So much could be discovered about a person with a simple glance at their driver’s license. Their full name, height, weight, address.
Everything Preston needed to know about Jane Doe was in a two by three plastic card.
He didn’t feel an iota of remorse for demanding Ashton to lure her into the bar and make her comfortable enough she handed him her license without many queries. He needed to know who this woman was. Now he finally did.
“Abigail Bennett,” Preston said aloud, letting the name roll off the tip of his tongue. Enjoying the taste of her name on his lips. Hating the way his cock stirred under his trousers.
Jesus, he wasn’t a teenager.
He’d been with numerous women in his thirty-four years. He’d fucked models and actresses. He’d fucked women of all races and cultural backgrounds. They were all the same— tits, pussy, ass.
Nothing more. Nothing less. Nothing special.
So why did all the blood in his body rush to his cock when he thought of this woman? Why did it stand proud as if she owned it?
He stared at the small picture that hinted at the color of her eyes and hair.
She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. The bangs that covered her forehead made her look younger than twenty-four. The smile that grazed her full lips made her gray eyes wrinkle in the most innocent way.
It wasn’t often Preston was taken aback by a woman’s physical appearance. He was overly cautious of sirens and didn’t let them rule his business or sexual affairs. Yet that was exactly what Abigail Bennett was doing. She’d come into his business as if she owned it and his body was subconsciously reacting to hers.
He hated it, and he wanted to slap that smile off her jovial face.
A knock brought his attention to the door. It wasn’t a knock he knew, which only meant one thing. Scrubbing his face with his hands, he quickly pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the driver’s license before handing it back to Ashton.
“Not a word about this to anyone. Make sure Joe keeps an eye on her.”
“Yes, Sir,” answered Ashton like the good little boy he was. He opened the door to leave and in came Elliott dressed in black slacks and a button-down shirt.
Preston stared in disbelief as the blonde walked into his office as if he owned it.
He made his way to the liquor cabinet Preston kept on the far left of the room and poured himself a considerable amount. With the drink in hand, Elliott plopped into the leather chair opposite Preston’s desk and propped his ankles on the mahogany.
Preston gaped at his friend who was more like a brother.
The brother he never wished to have.
Elliott James and Preston Trice had known each other for as long as they both could remember. They grew up together as siblings after their mothers made a futile pact to get pregnant at the same time so their children would become best friends just like them.
It was a stupid plan concocted by two dimwitted women. As expected, said plan didn’t turn out well. Not where Preston was concerned.
Elliott was like a nightmare he couldn’t stop seeing. He was everything Preston wasn’t. Polar opposites. Where Preston was tall with dark features, Elliott was short with blonde hair and light eyes. He was also the most annoying man he’d ever met. At thirty-four, Elliott didn’t have a job, living off his parents’ fortune like the spoiled brat he was.
Preston angrily swatted Elliott’s feet from his desk. Startled, Elliott’s drink toppled in his hand almost landing on his white shirt. Preston suppressed a chuckle.
“Dude!” Elliott shouted in astonishment.
“What the fuck are you doing here? I’m surprised you were polite enough to knock before barging into my office like it’s your fucking penthouse on the Upper East Side.”
Elliott wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I saw that little white boy of yours come inside and thought maybe you were doing something naughty.” He said the word naughty with a hideous English accent that made Preston want to laugh at how stupid his best friend was.
Preston scoffed, taking the glass from his hand, and swallowing the liquid inside.
“Man, was the blowjob that bad? Maybe try to have a heart-to-heart next time.”
“Get the fuck out, Ellie.”
Like any brother-brother relationship, they loved to push each other’s buttons. While Preston’s mother thought he would never find a partner, Elliott’s had given her son the girliest nickname that made him the laughingstock of their high school basketball team.
Just like their mothers, they had an agreement that consisted of Preston never calling him Ellie, and Elliott never bringing up the fact Mrs. Trice thought her son was aromantic.
Like an idiot, Elliott always seemed to forget about their pact, infuriating Preston more than he already was. Or did he remember and did it to spite him? Had he forgotten his best friend was a sadist?
