Page 204 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

One arm bands across my stomach while the other slides beneath my shoulder, his hand curving gently around my throat. He lifts me slightly off the floor, both of us low, his hard chest heating my back as he cradles my weight.

Then he moves against me again, so slowly it’s agonising, the hard length of him dragging through my wetness. The contact presses exactly where I ache most, like he knows exactly what it does to me, pleasure curling low and measured, given so sparingly it feels cruel.

“Tell me to stop, Kira,” he says, his voice husky.

I cannot.

Dare not.

“Or tell me to take you,” he murmurs, “and I will.”

He doesn’t thrust. He simply holds himself there, the blunt pressure a constant threat, and waits.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I should refuse him. I know I should. Except every part of me is burning for him to make good on that promise.

And so…

Slowly…

Treacherously… I press back against him.

He inhales sharply.

Then I press back again, firmer this time, and feel the thick head of him sink in just a fraction.

He makes a rough, helpless sound against my ear, his grip tightening slightly around my throat in a way that is not unpleasant. His voice turns dark and rich as treacle. “Good pet.”

Chapter 31

Nathaniel

Ibegin the slow, thick slide into her, not stopping until I am buried to the hilt in one unbearably good stroke.

A groan tears out of me as her body yields around my cock. She is impossibly tight, wet, and hot—every inch of her gripping me like she was made to take me.

I meant to ease her through it. I truly did. I meant to rock gently until she softened. Until she whimpered and begged. To ensure her first time is a gentle one. Instead I am fully sheathed, throbbing so hard it borders on pain, and the only thing I can do is hold still while she adjusts to my girth.

“I am not your pet,” she gasps, voice tight.

I slide my hand from her throat to cover her mouth, the other arm still locked beneath her midriff, keeping her lifted and open for me.

“Shh.” The word is barely a breath against her ear. “It’s a little late for that.”

“No—” she protests, the rest of her words muffled against my palm.

Slow. Hard. Deep thrusts. My hips rock forward in controlled strokes, each one seating me fully inside her before I drag back.

I refuse to hurry. Not after watching another man put his hands on her. Not after wondering whether I would arrive too late.

I want time to savour this.

“You nearly gave this to the wrong man tonight,” I murmur against her ear. “Aren’t you glad I found you?”

A muffled protest vibrates against my palm that sounds like denial.

“Shh,” I soothe, driving into her again. “You have only yourself to blame. You pressed back. You chose me.”

She tenses beneath me, but her body has opened up for me.