Page 15 of Collared

“Because you want to stand out and be someone else? Is that why you are here tonight, petit Thurel?”

“Fuck off, you don’t know anything about me.”

He snorts. “If that’s what you think, you really didn’t read that NDA.” He leans in the slightest. “Perhaps my cousin’s prey was telling the truth? Did you not read the document before signing?”

My cousin’s prey.

“You know nothing.”

“Perhaps. Though there’s something I do know.” He chimes, clearly ignoring my sarcasm. The rope dangles in his hand, revealing the dark collar and those shiny studs. Blood floods south at the sight of the collar and I roll my dry and nibbled lip to soothe it with my tongue, inwardly begging myself to keep cool.

“You want this.” He takes another step forward and I immediately take a side-step. “Oui.” I can hear him smile as he takes another step forward, twirling the rope. “You do. Admit it.”

“Stop it.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “So well organized. Disciplined. Homework, practice, a few friends here and there. The epitome of an average guy.” I inwardly cringe at his accurate description. He takes another step and we continue our little dance of step and slide. “But your body is practically begging to make you mine.” My arm hits the other wall. Fuck, I’m cornered.

“That’s not true.”

“Your body is thrumming with need, petit Thurel.”

“Ta gueule. It’s not.” I lick my dry lips while keeping my body firmly tucked between both walls. I need to focus, but I can’t do that because my head is swimming. My treacherous body deserted my side a long time ago.

“It’s nearly two in the morning,” I blurt. “That means I have won.”

“C’est vrai,” he replies, much to my surprise.

“So b—back off.”

“Don’t you want to know why?” He asks. My gaze drops to where his fingers stroke the dark, suede material of the collar, adorned with diamonds.

He can’t be right. My body can’t be thrumming with need, I am not a sexual being, never have been. But there’s something about this guy—

I jerk my chin his way. “Why what?”

“Why you?” He takes another step forward and my stomach flutters, cock slowly hardening, but my mind balks as I fist my hands. I shuffle against the other wall, but I won’t be able to go much further because of stacked brooms and other garden tools.

You’ve been chosen.

The words rattle my brain, making my mind stutter and sending insecurity flooding through my warring emotions. “Why me?” My voice is thin.

He gives me a casual shrug, looking every bit the arrogant ass he apparently is, and lets his fingers trail the glimmering jewels on the collar. “You caught my eye, angel. The first time I saw you, was when I came to look for my cousin. He’s with you on the football team.”

I narrow my gaze while I inwardly tap through all the familiar faces on the field. I don’t know them that well though, because like with everything else I do, I tend to enjoy painting the background rather than making it on the front row. “You’re lying,” I bluff. “No one has a cousin who’d be crazy enough to hunt me down with a rope and a— and a—” My face flushes as I make a careless gesture to his hands.

He just laughs. The sound is husky, and oh so seductive. My cock is begging to be taken care of, and when I dare lowering a hand to adjust myself, I feel a wet spot that’s making my face burn with humiliation.

I’m leaking for him. Is that even possible?

“What’s your name?” I squeak, begging that he hasn’t noticed my hard dick, or the spot in my pants. Silver Mask takes another step forward, and another one, and then his chest skims against mine. Butterflies erupt all over, and my skin becomes hypersensitive to his presence. Inclining my head, I force myself to look him in the eye. Into his blue eyes, though darkened by the mask. From up close, I can see the refined details in the material. Silvery threads are carefully woven around silver gems, making it a piece of delicate art. It’s pretty. The thought makes me furious.

“My name is Maël.” He watches me intently as I, apparently visibly, put the pieces together.

I’ve heard of Maël. He’s one of the super rich, the elite, part of that one group I don’t interact with.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of you,” I mumble weakly. He chuckles, the sound from this close even raspier and challenging, and his hand reaches out to touch my mask. I flinch, suddenly afraid that he’ll try and pull it off, or hurt me, or some ridiculous shit.

“Sshh,” he soothes, and my body catches fire when he leans in even further and lets his fingertips caress the smooth material.

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