A shimmering sphere slowly descended through the tall buildings of the Upper East Side. The golden ball amplified as it moved across a naked blue sky. Clouds parted ways, afraid of the torrid torch. As it dove over the horizon an explosion of watercolors dotted the once empty sky.
A golden arrow cast onto Abigail’s cheek.
She grasped the railing and leaned in closer to its dwindling warmth. Her eyes closed as she inhaled the smell of winter flurries slowly melting into spring. She welcomed the twilight breeze with gusto as it swiftly brushed her chocolate strands behind her ear.
This time alone with New York she enjoyed, and so she settled on the outdoor sectional decorating Preston’s balcony and watched as the city once again, attempted a full repose.
Buildings awoke, no longer tainted by darkness. Traffic lights continued their flickering colors. Angered taxi drivers upped their honks as pedestrians cluttered the streets, desperately trying to get home. Tourists were the only ones who stood still, captivated by the City of Lights.
From an early age, Abigail learned to hear her thoughts through the hustle and bustle of the city. To most, the energetic noise of New York was a distraction. To her it was serenity. It allowed her mind to swing to yesterday’s unexpected occurrence. The determiner more being her main focus.
“I want us to be more than what we are right now.”
Preston’s words were an inexorable mantra in her mind. They resided in her dreams, her thoughts, her actions. Nothing she’d done since she’d woken up had been without those words behind her.
Abigail had given Preston every part of herself. He had her, through and through, and that in itself hadn’t been an easy task.
What else did he want?
What did he need?
She wondered where Preston’s mind had been when he’d asked for more.
Had it been on marriage and kids just like Lauren’s? Or had his mind been on collaring her?
One excited her. Gave her the strength to run back to Preston and tell him just how much she loved him.
The other terrified her. She didn’t think she’d ever be ready for that. And if this was his deepest desire, if this was what loving him meant, she feared she’d never love him enough.
“What’s on your mind?” Preston’s enchanting voice brought her out of her convoluted thoughts.
She was thankful for it, and so she welcomed his intrusion.
“Thinking,” she said as a smile grazed her lips.
He looked handsome in his navy-blue sweater and dark jeans. His freshly washed hair curled at the ends. She wanted to run her fingers through it and pull it like she’d done this morning when they’d kissed after breakfast. But she valued her safety more than she did her desires, occasionally anyway, so she stayed put and waited for him to walk to her.
As he positioned himself next to her, she wondered how in the world had she become worthy of sitting next to a Greek God.
“Hmm, it’s never good when a woman starts to think,” he joked. “Do you mind sharing your thoughts?”
“I do. Thanks for asking.” She stared off into the distance, at the spotless edifices iridescently sparkling with the glow of commercialized billboards, knowing Master Trice was soon to emerge.
He turned to her.
His playfulness gone.
“You mistook my statement for a question.”
His ability to change from Preston to Master Trice within a matter of seconds frightened her.
Something inside her stirred at the thought of losing this—him, because of her selfishness.
She gave a deep sigh.
“If you must know, I was thinking of yesterday.” She shrugged.
He shifted in his seat. “So, tell me, why did you use your safeword?”
“Well, I wasn’t thinking of that specific part of yesterday’s occurrences.”
“Well,” he mocked. “That’s exactly what I was thinking of.”
“Preston…”
“Proceed, Abigail.”
“I rather not.”
“I’d rather you did.” She stayed quiet, hopelessly hoping he’d let this go. “As your dominant, I need to know what I did that caused you to use your safeword. I need to ensure you whatever it was I did, will not happen again.”
“The safeword…it was nothing you did.”
His eyebrows wrinkled. “It wasn’t because I let you go?”
She shook her head and remembered he wasn’t appreciative of silent replies.
She articulated, “Maybe. I’m not sure. So much was going on. It didn’t allow for my brain to process everything at once.”
“Maybe? You’re not sure?” He was getting irritated with her faint answers.
