Leashed (Masters of Desires Book 2) Read online

  Leashed

  Paula Dickson

  Copyright © 2021 Paula Dickson

  Cover design: Kellie Dennis at Book Cover by Design

  All rights reserved. Published by Paula Dickson [email protected]

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events entirely coincidental.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  To my life partner.

  I couldn’t have done this without your constant support.

  I love you.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  EPILOGUE

  Acknowledgement

  Books By This Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Abigail Bennett loved three things.

  Her family, which now included her husband and master. It had been a “buy one, get one free” deal she couldn’t have passed up on. The question still remained as to who she’d bought and who she’d gotten for free.

  Her collar, that clasped around her neck like a branding iron, telling all she was owned. And just in case she’d go missing in the island of Santorini, Master Trice had stitched his name and phone number on the inside leather of the collar.

  The humiliation of strolling the small village of Oía on a leash held by Master Trice turned Abigail into a walking, swollen clitoris. All she needed was a tentative touch, a smooth caress, a kiss on the lips and she’d explode into glittering pieces.

  Three days they had spent on the picturesque island that held white houses and sky-blue domes along the hillside of cliffs. The ocean was a reflection of the azure sky. In the morning, it was as blue as blue could be and at night it reflected the Milky Way. It was a photographer’s paradise—an artist’s muse.

  Abigail had snapped her fair share of pictures when Preston wasn’t looking because she wanted to remember this moment for the rest of her existence. He wasn’t a fan of pictures, always saying he looked much better in person. She couldn’t agree more. A picture of her master was nothing but a big tease. A tangible Preston Trice was something worth experiencing, worth touching—certainly worth fucking.

  The couple had spent their days pilgrimaging around the island doing touristy things and the nights fucking like sex-deprived animals in the house Preston had designed and built himself. The extravagant home was at the top of a hill with panoramic views of the Aegean Sea and an infinity pool she’d begged her husband to fuck her in since their wedding night, but he’d refused.

  Today was their last day on the island before flying to Athens to meet the mythological Gods of Greece and Preston’s parental side of the family. She still had time to get him to fuck her in that pool with the possibility of drowning or someone catching them in the act.

  Now she was more than his angel, more than his whore. She was his collared wife. He’d do best to please her.

  Distracted by the promises of the night, Abigail fell on her knees when Master Trice tugged on her leash. Tourists gawked at the couple, at the way he disregarded her bleeding knees and kept on walking. They’d be appalled if they spent a minute inside their bedroom.

  Having reached their destination, Master Trice ordered Abigail to sit. He snapped his fingers and pointed to a spot on the floor. The same fingers that had been inside her this morning. The same fingers that had brought her to orgasm even when he said she couldn’t come.

  Without question, Abigail took a seat on the highest cliffside she’d ever been on. Below her was the ocean and gigantic ships that sailed the Mediterranean Sea. With a josh push, she’d fall into the water. She hoped she didn’t do anything to upset her master. If she did, it’d make for a thrilling ride.

  He sat on the chair next to her and clasped his hand around her neck possessively. Something about marrying her, collaring her, and leashing her had made him overly possessive.

  For every man that turned his eyes on her, she’d earned a caning. Of course, a woman parading the narrow sidewalks of Oía on a leash drew no attention.

  None whatsoever.

  Her ass was sore and so was her pussy, but she’d take that over all the exercise in the world. With all the sex they’d been having she was sure she’d lost ten pounds. It was impossible for her heart not to pump faster when she was at the mercy of Master Trice’s wrath. A dominating look from his brown eyes made her skin sweat more than rigorous cardio.

  As the two sat in silence at the top of the hill, Abigail couldn’t help but think of their life post-honeymoon. It was a thought she hated thinking of, but an important one, nonetheless.

  She loved being married, to Preston that was. It was a statement she never imagined she’d ever think, let alone proclaim for others to hear because she never thought she’d find her other half.

  Waking up beside her husband every day was pure perfection. His eyes were always hooded, and his hair was a mess she loved to tame. He was always ready to have her, and she accepted him with parted thighs and a lubricated pussy.

  “So, I’ve been thinking,” she started. “My house is smaller than yours, but it’s closer to both our jobs and I don’t have to ride eighty-something floors to get to my bed. The woman who lives next door is leaving and we can buy her house and turn it into a larger ho—”

  Master Trice removed a gag from the inside pocket of his shorts and wrapped it around the back of her head. Did he really walk around with a gag in his pocket? Abigail wondered what other toys he had hidden in there. A pocketknife, perhaps?

  He kissed her forehead and brushed her bangs.

