordered Abigail to sit, snapping his fingers and pointing to a spot on the floor. The same fingers that had been inside her this morning. The same fingers that had brought her to orgasm even when he said she couldn’t come.
Without question, Abigail took a seat at the top of the highest cliffside she’d ever been to. Below her was the ocean and gigantic ships that sailed the Mediterranean Sea. With a josh push, she’d fall into the water. Let’s hope she didn’t do anything to upset her Master.
He sat next to her and wrapped an arm around her waist possessively. There was something about marrying her, collaring her, and leashing her that had made him overly possessive. For every man that turned his eyes on her, she’d earn a caning.
Of course a woman parading around on a leash drew no attention.
None what so ever.
Her ass was sore and so was her pussy, but she’d take that over all the exercise in the world. With all the sex they had been having she was sure she’d lost ten pounds. It was impossible for her heart not to pump faster when she was at the mercy of her Master’s wrath. And a dominating look from his brown eyes made her skin sweat.
As the two sat in silence at the top of the hill, Abigail thought about what their lives would be like after the honeymoon was over. A thought she hated thinking, but an important one nonetheless.
She loved being married, to Preston that was. It was a statement she never imagined she’d ever say because she never thought she’d find her other half.
Waking up beside her husband every day was pure perfection. His eyes were always hooded and his hair was a mess she loved to tame. He was always ready to have her and she accepted him with parted thighs and a lubricated pussy.
“So, I’ve been thinking,” she started.
“You want me to move in with you.” He knew her too well.
“Hear me out, okay? Yes, my house is smaller than yours, but it’s closer to both our jobs and I don’t have to ride eighty something floors to get to my bed. The woman that lives next to me is leaving and we can buy her house and turn it into a larger ho—”
Preston removed a gag from the inside pocket of his shorts and wrapped it around the back of her head. Did he really walk around with a gag in his pocket? Abigail wondered what other toys he had hidden in there. A pocketknife, perhaps?
He kissed her forehead and brushed her bangs.
“Your mouth was made solely to please me, not to speak out of turn. And because of that, you’ve given me more than enough reasons as to why you are moving into my apartment. I’ll be nice and share them with you. One, it’s secured. Two, it has parking space. Three, it isn’t as nosy as your house. Four, there’s more than one bathroom and more than one bedroom. Lastly, it has our playroom.”
Abigail knew what he meant by “secured.” It meant he had cameras, which of course she didn’t have in her house. Who the hell had cameras inside their own house? His reasons were logical and made more than a little sense, though.
She tried to speak but her words came out muffled. Saliva was pooling on the roof of her mouth and spilling from her lips down to her chin.
“Uh-uh. I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘Yes, Master Trice’ or ‘Yes, Husband’ either would suffice. When you’re ready to say them, I’ll remove the gag.”
With a swipe of his tongue, he licked her chin, swallowing her saliva into his mouth. He hummed at the sweet taste of loukoumades.
“Everyone’s looking at you,” he whispered in her ear. “You’re drawing eyes, whore. Are you ready to speak or would you like to add thirty more canings to the seventy you already have?”
She shook her head and begged for permission to speak.
“Fine. We’ll add forty. Now stop. You’re wetting yourself.”
He wasn’t lying. Her arousal was so intense the thin fabric of the dress she wore had a large stain between her thighs. A lot was due to the fact he’d forbidden any undergarments on the honeymoon. In fact, he hadn’t packed any for her or himself.
She rested her forehead on the hollow of his neck and silently watched the setting sun. He sighed. She felt him relax in that one breath but she knew it’d only last for a minute before he shrugged her off like lint on his expensive shirt.
Santorini was notorious for its ethereal sunsets. It was an evening ritual on the island to watch the sun retire for the night and watch the moon emerge in the East as it took over as watcher of the night.
The blazing sun dotted the sky crimson, casting an ominous shadow over Preston. She was drooling like a starved dog and it had more to do with the man sitting by her side than the gag in her mouth.
This man, this six-foot-four Greek God of a man was hers for eternity. She couldn’t have won a better lottery prize.
Sensing an audience, the Greek God turned his brown eyes to his Goddess. He unclasped the gag and sucked the ball into his mouth before placing it back into his pocket.
He leaned closer to her and whispered in her ear, “There’s a man at the bar who hasn’t kept his eyes from you. Ask me what I see in them, Abigail.”
“What do you see in the man’s eyes, Master Trice?” she asked breathlessly.
“Lust.” Preston placed a strand of chocolate brown behind her ear. “I want you to walk over to the bar and get him to buy you a drink. You earn extra beatings if he gets a hard-on.”
She narrowed her eyes and shifted her neck to the side. “Are you mind-fucking me right now?”
“That depends, are you close to coming?” He inserted a finger inside her. Her head rolled back as she moaned a yes. Unhooking the leash, Preston told her to be herself.
“Go, be a whore,” he said.
Although her seductive skills were a little dusty, she knew enough from her early twenties hook-ups that men didn’t like to be used—yet they had no problem using women—which was why Abigail loved to play this game. She grabbed the glass in Preston’s hand and drank half of the water.
Her smile was impish as she walked to the bar with a certain sway to her hips. The fabric of her dress was see-through, showing the roundness of her breasts and her perked nipples.