“I’m not sure, Preston. One minute you and I are connecting in a way we never had, and the next Lauren shows up and you not only dismiss me but release yourself of that connection. And then you said those words…”
“I didn’t dismiss you. I tried, Abigail. I tried to take care of you, but I didn’t know how. I didn’t know where to start or what you needed. When I asked for your help you used your safeword.”
Abigail stood and paced along the perimeter of the balcony. She needed the warmth of the sun and the blanket of the wind, not the assault of Preston’s words.
This was not the conversation she expected to have this evening. Although it needed to be had, her mind was stuck on the words more and love.
The use of her safeword had nothing to do with how Abigail felt about Preston. However, his use of the word love had everything to do with how he felt about her. The love word was a more pressing matter than a safeword only used to protect another’s feelings.
She turned to him, ready to ask for a timeout but then read the emotion behind his eyes.
With the sun beaming lightly upon him, his chocolate eyes sparkled hazel. They overflowed with unanswered questions. And if she stared long enough, she’d catch a glisten of worry.
“I felt alone,” she started. “I felt confused. You were talking so fast, saying so many things I wasn’t ready to hear. And you said it all in front of Lauren. I didn’t want her to hurt more than she was already hurting watching you love me when it should’ve been her.” Abigail swallowed a cry. “She should be here right now, not me.”
He stood and walked to her. His hand caressed her cheek, catching the tear that had escaped.
“What Lauren and I had was different from what you and I have. I never loved her. It was never my intention to make her fall for me. If she did, then that’s on her.”
“But it isn’t, Preston. It is not on her. You have no idea how hard it is not to fall in love with you. I fight with myself every day not to give you everything. Not to give you more. But I am so scared.”
“Why are you afraid?” He swept a strand of hair behind her ear. “Stop fighting. I will never ask for more than what I know you can give me. You’ve trusted me with your body. Now I am asking you to trust me with your heart.”
As she leaned into his touch, she realized she didn’t need the warmth of the sun. Or the blanket of the wind. Nor did she need the protection offered from the distance. All she needed was the man who stood in front of her. The one whose commands made her stomach summersault. The one who owned not just her body but her heart.
“I trust you,” she accepted his promise fearlessly.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked, scrutinizing her outfit. Her gray sneakers touched at the toes as she followed his gaze self-consciously.
His brown eyes scanned her camo leggings and oversized t-shirt, lingering a little too long on her unlined bra.
“Grab a sweater,” he judged.
“Yes, Sir.”
* * *
Ambrosia attracted the evening crowd with a classic laïkó that depicted the diverse cultures of a modern Greece. Hydrangeas poured from mustard planters, daring to touch the sidewalk that vibrated with onlookers. Mediterranean blue tables decorated the cobblestone sidewalk with Greek key tablecloths.
Inside, the taverna overflowed with the loud chatters of customers. A large gallery of the most exclusive islands of the Mediterranean Sea hung on white paneling. Enamored by the scenery, Abigail missed Preston’s conversation with the maître d’ and the blonde woman who appeared from behind the kitchen.
It was when Preston’s name was said with a thick accent, that Abigail tuned in attention.
A ray of sunshine painted Preston’s face as he willingly went into the woman’s outstretched arms. A string of Greek soon followed their warm embrace. His voice went an octave higher than ever before, and his usual commanding posture changed to a much more relaxed one. Their exchange became passionate and demonstrative with hand gestures and laughter. If for a moment, Abigail wondered if the two were arguing, but the smiles on their faces told otherwise.
A Greek God through and through, she thought as her panties turned to mush the more he spoke to the blonde. As her mind slipped to sinful thoughts, their attention turned to her.
“Irina this is Abigail,” Preston introduced.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” she said.
Irina kissed both of Abigail’s cheeks. “Good to meet you, too. Come with me. I take you to a hush place.”
The woman guided them through a hallway at the end of the restaurant that opened to a quaint patio. On the cobblestone stood a wooden pergola intertwined with green leaves and twinkling lights. Below it was a squared table with two chairs and planters of pink and red hydrangeas.
“Wow,” Abigail said in awe.
“Sit, sit,” Irina rushed.
