Collared (Masters of Desires)

Preston Trice wasn’t the type of man who fell head over heels for a woman.

He’d hurt her.

He’d fuck her.

He never did roses, let alone romance.

He didn’t date.

He didn’t go to family gatherings unless his mother badgered him. And badger him Mrs. Trice did.

Could anyone blame her?

Preston was her only son and she loved him deeply. He reminded her of her late husband, Mr. Dimitriou. They had the same statue—a moping 6’3 to their frames. Black hair and eyes as dark as the terrain on a wet day. No one had ever denied their resemblance as father and son.

Maybe that’s why Mrs. Trice meddled so much in his personal life. She thought she could persuade her son as easily as she’d done her husband.

As Preston stared at the woman on his computer screen something within him stirred. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew what it wasn’t.

It wasn’t love.

Such thing was a rarity in his world. Love wasn’t a feeling as much as a word overly used to express gratitude. Love was a ploy for jewelry stores to extort their customers.

Oh, no. Preston didn’t feel love for the woman who obtrusively stood outside his establishment. Although he couldn’t deny her beauty, he didn’t feel absolute lust.

He adjusted the camera and switched to another angle.

Jane Doe was an amateur. Of that he was certain.

Her black pants were amiss in a place of leather and nudity. The way she styled her hair to rest behind her back instead of braids gave her away. The one thing she got right was her Louboutins.

What the fuck was this woman doing here?

Preston fisted his hand as his nostrils grew with every staggered breath. How could members throw his name around like dollar bills at a strip club? No one knew of this place. He made sure of it. Members knew of the club by word of mouth only and there was no way a girl like this knew a tenant of this lifestyle.

For a mischievous second, Preston thought of what it would be like to own her. Punish her for her obtrusiveness. He’d snake her hair around his wrist while she bowed her knees and sucked him off. He enjoyed the image of his cum on her plump lips, dripping onto her chest as her eyes watered from choking on his girth.

He was already thinking of her naked, of the many ways he could fill her, and the lullabies her screams would create.

The woman, he came to find out, elicited the sadist in him to stand proud and hunt like a starved lion.

Those who didn’t know Preston called him a chauvinistic asshole. A bigot who loved to suppress women, and they wouldn’t be wrong, for the most part. Preston never claimed to be anything less, or anything more.

But those who knew him knew he admired women. He had a mother for goodness’ sake and a sister who gave him three beautiful nieces. He respected women, much more the ones that willingly came to him for pain. He never did anything that wasn’t consensual. He never did anything unless they begged.

Oh, Lord did they beg.

Would Jane Doe cry if he scared her? If he pushed her against the brick wall and kissed a blade to her throat, how sweet would her tears taste? Would she beg for him to stop or keep going?

The image made his cock swell through his trousers. He gripped it harshly. Years ago, that grip would have been met with disgust, but today it was met with acceptance.

There was a time when he’d hated being the way he was. He’d hated how the thought of tears made him hard. He despised the color crimson because it made him come, especially when it came from living flesh. Most of all, he’d hated how degrading others aroused him.

Not today.

He’d come to accept his urges and had given the middle finger to the world years ago. He’d finally accepted himself because if he didn’t, who the fuck would?

The woman looked at the card again as if making sure she’d gotten the address right. To an outsider, the black card looked like a small piece of construction paper. If someone were to see it, they wouldn’t mind much about it and throw it away. No one could blame them. The card was practically empty.

But for the few that knew about this place, the card said more than enough.

She blew out a shaken breath, making smoke clouds out of the night’s air. She was trembling and it wasn’t just from the cold.

Preston smiled.

She was already pleasing him, and she hadn’t a clue.

Willing his tendencies to die down, he poured himself a glass of scotch. He wouldn’t be able to contain himself if she decided to step inside. Mentally asking her to turn around and save herself, he swallowed the timber.

The liquid lingered in the middle of his tongue. He swiveled it around like mouthwash before throwing it back. It tickled his throat in a sweet way that was addicting. He could only compare the sensation to how he felt about her.

As the brunette took another step toward the iron doors, Preston promised himself he’d train her like the good little bitch she was. He’d reward her like any good owner. And if she ever disobeyed him…may the Lord have mercy upon his soul.