Preston’s finger hovered over the computer mouse as his eyes keenly examined the screen.
An overwhelming abundance of attractive men of all races, ethnicities, and ages filled the screen. He filtered the group by location, bringing his total down to a couple hundred. The hundred decreased by the tens as he filtered it once more by interest.
The potential candidates stared back at him with their promising smiles and toned bodies. Preston didn’t let their physical appearance deter him from his ulterior motive.
He had a goal set in mind, and he was going to make sure it was achieved by the end of the night. The sooner he achieved it, the sooner Abigail’s desires would be met and neatly tucked away.
He itched for the day when her only desire was to be collared by Master Trice and fully loved by Preston. However, he understood certain fulfillments needed to be met before the ceremonies took place.
Like Abigail, he too had fantasies that consisted of threesomes and orgies. He’d gotten them all out of his system in his twenties and early thirties, all but one. Now it was her turn, and if her desire was to be fucked by three men while Preston watched then so be it.
Although many thought differently, her wish was ultimately his command. Her desires would not go unheeded under his domination.
One last thorough search was all it took to narrow the list down to a handful of participants.
He sent each an email requesting their most recent criminal and medical records, including their STD results and a non-disclosure agreement to be read and signed as soon as possible. Strangers need not know of the salacious fantasies hidden behind Preston Trice and Abigail Bennett’s bedroom door.
Releasing an exhausting sigh, Preston rubbed his forehead, feeling an all too familiar throb behind his left eye. His thumbs drew circles on either side of his temples just as Abigail had taught him.
Ready to shut his computer and head straight to bed, where his slave awaited in peaceful repose, a notification on his alarm system halted the alluring promise of a good night’s sleep.
MOTION IN THE PARKING LOT
He opened the notification to a live recording of Elliott getting out of his car. His unsteady pace followed him to the elevator as he pushed a button that would take him straight to Preston’s home.
This was just what he needed. Yet another headache, another nuisance preventing direct access to a much-needed sleep.
With a hurried tap on the floor, Preston waited for Elliott to ride up the elevator.
The pleasure of seeing his friend’s face as he hit the basement button was too amusing for him to miss.
He didn’t know what Elliott was doing in his home, much less how he’d gotten the code for his apartment.
Preston rolled his eyes. It must have been his mother.
The woman had no filter. She was told not to say anything, and she heard, “Feel free to tell everyone.”
Not only did Aunt Sam, Elliott’s mother, know about Abigail, but so did Yiayia and she was all the way in Greece.
She hadn’t stopped calling since the day Mother met Abigail, asking the most intrusive questions. Preston had swallowed the need to hang up on her, reminding himself she was miles away and, as every Yiayia, she knew best for his life. And so, he stayed on the phone, for hours on end, just as she’d done when he was a little boy and begged for mythological stories.
By the end of their conversation, Preston had agreed to take Abigail to Greece for the women to meet. He hadn’t known how it happened, or how he’d make such a thing happen. All he knew was if he didn’t keep his word, he’d hear about it until her death, and likely after it, too.
The bright red number above the elevator read eighty-six.
Preston counted down the seconds until the doors opened.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
“Jesus,” Preston said as the pungent scent of alcohol greeted him before his friend did.
Elliott laid on the elevator floor. His tie was loose around the nape. His white shirt was wrinkled, and his cheeks were flushed, smeared with recent tears. He made a frail attempt at standing but failed.
Preston’s chest tightened as he stepped into the elevator and gathered Elliott from the floor. The idea of sending him home was long forgotten. He’d seen him fucked up before, but never to the alcohol poisoning state.
“What the fuck happened?” he asked, guiding his friend to the couch.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” Elliott pushed him away and sauntered into the kitchen. His gait was unsteady as he reached for the half-opened bottle of wine resting on the counter. Preston saw it fly before his eyes, turning the kitchen floor crimson with shards.
“Fuck!” He rushed to his friend before he stepped on the broken glass. “What the fuck, man? Go sit down before I strap you to the chair.”
Elliott gave a suggestive chuckle. “Is that an invitation?”
“That’s an—”
“Are you okay?” He heard Abigail’s groggy voice before he saw her. Her bun was tousled much like her shirt. It rose with her heavy intakes as she tried to catch her breath. Her eyes wandered to the source of noise that had woken her. “What happened?”
“We’re fine, Abigail. Go back to bed,” he dismissed her.
Her eyes caught his as she searched the faintly lighted room for the we in his statement. They widened when she caught Elliott’s silhouette emerging from the shadows.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had company.” She lowered the hem of her shirt as she began to back away, knowing she had intruded on a very private conversation.
“Ah, the famous Abigail Bennett,” Elliott interjected, making his way toward her. “I’ve been hearing lots about you lately. You have my mother looking all over the city for Abigail: The Messiah.” He took a strand of her chocolate hair around his finger as he curled the end. “I’ve always wanted to fuck the Creator.”