  “Your mouth was made solely to please me, not to speak out of turn. I’ll be nice and entertain your idea by making you aware of the many reasons why we are moving into my apartment. One, it’s secured. Two, it has ample parking. Three, it isn’t as nosy as your house. Four, there’s more than one bathroom and more than one bedroom. Five, it has our playroom. Lastly, it’s a pet-free building.”

  Abigail knew what he meant by “secured”. It meant he had cameras, which of course she didn’t have in her house. Who the hell had cameras inside their home? She let her eyes reach the heavens. She knew he was the owner of the building and could make exceptions when it came to pets. The fact he remembered Mr. Grey meant he was starting to build a place in his heart. As much as she wanted to argue every single one of his points, she couldn’t. They were reasonable and logical, for the most part anyway.

  Saliva pooled at the base of her mo
uth, spilling from her lips down to her chin as she tried to speak.

  “Uh-uh. I believe the words you’re looking for are, ‘Yes, Master Trice’. When you’re ready to say them, I’ll remove the gag.”

  Master Trice leaned forward. With a swipe of his tongue, he licked her chin, swallowing her drool into his mouth.

  He whispered in her ear, “You’re drawing eyes, whore. Are you ready to speak or would you like to add thirty more canings to the seventy you already have?”

  Abigail shook her head and begged for permission to speak.

  “Fine. I’ll add forty. Now stop, you’re wetting yourself.”

  He wasn’t lying.

  With the prohibition of undergarments, her arousal was not only noticeable to onlookers but seeped through the thin fabric of her satin dress.

  She rested her face on her shoulder and silently watched the setting sun.

  Santorini was notorious for its ethereal sunsets. It was an evening ritual to watch the sun retire for the night and the moon emerge in the east as it took over as watcher of the night. The blazing sun dotted the sky crimson, casting an ominous shadow over Master Trice.

  The Greek God turned his brown eyes to his Goddess. He unclasped the gag and sucked the ball into his mouth before placing it back into his pocket.

  He whispered, “There’s a lonely man at the bar. I want you to make his night.” He placed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Walk over to him and get him to buy you a drink. You earn extra beatings if he gets a hard-on.”

  Was this a test? One he hoped she failed miserably or aced with perfection?

  She narrowed her eyes and shifted her neck to the side. “Are you mind-fucking me right now?”

  “That depends. Are you close to coming?” He inserted a finger inside her. Her head rolled back as she moaned a yes.

  Unhooking the leash, Master Trice told her to be herself. “Go, be a whore.”

  Her smile was impish as she walked to the bar with a certain sway to her hips. The fabric of her dress was see-through, showing the roundness of her breasts and perked nipples. Her heels elongated her legs and shortened the hem of her dress.

  The man in question was easy to find. While every table in the taverna seated two customers, he was the only man at the bar without a female or male suitor. His throat worked the bitter taste of beer as he took a long swallow of the tinted liquid.

  She made a fool out of herself with an attempt to speak Greek. Thank the Lord Master Trice wasn’t near earshot, otherwise, she would have earned twenty spankings for speaking nonsense.

  The man chuckled, displaying a dimple on his left cheek and straight pearly whites. “I’m not a local and I have no idea what you said.”

  “Phew!” She swiped imaginary droplets of sweat above her brow. “Good because I have no idea what I said, either. Is this seat taken?”

  “Please,” he said with a British accent, gesturing to the stool next to his.

  Abigail tilted her chin and raised her gray eyes to his baby-blues in a sultry glance. “What brings you to Greece?”

  “Work. You?”

  “Pleasure. Definitely pleasure,” Abigail answered.

  He chuckled, thinking he’d get lucky tonight. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  Mission accomplished.

  “I’d love a cosmopolitan.”

  As the blonde ordered her drink, she looked at Master Trice with a victorious smile. Her smile vanished when she didn’t find him at their table. Her eyes pinballed around the taverna, scouring for his presence, but he was nowhere to be found.

  Panic rose in the pit of her stomach, spreading to her shivering fingers. She was in a foreign country where she didn’t speak the native language, and the only man she had to keep her safe had disappeared. Ready to call it a night, Abigail placed a foot on the floor just as the stool next to hers filled with an overpowering presence.

  She released a staggered breath. Her heart slowly settled back into her chest as she turned to meet Master Trice. He ignored her scornful eyes, asking the bartender for a glass of water.

  Although she wanted to splash him with the glass of water, she was pleased by his choice of beverage. He hadn’t gotten a migraine all trip. A vacation was the serene peace he’d needed to give his brain a break from work.

  “What’s your name?”

  She shook her head and brought her attention back to Blonde Dimples.

  “Abigail, although some people call me Angel.”

  Master Trice’s large hand cautiously rested on her thigh.

