Collared [Excerpt]

Chapter Seven

THE HOUR PRESTON had spent being cordial with Abigail was the hardest hour he'd ever had to endure. But if she was going to be his submissive, he needed to show her the reality of BDSM as it was far more diverse than blindfolds and whips. He'd never given anyone a tour of his castle but by doing so with her, he'd been able to find her limits.

Her reaction to Liam and Scarlett's scene wasn't what Preston thought he'd see in Abigail. Yes, he saw fear and so much fucking desire. And that turned him on. What turned him off was the confusion that lingered in her gaze.

The whole premise of his club was to never judge, and she'd done so in one scene.

There was too much judgment in the world. That's why he created a sanctuary for the people who were thought of less for having kinks. He allowed anyone—of all sexes, races, ethnicities, and sexual orientations to be free within his iron doors.

The people in his temple weren't freaks. They weren't dangerous or corrupted. Most of them had families or owned businesses. They were productive members of society and they should be treated as such.

Abigail ruined his mission statement with one expression.

He'd been wrong about her.

He was never wrong.

It pissed him off.

"Stop!" She tugged on his arm, trying to get free.

Preston kept his steps long, the sobs and screams behind him, drew a sadistic smile on his face.

He dragged her down the hall with a hard grip on her upper arm. He needed to get her out of here. So why was he taking her to the elevator that only led to his office and den? He'd scare her shut, then she'd never come back again.

The elevator yawned as soon as Preston stood in front of it. When the doors closed, he pushed Abigail against the steel doors. He floated in the whimper it drew from her lips.

"I don't want to leave. Not yet. Please, don't make me leave," she begged. And shit if Preston's intentions went out the door and into the rabbit hole. He forgot he was there to shoo her away. He forgot she was too young for this. He forgot how to speak.

"This—" it was all he said before he went to her, caging her with his arms.

With his face only inches from hers, he could see the light freckles scattered across her nose and upper cheeks. Damn it, could she be any more beautiful?

And the fucking giggle she let out earlier was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. A close second to screams. Her lips were full and naturally rosy. Her eyes, big and innocent, begged to be stained with tears.

"Why are you here?" he wondered aloud, pressing his erection into her warmth, biting the thin layer of skin on her neck. She tasted like cotton candy—so addictive.

Abigail let out a soft gasp that went straight to Preston's cock. "I—I want this."

He wanted to break her and make her scream for having the audacity to speak back. But he knew better. Although this woman made it impossible, he needed to control his urges.

"What is it you want, Abigail?"

Abigail Bennett was a natural submissive who knew exactly what to say to please her master, so she licked her lips and slowly raised her eyes, "You, Master Trice."

His name on her lips built an inferno that was impossible to extinguish.

Preston was thankful for the yawning of the elevator's doors. He needed to distance himself from the woman who'd guide him to shipwreck.