Chapter 4
I must have drifted off, because the next thing I knew, it was the sharp, metallic click of a buckle that pulled me from a deep, sated sleep. I was still curled against him, his body a furnace at my back. I blinked, my eyes slowly focusing on the object in his hands. It was a collar. Not a flimsy, decorative thing, but a strip of dark, supple leather, about an inch thick, with a heavy, silver buckle.
A jolt, cold and sharp, went through me. This was it. This was the moment fantasy bled into the terrifying, thrilling reality of what it meant to be owned. My heart started to pound, a frantic drum against my ribs.
He felt my reaction, of course. His arm tightened around my waist, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. “Shh,” he murmured, his voice a low, soothing rumble that was at odds with the possessive glint in his eyes. “It’s time.”
He shifted, moving to kneel beside me on the cot. He didn’t ask me to lift my head. He simply took my chin in his firm grip and tilted it back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of my throat. My pulse hammered against his thumb. He held the leather up, letting me see it, feel the coolness of it as he brushed it against my skin. It smelled of him, that dark, spicy musk that was already seeping into my pores.
“I can’t have you running around unmarked,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not when every unmated alpha in this city would scent you from a mile away. This is for your protection. And my peace of mind.”
He fastened the collar around my neck. It wasn’t tight, but it was snug, a constant, undeniable pressure against my skin. It felt heavy. Significant. A brand I could never remove. I swallowed, and the leather shifted, a tactile reminder of my new status.
He leaned back, his eyes dark with satisfaction as he looked at his handiwork. “Perfect,” he breathed. But he wasn’t done. Not even close.
He rose from the cot and stood over me, his magnificent, naked body a study in masculine power in the dim light. His cock, which had been soft, began to stir, thickening and rising with his renewed arousal. He stroked it once, twice, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Now,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, commanding growl, “we make it truly mine.”
He knelt again, this time straddling my chest. His knees pinned my arms to my sides, a position of complete dominance. His heavy, erect cock was right in front of my face, the head flushed and glistening with a bead of moisture. The scent of his arousal was intoxicating, a potent drug that made my head swim and my own core ache with renewed need.
“Open,” he commanded.
I obeyed without hesitation, my lips parting automatically. He guided himself to my mouth, the smooth, velvety head of his cock brushing against my lips. He didn’t thrust in. He just rested there, a silent demand. I stuck my tongue out, flicking it against the sensitive slit, tasting the salty, musky flavor of him. He groaned, a low, guttural sound of approval.
Slowly, reverently, I took him into my mouth. I wrapped my lips around him, my tongue swirling around the head as I sank down, taking as much of him as I could. He was thick, and the stretch of my jaw was a pleasant ache. I began to move, bobbing my head, finding a rhythm, my hands still trapped uselessly beneath his knees.
He let me set the pace for a moment, letting me worship him with my mouth. But his control was a fragile thing. Soon, his hands tangled in my hair, his grip tightening as he took over. He began to thrust, his hips moving in a shallow, controlled rhythm, fucking my mouth. The collar felt impossibly tight, a symbol of my submission as I knelt before him, taking his pleasure.
“Look at me,” he ordered, his voice strained. I looked up, my eyes watering slightly, and met his burning gaze. The sight of me on my knees, my lips stretched around his cock, the dark leather of the collar a stark contrast against my pale skin—it was his undoing.
With a final, guttural groan, he pulled back, his hand stroking his cock with hard, fast jerks. “Close your eyes,” he bit out.
I obeyed, and a moment later, I felt the hot, wet splash of his release against my skin. It landed on my chest, my neck, on the leather of the collar itself. It was a primal, messy marking. A second, more potent scenting. He was covering me in his essence, making sure I smelled of him inside and out.
When he was finished, he used his thumb to smear his release over my skin, rubbing it into my flesh like lotion. He even ran a finger over the collar, coating the leather in his scent. The act was so possessive, so utterly dominating, that a fresh wave of slick coated my thighs.
He finally moved off me, and I gasped for air, my body trembling. He leaned down, his lips finding the pulse point in my neck, right above the collar. He didn’t bite, just pressed a hard, possessive kiss there.
“Now you smell like me,” he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Now everyone will know who you belong to.”
He rose and began to dress, pulling on his jeans and his boots. I lay on the cot, a mess of sweat, slick, and his seed, the collar a heavy, thrilling weight around my neck. I watched him, my body humming with a strange mix of exhaustion and anticipation.
“I have to go,” he said, his voice all business again. “Pack duties. Don’t leave this room. Don’t take that off.” He gestured to the collar. “I’ll be back.”
And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me alone in the silent room, marked, claimed, and more thoroughly owned than I had ever thought possible. I reached up and touched the collar, my fingers tracing the warm, damp leather. It wasn’t a prison. It was a promise. And I couldn’t wait for him to come back and claim me again.