Preston pushed him away, standing between Abigail and Elliott. “Keep your impious fantasies to yourself.”
“Ah, so the rumors are true. Master Trice has been thoroughly pussy whipped,” he mocked.
Preston hid a chuckle, seeing nothing wrong with Elliott’s statement. If he needed to be pussy whipped, he couldn’t think of a better pussy than Abigail’s to get the job done.
“I think your friend needs a cold shower,” Abigail suggested. “I’ll clean this up while you help him.”
“I think so, too. Thank you,” Preston said as he planted a kiss on her forehead.
Elliott blew obnoxious kisses in the air the entire way to the bathroom.
He unwrapped Elliott’s arm from around his neck and sat him on the toilet as he turned on the shower. While he waited for the water to change temperatures, he removed the choking hazard that was Elliott’s tie and unbuttoned his shirt. He unbuckled his belt and unzipped his slacks, letting them drop to his ankles.
Preston rested on the heels of his feet as he untied and slipped off Elliott’s shoes.
He didn’t understand why the man insisted on wearing a suit and tie when he had no job and nowhere to be.
“Mom and Aunt Judy waited for you at the restaurant today. You never showed up,” Elliott began.
“I told Mom I wasn’t going to make it. What did they say?”
He raised his hand, dismissing his question with a roll of his eyes. “The usual comparison.”
The conversation always turned to his “wasted” life whenever Preston wasn’t around. Although it was a conversation that needed to be had between mother and son, it was the judgment behind her words that hurt the most.
Now Aunt Sam knew of Abigail’s existence, he could only imagine what she’d told Elliott.
“I’m sorry,” Preston said guiltily.
Elliott closed his eyes as a tear rolled down the side of his nose. He took a staggering breath. “Lauren came by my place a few weeks ago. She told me what happened.”
Preston nodded his acknowledgment, glad Elliott finally got to the reason for his alcoholism.
“We fucked.”
It was known throughout the club Elliott was enamored by Lauren. It was also a known fact he developed feelings for anything with a hole tight enough to milk his penis. This knowledge gave Preston reason enough not to think much of his friend’s relationship with Lauren.
Elliott swept his hair back. “I asked if she’d take me back. She said she’d think about it.”
That wasn’t a good idea.
An unhealthy complexion formed on Elliott’s face as he returned to a past he’d left long ago.
“Did you know she found someone else already?”
“No.”
“Well, she did. She’s been dragging her new shiny toy around the club. I know we aren’t good for each other. Even I can attest to that, but why give me hope if the thought never crossed her mind? She’s a fucking sadist, that’s what she is. Does it make me an asshole I wish her hell?”
“It makes you human,” Preston said somberly. There had been many times he’d wanted to murder this man. Today, he wanted nothing more than to release his pain.
He sighed, thinking himself selfish and utterly oblivious to how deep and raw Elliott’s feelings for Lauren were, even after years had passed. A vigorous stream swarmed the back of Preston’s neck. The slither was so powerful it made the hairs on his arms stand in attention. Had it been his fault his friend, his brother, had been loving Lauren from afar?
He hated the thought of being the cause of Elliott and Lauren’s foundering relationship. But Elliott acknowledged it himself—they weren’t good for each other.
Lauren had always known what she wanted in a man and Elliott was a little kid in a man’s body. She deserved more than Preston and Elliott.
Preston hoped this new man was it for her much as Abigail was it for Preston. Elliott will find his it someday. He just needed to grow up before it came.
“You have to move on, Elliott. I know it’s hard, but you have to let her go.”
“I know.” He sniffled a tear. “I just want to forget. I want to forget everything, Mom, Aunt Judy, her, especially her. I wish I never met her.” He wiped his tears, pushed his palms against his eyes. “Fuck! I need another drink.”
“You need a shower,” Preston said, pointing a finger in the shower’s direction. “Call me if you need anything.”
He entered the kitchen just as Abigail had finished cleaning up. The shards were gone and the crimson color that had previously stained the floor was no more.
Her back was to him as she washed her hands.
He walked to her and wrapped his arms around her waist. Her shoulders jumped in alert.
“Thank you for helping.”
“Of course. Who broke his heart?”
He smiled as his mouth found her neck very appetizing. “What makes you think someone broke his heart?”
She turned in his arms and raised an eyebrow. “No man gets that drunk over a lost football game. That is a broken heart kind of drunk.”
“Come on, let’s go to bed,” he suggested.
She followed behind him. “Oh, I see. You won’t break the bro code.”
“There’s no bro code. It isn’t any of our business. If you’re concerned about him, don’t be. He isn’t as weak as we all think he is.”
Under the warmth of the sheets, Abigail whispered. “Is he like us?”
“Elliott is anything and everything as long as it has a hole. I’m not really sure what he is. This lifestyle is all a ploy for him to have orgies and fuck whenever he has the urge. He’s not like us, though. You and I are one of a kind.”
