Page 49 of Collared Mate

I love the sounds she makes as I mate her, the whimpers, the whines, the moans of pleasure that deepen and become feral the closer she gets to climax. She arches against me, gives herself fully. I might have to pin her down to spank her, but by the time she is being fucked, she is so desperate for my cock I don’t think I could keep her off it if I tried.

Perhaps I will, one day, play a longer game of denial with her. It would be the perfect taming ritual for a brat as wild as she is.

Now, though, my knot is swelling and my need for her is becoming entirely overwhelming. I have held back, been patient, played the role of disciplinary alpha, and now I just want her beneath me, wrapped around me, fucked hard by me. I want to feel her body yielding to me and gripping me tight at the same time.

Flipping her onto her back, I lift her legs over my shoulders and look down at her face as I take these last incredible thrusts. Her expression is beautiful, soft, vulnerable, needy, a little ashamed. Her cheeks are pink, her eyes bright, and her mouth open as she gasps and moans, and I cannot hold back anymore.

I come inside her with a roar, my seed filling her tight chalice, pumping deep into her body. I am breeding her with full intensity, the head of my cock pressed right up against her womb. Letting her legs slide down to the bed, I wrap her up in a tender embrace and roll her on top of me as my knot inflates inside her.

She nuzzles up under my chin, resting her body on my chest. She is warm and slightly sticky and sweaty and so am I, and in this moment we are so connected we may as well be one creature.

“Don’t run,” I murmur in her ear. “I’d be devastated if we lost you.”

I feel her stiffen for a moment, as if my words have surprised her.

“You want me?” The question comes back in a soft whisper.

“You are my mate,” I say.

I can feel her disappointment at that answer. I can tell why. It’s too simple. Reduces her to a role, a thing.

I shift her gently and tip her head up so that she is looking into my eyes. I feel her pussy pulse harder around my knot when I look down at her.

“You are an incredible creature,” I tell her. “You are beautiful, you are brave, you are more of a handful than anybody would dare believe. You are bright, you are passionate, you are strong, and I am so deeply in love with you I can barely begin to express it.”

As I speak, tears start to well in her eyes. She trembles in my arms, emotion overwhelming her. I know the life she has lived. I know how starved of feeling and care she was, even though she outwardly had every trapping of success. I also know that being told she is loved is probably as terrifying as it is nice to hear.

“I’ve got you,” I tell her. “You can do as you wish. You can rebel. You can fight. You can break free if you really must, but I will never let you go.”

She lowers her head again and hides in my chest, but this time there is a sweeter quality to it. She knows how I feel about her. She knows I am dedicated to keeping her safe, and keeping her mine.

As my knot slowly softens, I regret the fact that this tenderness is time limited. When the pleasure and the connection wears off back into typical reality, she will return to her feral little self. But over time, with enough of these good experiences, I think she’ll learn that everything I say is true.

I hold her in my arms, my lids feeling heavy with post-coital haze.

“Henry?” Her voice is small and soft and calm. She sounds like almost an entirely different person when she’s properly bred.

“Hmm?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Green,” I answer after a moment. “And yours?”

“Uhm. I used to think it was pink, but I think it might be red,” she says. “Do you like pineapple on pizza?”

I chuckle a little at the question. “Why?”

“These are internet dating questions,” she says. “I have to internet date you so I can get to know you.”

My mirth grows. “I think we’re a little past that, don’t you?”

“Nuh-uh,” she says, snuggling into me and nibbling at my neck in a pup-like way that I decide to indulge because it is cute. “Pineapple on pizza?”

“No,” I say.

“Okay.” She accepts that.

I answer dozens more questions of equal weight and intensity as the afternoon wanes, warm sun coating our bodies as it flows through the window until eventually my little inquisitor passes out on me, soft, warm, and filled with my seed.