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Using her grip to align it with her entrance, she slides herself slowly down my length with a needy moan.
A sentiment I wholeheartedly share.
She shifts her hips to slide over me again, and I roughly hold her still and snarl deeply, “I said sit, kitten.”
Pulling her jacket from her shoulder, I bare her skin, leaving only a bit of it covered by the thin spaghetti strap of her dress. My lips and tongue dust over her naked skin, and needy whimpers tremble from her mouth.
My lips travel to her neck as I whisper in her ear, “Are you that fucking needy to come again so soon?”
“Yes,” she groans. “Please.”
“Then sit fucking still like I told you,” I snarl. “Or you’ll be begging me to let you come tonight. I’ll keep you needy and wanting as I continue to fill you with my cream.”
My lips and teeth continue to roam over her neck, shoulder and collarbone. Teasing her—taunting her to give in and ride me like she wants—but she sits unwaveringly still like the good little pet she is.
Little does she know how much I’m torturing myself too at this moment.
Sweeping her lightly curled hair out of the way, I expose the small lock at the nape of her neck, securing her collar. Dippingmy hand into my jacket pocket, I retrieve the key and open the lock.
“Sir?” Her voice is soft but nervous as I remove the lock and pull it from her neck. Gripping the lapel of her jacket, I slide it back over her shoulder.
She’s been collared for weeks, and she looks fucking bare without it.
“Time to get off my cock,” I tenderly say as I place the collar on the seat beside me. Using my grip on her hips, I slide her up my shaft while fighting the urge to roughly drag her back over it.
Sitting beside me as I tuck my rigid cock back into my pants, Abigail’s eyes fixate on the floor. She hangs her head as though she did something wrong and is awaiting the punishment that comes with my disappointment.
The car pulls to a stop, and a moment later, the driver opens the door. Stepping onto the sidewalk, I extend my hand to help Abigail from the car. Keeping her eyes on the ground, she takes her place beside me.
Gripping her chin, I tip her face up mine. Her eyes still face down as I ask, “Are you upset I took your collar, kitten?”
Without meeting my gaze, she nods in my grip. Gripping her face tighter, I forcibly kiss her lips. With them still nearly touching, I whisper against them, “Good.”
A look of confusion spreads across her face as I release my grip and lead her into the building before us. The security door closes behind us, confining us in the small entryway. A moment later, the door before us opens, and Lorraine Hamilton greets me as we enter her shop, “Good evening, Mr. Geyer.”
“Lorraine.” I tip my head. She is a well-sought-after private jeweler. While her primary income stems from one-of-a-kind custom pieces, for the right price she also does private commissions.
“You must be Abigail.” An envious smile spreads over Lorraine’s face.
“Not to be abrupt, but we have a pretty tight schedule this evening.”
“Oh. Of course, Mr. Geyer.” She walks behind the counter and retrieves a black, velvet box. Setting it on the table, she slides it toward me. “I hope it meets your expectations.”
“It isn’t my expectations you need to meet.” I slide the box to my left until it rests before Abigail. “It’s hers.”
Abigail eyes the box, her long slender fingers gliding over the soft fabric of the box. She flips the latch and holds the lid, hesitating to flip it open.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SEVEN
ABIGAIL
Unsure what it is that I’m going to find, I slowly lift the lid. Seeing the contents, I’m unable to control the gasp that expels from my lungs. My eyes immediately dart to Grant, and I swear, for a second, I catch a hint of a smile on his face.
Looking back to the box, I eye over its gorgeous contents. Lying before me is an intricate, platinum, chain-mail necklace with a diamond studded O-ring hanging from it like a charm.
A collar—made of platinum and diamonds.
