Page 24 of Collared

I watch Thurel as he strides ahead of me and toward the exit, hips casually swaying, his shoulders hunched. Pride intertwined with apprehension, glares laced with that dreamy stare I can’t seem to get enough of. No, every single bit of his demeanor creates an addictive fuse for both my hungry mind and soul.

I wanted him. All of him. And the more of those unique subtleties he sprinkles over my eager self, the more I want to ravage him.

He has fought well tonight, Thurel Aubert. The sweet guy from the second year. Large, hazelnut eyes that look into the world in wonder.

Always wondering.

I wonder what goes on inside that pretty head of his. How many sleepless nights he had after he signed that NDA agreement in that fancy office in the South Wing, where he didn’t only meet the man himself, Jean-Luc Deveraux, one of the most powerful Elders of the Alpha Fraternarii, but also the actual director of our Paris branch.

The true puppeteer behind the scenes.

Truth be told, there were cameras in the office that day. Aside from tonight’s outcome, I paid for those as well. I needed to see, needed to feed my craving for him. I was starved in my desire to catch every single spark lit on his face. From the moment my beautiful Thurel came into the room, all hot and bothered, until he was presented with the invitation.

That entire week I jerked off to that video footage. Fuckk… the way Thurel was sitting down across from the two older men, politely asking why he was called in—clearly already worried that he’d done something wrong—to the moment he was handed that NDA.

The very same document he clearly didn’t read before scribbling his signature onto paper.

What was he thinking of in that very moment?

When he was invited back inside that same office a few weeks later, this time to pick up his invitation, I watched live from the computer in my bedroom. Hand on my erect cock, eyes soaking in every single fucking second of Thurel’s expressive face. There was wonder, confusion and a touch of anxiety. There was also excitement, so vibrant that I felt it radiating through the screen.

It made me come.

But right there, that moment, his wonder, I had known. Thurel was eager for something, and I had to know what it was.

Could it be such an easy thing as wanting to belong? When I brought it up earlier, his cheeks had flushed so beautifully. Oh, I could make him belong. We all could. Though my brothers wouldn’t touch my bashful pet or I’d remove their hands. Though accidents of that sort might draw a little too much attention to the presence of the Alpha Fraternarii within school grounds. The brotherhood is a mystery within the walls of Monterrey Castle and we’d like to keep it that way. Hushed voices murmur in the shadows, rumors speak of a fraternity that’s only accessible upon invitation, describing us like we’re some beer drinking frat house.

How wrong they are.

Well, the invitation part is clearly true. But we are no ordinary student organization, or frat house, like Thurel calls it. We are very much part of society—dare I say, we are the society.

I am Maël Duteil, first son of Maitre Duteil, one of the most renowned tax lawyers in the country. But I’m not just him. I’m also the son of Sophie Duteil, a ruthless investor in real estate and the niece of the Countess of Burgundy. Mom owns entire streets in the city of Lyon, where we are from. And she introduced me into the family business ever since I turned 18, which is four years ago now. She brought me to board meetings and taught me to sit down and to listen. To observe. She preached about the strength of silence. For when we listen carefully, we learn so much more about a person. About their strengths and weaknesses, about their agenda.

My eyes landed on Thurel way before I deliberately shocked him with my motorcycle. No, he stood out from his first week at college. He, too, was silent. But he didn’t listen. He was just…present. With his shorter posture and wild mop of warm, chestnut strands, he looked gentle, not like the usual pretentious guy that attends this place. Though he wasn’t lost. No, he made friends pretty quickly and settled without any trouble, studying and enjoying himself like any normal student. He plays on the football team like Louis, one of my brothers in the Alpha Fraternarii, but as far as I know, they aren’t friends. I’ve never heard Louis mention Thurel, and you’d think that a player of a Deveraux’s caliber would recognize prey before anyone else.

Fuck, even his name is sweet. Caramel filled with hazelnut, like the color of his eyes. Tacky, I know. But I don’t care, because I got to claim him after a wild chase tonight. The kinkiest thing I have ever done in my life. Damn, the way he hid from me, tried to fight me, only to lose and let me collar him with suede and diamonds. I designed the choker specially for him and it looks freaking perfect on his luscious, elegant curves. The contrast between his pliant, warm body and the indigent glare he throws at me whenever he catches me staring, makes me purr inside. So fucking hot.

Like right now. As we’re making our way through the deserted woods and slowly make our way toward the Atrium, I can feel his eyes on me. They’re flickers of scorching resentment he throws my way in an attempt to hide what’s underneath it.

Relief.

Because there was something there, earlier, when I had him tied to the floor and blanketed with my own body, when I claimed his tight ass and sweet, innocent mouth, that screamed for the desire to be controlled.

He liked it. But it’s too early for him, too early to acknowledge that fact. Too early to give in to these newly discovered cravings. Christ, the guy was a virgin before I marked him.

A virgin.

I can hardly believe it. I know that the background check revealed that he lives with his gran after his parents and grandpa died, but adding this newly found innocence on top of that, the guy practically fits the image of a fucking monk. A sweet one, with a wild mop of chestnut strands and light, hazelnut eyes… hmm… I like that. He’s got character though, which I fucking love. Even now, despite him glaring at me like I didn’t just fuck his brains out and called him my pet, he’s following my lead to the unknown. Because he won’t back down.

We’ve already left the stables far behind by the time we take a left on the trail, our way lead by the flashlight on my phone. Over here, the beacons have already been dimmed, and Thurel’s fingers grasp around my arm when he catches himself off balance. He bristles in the silence, voicing his indignation, the sound making the corners of my lips tick up. I’m not going to say anything right now, don’t want to embarrass him any further. Instead I place my hand over his to keep his hold firm over my arm and keep on guiding him. What’s about to come next won’t be easy for him, and I can’t help but feel sorry for him, despite the expectant thumping of my dick at the thought.

I can’t wait to claim him in front of all my brothers.

It might be pretty dark here without the additional lighting, but I know my way around. The brotherhood doesn’t often have meetings in the Atrium, but they still take place a few times per year, and we always take the same route, creeping through the darkness in our cloaks and masks in lines of two, as we walk toward the light in the glass house.

“We’re nearly here,” Thurel mutters, his words startling me temporarily from my own thoughts. The words, not meant for me, still invite me to answer.

“We are. As a matter of fact, we will walk into the Atrium in a minute. Our brothers will be there. They are waiting for us.”

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