  “You’re in trouble,” his grip warned.

  “Angel,” Blonde Dimples repeated, testing the words he’d groan in her ear tonight as he came inside her. The name didn’t have an iota of the effect it had on Abigail when her sweet husband said it. “I like it.”

  Master Trice gripped her upper thigh so firmly, she whimpered in her chair. Although the bar top allowed privacy from inquisitive eyes, it didn’t prevent Abigail from feeling her master’s hand as it parted her thighs.

  “Tha-thank you.” She coughed, pushing his hand aside, only resulting in him pushing three fingers inside her. She held onto the bar top as her eyes rolled behind her head.

  “Where are you from?”

  “N-New Yo-ork.”

  How could Master Trice be this calm and collected all while he fingered her at an open bar, especially while she held a conversation with a man whose eyes were permanently glued to her chest?

  Blonde Dimples spoke but Abigail didn’t listen to a single one of his accented words.

  She shifted her body so that she was straddling Master Trice’s hand and began to ride his fingers as discreetly as one could when they were on the brink of orgasming. His fingers plunged inside her while she rocked her hips, sinking his three fingers further into her and finding the right kind of friction she needed to come.

  “Uh, Angel, are you okay?” Blonde Dimples asked, his voice was laced with awe.

  Was she really coming in front of a stranger? Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last. She lived for exhibitionism. For the course of adrenaline mixed with humiliation that ran through her veins.

  Abigail clutched the man’s knee as an electric orgasm soared through her. She closed her eyes and came hard and fast and low, biting her bottom lip so savagely, she drew blood.

  Master Trice quickly removed his fingers and left the bar, but not before sucking them into his mouth like an ice cube.

  Although he’d unleashed her, although she might not always wear the collar around her neck, it was he who she belonged to. He’d always find a way to remind her of the fact.

  “Holy shit! Did you just...”

  “Yes. I just...” She breathed. “Cosmos do that to me sometimes.”

  Blonde Dimples cleared his throat and leaned his elbow on the bar top, caging her with beer breath and giving her a one-woman show of his erection. “I have an excellent bottle of vodka in my hotel room if you’re up for a private drink.”

  How far was she expected to keep on with this game? She didn’t have an answer, but she knew her ass didn’t need any more welts.

  Just as Abigail was about to decline Blonde Dimples’ offer, she heard the voice of Master Trice and his heavy steps behind her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered pointing to her collar. “I’m already owned.”

  She stood and went to Master Trice’s side. Her eyes were down as he hooked the leash onto the ring of her collar and walked out of the establishment on quick feet. As they hurried down the narrow streets leading to their vacation home, he pushed her up against a wall and kissed her fervently. He tasted like danger and sex and lust and possession. His tongue licked her bottom lip, parting her mouth as he did her thighs.

  “I think it’s time I remind you who you belong to.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Abigail had made two mistakes this evening.

  Speaking out of turn with her collar clasped around her neck was the f
irst. Although in her eyes it had been a simple question—a way to initiate conversation, she should’ve known better than to speak out of turn.

  Telling another man, a strange man, nonetheless, to call her Angel had been her final and fatal mistake. She could think of a handful of reasons as to why she did it, but neither would suffice Preston, let alone Master Trice.

  Sometimes the thin line between Master Trice and Preston blurred. Although it was a dangerous fog, Abigail looked forward to catching the ways in which Preston fought to make his presence known through Master Trice.

  When Master Trice had made her sleep on the floor, it was Preston who’d covered her naked body with a cozy blanket.

  When Master Trice had caned the soles of her feet, it was Preston who’d offered aftercare.

  When Master Trice collared her, it was Preston who’d placed a ring on her finger.

  She was owned, through and through, by both Preston and Master Trice. She didn’t have a problem with the fact, but she liked knowing her owner wasn’t a misogynist. She liked knowing she’d married the only man who’d ever truly known her and not only accepted her but gave in to her sexual desires.

  Master Trice tugged harshly on the leash, so hard she fell on her hands and knees. He pulled once more, his back to her. She whimpered as the coarse street scratched the thin skin on her palms and scathed knees.

  He swirled at the whimpering noise.

  They locked eyes.

  His were cruel and dominant.

  Hers were soft and submissive.

  Eyes still on her, he tugged with as much force as he could.

  Abigail cried out, feeling her kneecap tear deeper than before, feeling as her palms burned on the concrete.

  “Master,” she breathed his name as tears pooled in her eyes. “Please…”

  Her words lingered in the air as she felt conflicted with her pleads.

  Please pull harder?

  Please stop?

  Please don’t stop?

  Whatever she begged for didn’t matter.