Page 48 of Collared Mate

“And now you’re in the body that pays the price,” he says. “And in the mind that needs to control both of them.”

He puts the belt down on the bed and rubs my rear with the flats of his palms. This time his motions do actually make me feel better. They push some of the sting and ache away, transmuting it into heat.

“You’ve been good for this punishment,” he says.

“I have?”

“Mhm. You haven’t tried to get up in at least three minutes. For you, that’s very obedient behavior.” He massages my cheeks, spreading them a little, making me aware that I am once again wet in response to his discipline.

“Then again, you’re distracted, aren’t you. Relishing the pain you pretend to hate.” He’s speaking in a slow, almost dreamy register, massaging my cheeks and letting his thumbs drift ever closer to the wetness between my legs.

I find myself getting more relaxed by the moment, all the intensity of the punishment flowing into an altered state in which I don’t hate absolutely everything that is happening. It feels good to be held, to be pinned. The intensity of being held down and disciplined has given me a new uncharacteristic lightness.

I start to crave him, and of course the bastard knows exactly when that transition really hits because he can smell it and he can see it. My body was made to be mated. My flesh is begging for his. The endorphins and the pheromones and whatever other sneaky chemicals running my world are at full force. My consciousness is floating on them peacefully, enjoying every moment, being absolutely dominated by what he has created in me.

“Do we have an understanding, Fiona?”

He asks the question in that deep, alluring timbre that makes me feel so small and so safe. I hide my face in the coverlet and emit a sound of assent.

“What was that, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” I mumble as he finally lets the pad of his thumb drift lightly over my slit and then find my clit, pressing firmly against that little button that seems to be able to turn my fucking brain off completely.

“Good girl,” he says, reaching up with his other hand and letting his fingertips trail through my hair, his nails lightly scratching my scalp while below, he keeps the pressure on my clit. He has found two points of pleasure, and my senses arc between them, wanting more rubbing of my eager sex and even more lovely tingly scratches of my scalp.

I do not know this man very well, but he knows my body as if it belongs to him.

Because it does, my mind whispers to me.

In this erotic haze, all the propaganda about fated mates and being owned, and the inevitability of finding the one who will not only fit perfectly but command with integrity seems so real. My senses and my instincts are colluding against the last rational vestiges of my mind.

“I’m going to breed you now,” he says. “And you’re going to be a very good girl for me. You’re going to arch your hips and spread your legs and your hot, red, sexy ass is going to bounce while I fill you with my cock and my knot.”

Christ. The way my body responds to his calm outlining of what we both know will be a complete and utter ravaging is sinful. Electricity runs in every direction at once, making my flesh a live writhing thing, my pussy still pressed back against his devilish finger.

He plays with me for a while, his hand in my hair, fingers contracting so he has a firm grip at the back of my head as his finger leaves my clit and starts wandering up and down the length of my pussy, exploring my folds, spreading my lips, putting me very much on sensual display.

“The way your ass frames your pussy when you’ve been spanked is beautiful,” he growls softly down at me. “And you give me so very many good reasons to turn it red and make it hot and then you drench yourself for me.”

Two of his fingers are sliding inside me as he narrates my terrible behavior and its aftermath. I am barely hearing the words he is saying because my hips are grinding and all I want is to feel his cock inside me. After years of neglect and sexual solitude, he has woken a she-beast in me that will not be easily satisfied.

“Such a good girl,” he praises as my inner walls grip his fingers, trying to pull them in deeper. Every undulation of my curves is an invitation for him to claim me, and I know he will, but not quite yet.

I find myself emitting little helpless whines and whimpers as I try to entice him. But he is unswayable. He has his erotic agenda and I have to submit to it, just like everything else between us.

I don’t know how Henry manages to so easily maintain the upper hand. No matter what I do, how feral I am, how hard I try to push him away and become unpleasant, he brings me back to this state of soft yearning that makes me so vulnerable.

Only when I have surrendered do I feel him pull his fingers from me, and the hard, hot line of the underside of his thick cock slides up the length of my slit. I take in a deep breath and hold it as the head of his cock finally finds the wet entrance of my body and he slowly starts to slide in, taking his time with me, making me stretch one fraction of an inch at a time as he claims me almost as if for the first time.

* * *

Henry

She is such a good girl. Underneath it all, the rebellion, the vicious escapes, the occasional murderous rampage, she wants to be soft and small and taken.

I wrap her up in my arms as I surge slowly inside of her, going all the way deep until she is entirely filled and her hot ass is pressed back against my hips.

Mating her always feels like coming home. This is where I belong, deep inside her, filling her up, feeling her softness and her strength, her resistance and her rebellion and then the submission that always follows because she is beginning to understand that she is home too.