“What’s gotten into your ass?” There went another snarky comment that made Preston want to tie Elliott to a Slave Driver and watch as the sex machine fucked him hard in the ass, except he’d enjoy that far too much. The man had no limits.
“Nothing.” He let out a breath, trying to calm the emotions he swore he didn’t own. It wasn’t good when Preston was this tense, especially on a night like tonight. On a night where anything and everything went.
“Something’s clearly wrong. Spill it, dude.”
Elliott was of the few who knew the sadistic side of Preston and above all his flaws, one thing he admired most about his friend was his loyalty.
They’d been together their entire lives. They lived two blocks from each other and went to the same schools through college.
It was impossible for Preston to keep anything to himself with such a nosy roommate. But when Preston confessed his kinks, Elliott didn’t judge him. Instead, he helped him create the most luxurious BDSM club in New York City.
Elliott was a walking, breathing, living nightmare that didn’t go away, but he was Preston’s nightmare and although he’d never admit it, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.
They were brothers through and through. They’d both deny it to anyone who’d ask, but that wouldn’t change the fact.
“It’s this—”
The front door opened, landing with such a loud bang against the wall that it riddled the liquor cabinet.
“Master,” Lauren purred, she was smart enough not to make eye contact. Her blonde hair was pulled back into two braided pigtails. “The time has come.”
What the hell was going on? His invasive friend for once knocked and his slave barged into his office like the queen she wasn’t?
He could feel a migraine jabbing his left eye. “Do you think I don’t know that?”
Master Trice snapped his finger.
Goosebumps erupted throughout Lauren’s body going from her toes all the way to her shoulders as she walked to him. “I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t—”
He yanked her hair hard, bringing her face centimeters from his. She stumbled on the tips of her toes in a way that made her knees buckle. But she held her ground, knowing if she moved without consent things were going to get worse.
Elliott’s obnoxious guffaw could be heard by any passerby who dared walk by Master Trice’s hall. Preston ignored his friend—he was good at that—and pierced deeply into Lauren’s eyes.
“On your knees.”
She complied in a second, working her jaw to adjust to his size. She unzipped him, taking out his semi-erect cock. As she worked him up and down with a flick of her warm tongue, his eyes landed on his computer screen.
He couldn’t help but become fully erect at the sight of Abigail Bennett walking his establishment in a set of lace panties and bra. Her eyes shone with fear and darkened with desire at the scenes playing before her. A pink tongue peeked to lick her full lips.
Master Trice closed his eyes and thrust deeply into Abigail’s mouth, enjoying the hotness of her tongue as it wrapped around the head of his cock.
Fear was a complex emotion. It overpowered thoughts, senses. It took control of lives. It either forbade you from doing or pushed you to do.
It was the vulnerability in a woman’s eyes that made Preston turn his switch. The fear that reflected in his slaves’ eyes as he promised to hurt and draw blood. That fear, that no one could ever put into words, pushed him over the edge. He found that fear in Abigail Bennett’s gray eyes.
With a soft groan that shook his body, he filled her mouth with his cum.
It was utterly disappointing to open his eyes to Lauren on her knees instead of Abigail.
Wasting no time, he zipped his pants and pushed her aside. Lauren landed on her ass as his orgasm hung on the side of her mouth.
“Can I have her now?” Elliott asked, desire dripped off his lips.
He looked at his slave with disgust and said, “Crawl. You better make it good for him or else.” And when Master Trice said or else, he didn’t mean it as a threat. It was a jurisdiction.
Lauren nodded and crawled to where Elliott was sitting.
Master Trice loved to share his slaves, but this time he didn’t stay to watch. He was tired of watching and was ready to act. The darkness inside him rose. It spewed like vapor out of a kettle’s nose as the beast he’d failed to domesticate ruggedly tugged at the cuffs and howled at the full moon.
He walked to the elevator with one purpose in mind.
Master Trice had too many blondes in his life, it was time to rectify that.