“Ladies first,” Preston said all chivalrously and fake. Abigail rolled her eyes when he pulled the chair for her.
“Sakis!” Soon after Irina’s shout, a young man came running out of the taverna with a bottle of chilled wine. He filled their glasses with the amber liquid and rushed back inside, almost tripping on his feet.
Preston and Irina chuckled. “I train him. The usual for you and the lady?” she asked.
Preston nodded.
Irina went on her way, leaving behind the sound of music and twinkling lights.
“You speak Greek,” Abigail stated as she reached for her glass. The sweet taste danced on her tongue before going down her throat.
He too reached for his glass. “So do you. If you speak English, you’re speaking some sort of Greek.”
She huffed, highly doubting what he’d said. “I didn’t understand a thing you said to her.”
He leaned forward. His elbows touched the tablecloth and his eyes glistened with mischief. “I’ll have to teach you.”
Her mind instantly flew down the gutter. Images of her in a schoolgirl’s uniform. Of Preston wearing his usual suit, except this time he replaced his briefcase with a ruler. Suddenly, the breezy night turned summer hot.
“I’ll be sure to misbehave.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
They exchanged a knowing smile.
“Trice isn’t Greek, is it?”
“No. I believe it’s English. It’s my mother’s maiden name.”
“Is your mom a feminist?” she asked, curious to know why he held his mother’s last name and not his father’s.
He shrugged. “It wasn’t a matter of equality. She’s the only child. My grandfather wanted to keep the Trice name alive, so when my father, a poor immigrant, asked for his daughter’s hand, he agreed as long as they used the Trice last name if they ever had a boy.”
“I bet it wasn’t that easy.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“What was your father’s last name?”
“Dimitriou.”
“Preston Dimitriou.” She allowed the words to roll on her tongue. “Has a nice ring to it. Have you ever thought of changing it?”
“No,” his answer was short, almost as if he didn’t want to talk about this any longer than necessary to be talked about. He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “It was only his name he gave up, not his son. Dimitriou is my middle name, so he still managed to put it in there.”
“Willful like his son.”
“Excuse me, Ma’am, would you like more wine?” Sakis asked, startling her. “Oh, I am sorry, Ma’am.”
“No, no, it’s okay,” she tried to appease him. “I would love more wine.”
As he poured the wine, his hand began to rattle. Abigail held her breath until the wine was safely standing upright on his arm.
“Is it your first day?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“I think you’re rocking it, Sakis.” He gave her a shy smile that tinted his light cheeks. “Your food will be out soon.” Then he disappeared, rushing back into the restaurant as fast as he’d come out.
From the distance, she caught as Sakis picked up a tray of food and swung it up above his head. She was sure he’d have the crowd shouting Opa! any minute.
A sigh of relief left her lips when he made it safely to the customer’s table.
“Sakis, do you find him attractive?”
“Excuse me?”
“I see the way you look at him. Is it not one of your fantasies to be fucked in every hole at the same time?”
She looked around her, thankful no ears were in sight. “Yes, it is.”
“Tell me more about this fantasy of yours.”
“Now?”
He shrugged. “I don’t see why not. There’s no one around. No one will hear your rotten mind.”
Her fingers rested on her lap, interlacing with one another. It’d been months since she first wrote her fantasy on a piece of paper for Master Trice to read. She’d been raunchy in her response, writing the words with the intent to provoke him.
“Am I still allowed to be with other men?” she asked, her voice low.
“Why wouldn’t you be?”
“I thought with you wanting more and saying—”
He interrupted her. “Other than my feelings toward you, nothing has changed.”
Abigail was satisfied with his response. The uncertainty of their sex life possibly changing because of his declaration was a mass of fear holding her back from confessing her own feelings toward him.
Now she knew Master Trice remained, she found herself capable of letting go.
“Are—are you fucking other women?”
He looked her straight in the eye as he said, “The only other woman I have fucked since I’ve been with you has been Lauren. Now she’s gone.”
She swallowed air, not knowing what to reply but pleased with his answer.
