Page 89 of Honey Bee Hearts

He steps back, his eyes liquid fire. “How about I just show you?”

He leaves me on the table, balanced there, his eyes on me until his back hits the opposite wall. He hesitates, his cock straining, so hard it looks like it hurts. A bead of precum hovers there, tempting, desperate.

He tips up his chin. “Crawl to me, Fable.”

My heart stops. I stop breathing. “What?” I croak.

“Crawl to me.” His eyes flick to my prosthetic. “As you are.”

I think about the safe word, the one he’d given me if things are too out of line. I could use it right now. I could tell him this is my hard line, that this is where I don’t want to go, but some secret part of me, some deep thing I haven’t looked at, wants to do as he asks. With Trent, I was completely in control. With Colt, I lose it all, but. . . I don’t hate that. I know if I ask for some control, he’d try. I know he’d be happy to fuck me however I’d like, but this is turning him on. Just as it turned me on to be in control of Trent.

Meeting his eyes, slowly, I sink to the ground, to my knees, and get on all fours. I don’t look away as I slowly crawl across the floor, until I’m just beneath him, looking up expectantly. His hand wraps around the base of his cock and his breath rasps out as it twitches, as a little bit drips from his tip. I open my mouth eagerly and he obliges, letting me clean it off and groaning at the feeling of my tongue on him.

“Fuck,” he moans. He lets go and scoops me up in his arms, lifting me as if I weigh nothing and pressing my back against the wall. “Tell me you need me.”

“I need you,” I beg, desperate for him to fill me. “Please.”

“I wanna resist,” he growls, “but I need you just as much.”

He pins me against the wall and thrusts up inside me. I cry out, my head thrown back as he turns into the savage animal I always knew he’d be. He bites at my skin as he brutally fucks me against the wall, my legs wrapped around him as best as I’m able to. I hold on for dear life as he pistons inside me, as he claims me, as his cock jumps and he leaks.

Colt steps back, his cock still buried deeply inside me as I gasp in pleasure, taking me back to table, setting my ass on top of it as he gets a better angle and fucks me harder, making the table scrap against the floor. I cry out, my voice echoing around us, and the chain around my neck tightens, cutting me off.

“Fuck, I want to carve my name into your skin, claw my way inside, and make myself at home,” he snarls. “I want to be so deep you never forget me.”

I can’t answer, not with the collar tight. My hand goes up to it and it eases just enough to give me some air before he tightens it again.

“You’re so fucking soft,” he groans, sinking his hands into my sides to fuck me harder. “So fucking perfect.”

He pulls out and leaks onto my stomach, just a little. His hand comes up to rub it in before he pushes in again, fucking me until I’m shaking with release after release, exploding, crying out when he lets me breath, gasping when the collar is too tight. I shake beneath him as he takes just as much as he gives, as he destroys me and remakes me all at once.

“I’m going to come down your throat,” he warns as he starts to grow more frantic. “I’m going to make you gag on it.”

I moan, my body tumbling over the edge as he jerks out of me and drags me forward with the chain collar. I’m on my knees so fast, I hardly know I’m there until his hands fist into my hair and he shoves past my lips and teeth, until I gag on his cock, my back arching as I heave. His cock jumps and I feel him spill at the back of my throat, his hips pumping as I choke. He tightens the collar, and my vision starts to go black, my fingers clawing at his thighs as he moans out obscenities.

Fuck. I can’t breathe. I can’t. . .

The collar eases and he jerks out of my throat. I drag in great gulps of air, my ears ringing as I try to catch my bearings. I’m lifted into the air, but I can’t really focus on anything until Colt is there in my face, his hand stroking my cheek.

“Fable,” he says, and I focus on his eyes. “You did so good.”

His hand strokes along my neck where I know there are probably marks.

Exhaustion closes in and I start to weave. He grabs me in his arms before I can collapse, cradling me against his chest.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

As the exhaustion claims me, I swear I hear him whisper again.

“I love you, Annie Oakley.”

But I must be imagining it. After all, that can’t be what I heard.

Not when I’m leaving in five days.

Chapter 47

Gunnar

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