The man in question was easy to find. He devoured Abigail with lecherous eyes behind a glass of beer.
She made a fool out of herself at her attempt to speak Greek. Thank the Lord Preston wasn’t near earshot, otherwise, she would have earned twenty spankings for speaking nonsense.
The man laughed, displaying a dimple on his left cheek and straight pearly whites.
“I’m not a local and I have no idea what you just said.”
“Phew! Good because I have no idea what I said, either.” She took a sip of her glass. “Is this seat taken?”
“Please,” he said with a British accent, gesturing to the stool next to his.
She tilted her chin and raised her grey eyes to his baby-blues in a sultry glance.
“What brings you to Greece?”
“Pleasure. Definitely pleasure,” Abigail said as she twirled the water in the glass and finished her drink.
He chuckled, thinking he’d get lucky tonight. “Can I buy you another drink?”
“I’d love a cosmopolitan.”
As the blonde ordered her drink, she looked at where she had been sitting with Preston a few minutes ago but didn’t find him there. She began to panic. She was in a country where she didn’t speak the native language and now she was all alone.
Abigail was ready to run and shout for help when the empty seat next to hers filled. Her heart settled in her chest as she turned to meet Preston. He ignored her presence as he asked the bartender for another glass of water.
To say she was pleased with the way he was taking care of himself was an accurate statement. He hadn’t gotten a migraine so far. A vacation was the serene peace he needed to pause his brain of work.
“So, what’s your name?”
She shook her head and brought her attention back to Blondie Dimples.
“Abigail, although some call me Angel.”
Her husband’s large hand cautiously rested on her thigh.
“You’re in trouble,” his grip said.
Preston gripped her upper thigh so firmly, she whimpered in her chair. The bar top allowed privacy for no one to see but for Abigail to feel as his long fingers entered her slowly.
“Angel,” Blondie Dimples repeated, testing the words he’d groan into her ear tonight as he came. The name didn’t have an iota of the effect it had on Abigail when Preston said it. “I like it.”
“Tha-thank you.” She coughed, pushing Preston’s hand aside, which only resulted in him pushing another finger inside her. She held onto the bar top as her eyes rolled behind her head.
“Where are you from?”
It baffled her how Preston could be so calm and collected while he fingered her in an open bar, especially while she held a conversation with a man who couldn’t stop staring at her breasts.
Blondie Dimples spoke but Abigail didn’t listen.
She shifted her body so that she was straddling Preston’s hand and began to ride his fingers as discreetly as one could when they were on the brink of orgasming. His fingers plunged inside her while she rocked her hips, sinking his three fingers further into her and finding the right kind of friction she needed to come.
“Uh, Angel, are you okay?” Blondie Dimples asked, his voice tinted with awe.
Was she really coming in front of a stranger right now? Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last, either.
Abigail clutched the man’s knee as an electric orgasm soared through her. She closed her eyes and came hard and fast and low, biting her bottom lip so savagely she drew blood.
Preston quickly removed his fingers and left the bar, but not before sucking them into his mouth with a job well done. His mission for the night was accomplished, too.
Although he’d unleashed her, although she might not always wear the collar around her neck, it was he who she belonged to. He’d always find a way to remind her of that fact.
“Holy shit! Did you just...”
“Yes. I just...” She breathed. “Cosmos do that to me sometimes.”
Blondie Dimples cleared his throat and leaned his elbow on the bar top, caging her with beer breath and giving her a one-woman show of his erection.
“I have an excellent bottle of vodka in my hotel room, if you’re up for another drink.”
Woah, she did not see that coming. How far was she expected to keep on with this game? She didn’t have an answer to that, but she knew her ass didn’t need any more welts.
Just as Abigail was about to decline Blondie Dimples’ offer, she heard the voice of Preston and his heavy steps behind her. He got in the man’s face and started speaking Greek.
He was so loud she was sure he drew eyes from all directions. But her eyes were on her husband and only on his. He looked dangerous and sexy and dangerous, did she mention sexy? His face turned a little pink as he stood taller than ever before and kept on shouting with his hands moving every which way they pleased.
She knew not a single word that came out of his mouth, but she was sure he cursed the living hell out Blondie Dimples who had no idea what to say or how to react.
“I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Blondie Dimples said.
Abigail’s cheeks turned red with humiliation as she mouthed an “I’m sorry” to the man and pointed to her collar. Preston hooked the leash on the round ring in her collar and pushed forward on quick feet.
As they walked down the narrow streets that led to their house, he pushed her up against a wall and kissed her fervently. He tasted like danger and sex and lust and possession. His tongue licked her bottom lip, parting her mouth as he did her thighs.
“It turns you on when other men want me,” she breathed the words through her nose.
“It does.” Preston loved to tease others; show them what they desired most and never ever let them have it. It was the cruelest trick in the book. One he loved using. “I think it’s time I remind you who you belong to.”
“I don’t need a reminder. It’s you who I belong to.”
“Names. I need names. Who do you belong to?”
“Preston Trice. I belong to Preston Trice.” She caught his chin and brought his eyes to hers. They were wild, as dark and narrow as the street they were in. “And you? Who do you belong to?”