Page 145 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

Chapter 22

Nathaniel

Ishould have throat fucked her all the way to the end. Any one of my father’s enforcers would have. And some of his courtiers are worse. But she was already struggling, tears clinging to her lashes, that magnificent fury fraying at the edges, and I couldn’t bear to force her through another second of it.

As for me, it had felt every bit as exquisite as I knew it would. It might have felt better still had she not so clearly despised every second. And yet, the way she glared up at me, mouth full, lips wrapped around my cock—

Fuck. I have never felt so aroused.

I wanted her to finish me herself. Not because I believed she wanted me, but because, for a few stolen moments, I could pretend she did. I could imagine her choosing to kneel there.

Choosing to touch me.

Choosing me.

It was a fantasy to which I had no right.

Not when I had secured her obedience through the most despicable means available to me—by threatening the people she loved.

I should not have done it.

The thought spiralled through me as the pleasure ebbed and the tension drained from my body. It had been cruel. Worse, it had been strategically foolish. In the heat of the moment, I had shown her how much I knew—and how closely I had been watching.

But the last waves of pleasure rolled through me, drowning the regret before it could take hold.

I was still lost in the aftermath when the blade sank into my side.

When she wrenched it from my side, I feared it was over. That I would die at her feet. I would not particularly mind bleeding out for her, but it is far, far too early for that.

Then I realised it wasn’t a proper weapon at all. I could not decide whether to laugh or feel insulted.

She had tried to kill me with a fucking letter opener.

A proper knife, driven just an inch higher, might have struck something vital. As it is, the wound has already stopped bleeding, though it burns fiercely and will probably take forever to heal.

I’ll tend to it later—after I tend to her.

I hauled her up and dropped her into my armchair. By the fear written on her features, I expect she thought I was about to finish her.

With the dregs of my orgasm fading, I did what I had pictured too many times while lying awake at night. I pushed her skirts higher, moved her black panties to the side and thrust one finger deep into her tight, pink cunt.

She had immediately tried to close her legs, but I had wedged my shoulder against one knee and placed my free hand on the other before telling her it was my turn. But now she’s clenching around me, hot and achingly snug, and something possessive twists low in my gut.

“Stop,” she gasps.

I freeze. Begin to withdraw. Then I remember what I am. A vampire. My father’s son. And whatever I may believe, to the world she’s just a whore-in-training, no different to her peers. It is time I made certain she knows it. Only one of us can be in control. So I ignore her and work a second finger into her hot, tight cunt. A strained whimper escapes her.

“Tell me to stop again,” I breathe.

Her expression flickers. “Stop.”

I hold her gaze as I slowly draw my fingers back, stroke her sensitive bud, then slide them into her again.

She clutches the arms of the chair, knuckles white, hatred blazing in her eyes. Yet her cunt clenches around me, wet and traitorous. She is not even trying to push me away.

“This pleasure is for me,” I lie, my voice rough. “Even if you hate every second of it.”

I ease my fingers in and out, fucking her. Pleasuring her.