Page 16 of Collared

Fuck you, I want to spit out, but my tongue has dried up, nothing more than a useless muscle kept in my sealed-shut mouth.

“I thought you might have heard of me,” he murmurs, watching as he traces lines onto my face.

“I mean, I don’t know you,” I slam my mouth back shut, eyes rolling inwardly at my stupid, fucking nerves.

He smiles, and then his fingers linger on my lips and fire licks at my insides. I am shaking with need and he has barely even touched me.

“Why did you accept tonight’s invitation?” He muses, dragging his gaze up to meet my eyes again. “I can keep on guessing, but I’d like it from your mouth.” His digits crawl down to my chin, where they angle my face as he keeps on brushing my skin. I shrug, mouth firmly pressed shut.

“Answer me.” He digs his nails deeper, in a silent command, and I flinch. There’s no use denying the truth anyway, I guess. Plus, why do I even care?

Because he’s one of the most popular guys in college.

“It’s as you thought,” I admit. “I needed something else in life.”

He hums, replacing his nails for the blunt tips of his fingers once more. Heat swoops in my stomach. “So you want to become a brother.”

“I don’t know,” I drawl, choosing my words carefully. “I’m not sure what that means. But…I guess?”

“Hmm.” He spreads his fingers to grasp more of my chin and squeezes me firmer against the wall. That’s the only warning I get before he uses his other hand to lift the collar. I flinch, then wince in an attempt to avoid his touch.

“No,” I snarl, pushing both hands against his chest, the material of his cloak surprisingly thin. My fingers grasp a fit body, a well-developed chest, and I feel his muscles straining against my palms when he fights me in return. He presses a thigh between my legs. I gasp, temporarily freezing from the realization that he can now feel me—feel my erection—and potentially the wet spot, and I—

Click.

“There.” His thumbs brush over the delicate skin of my throat and I swallow around the collar, letting him trace my Adam’s apple with his digit. “You look perfect, ange.” His thigh presses a little firmer against my groin, and he smiles when I groan in humiliation and arousal at the same time.

“Now what,” I snarl in an attempt to hide my discomfort. “You’re going to walk me back like this to your brothers and show them your trophy?”

He watches me intently, the smile still spread on his ridiculously plush lips. “I will. But first I want to claim my prize. After all, I managed to catch you during our very first Wicked Chase.”

Panic surges through me like a blizzard, roaring anger to life. “What? No. I won, I’m the final participant standing.”

Right?

I expect him to fight me, mock me, anything. But instead, Maël just shrugs. “You know, we fuck each other, Thurel, that’s what we do. We’re a friendly brotherhood.” This time he lets out a grin. “You should have read the fine print,” he sings in a whisper.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I sneer, trying to play the ignorant one. Perhaps there’s still a possibility to end this now, despite my treacherous body wanting more. My brain will protect me, will kick me back into the shadows, like it has done for the past years.

Ignoring me, Maël simply tugs on the collar, bringing my face forward while he leans in, his mouth brushing my ear. “Tell me, angel, do you want me to fuck you?” Goosebumps erupt on my skin and I can’t help but shiver at those words. My scorching insides beg for me to say yes, but my pride and insecurity fight back with tooth and nail, and I flinch, trying, and failing, to push him away. His tight grip on the leash is strong and he keeps me close as he takes his time exploring the skin of my face with his nose. He runs it over the dark material of the mask, then dips it under and against my heated skin, and I can feel the hint of his smile, of his breath, of his lips, when he presses them against the dip in the corner of my mouth. It sends a shiver of pleasure through my body, and I shy away, desperately thinking of something nasty to say. Something, anything, will do, if it means distracting him.

“No,” I blurt.

“I think you do,” he muses against my lips, and our breaths intermingle. “I think you want me to lay you down, let you straddle my thighs and ride my fat cock, sweet Thurel.”

My nails dig into the skin of my palms as I clench my hands even tighter, needing to feel the pain, needing to feel the distraction. Because my body is failing me, falling into this merciless hole Maël has dug for me, despite its absurdity.

“I think you don’t know what you’re talking about,” I scoff.

“Don’t be embarrassed, angel.” His tongue darts out to slowly paint my trembling lips, then probe at the seam in a silent request to be accepted. I shake my head, clenching my jaw, ignoring my throbbing cock, willing away the tightness around my neck and the way he pulls me in closer on the whisper of a chuckle, and then I give up.

Feeling my defeat before I acknowledge it, he spears his tongue inside my mouth with a low grunt that has me wobbling on my knees. He tastes good. Of coffee and gum, and something sweet like chocolate, and as his tongue curls around mine, one of his hands clasps the back of my neck and laces his fingers through the already mussed, chestnut strands of my hair.

It feels incredible. His touch, his self assuredness, even the collar around my neck and his possessive hand in charge of the rope, has me giving in and wanting more. I love the way he slants my face anywhere he wants to get deeper inside, to get more of me. To get more of us. He lets my tongue explore his mouth, lick inside, revel in its heat, before he uses his grip on my hair to pull me back. I can’t avoid the soft whimper at the loss of his touch, and Maël murmurs something unintelligible as he tightens his grip on my hair, making my eyes sting and teary. My cock is hard, wet and desperate for more, and I don’t have a clue of what’s happening to me right now.

“Alpha Fraternarii was founded after the French Revolution,” Maël mumbles as he takes a step back, his eyes on mine. “As a reaction against the debauchery that took place in Paris.” He takes another step back, this time tilting his head as he tightens the rope. He’s waiting.

“For what?” I must have voiced my thoughts, because he lets out a light chuckle.

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