Page 66 of Bruised

I hope he’ll be satisfied I’m wearing his gifts. With the choker around my neck, the plug stuffed in my hole, and the countless bruises and bite marks dotted on my skin, I’m all his. He’d better understand that.

When I step inside his room, he’s sitting on the bed, naked. Waiting for me. His gaze zeroes in on my throat, and a small smile tugs at his lips.

“Clothes off, puppy. Come here and show me.”

I pull my shirt off and slide my boxers down, leaving my clothes in a haphazard heap on the floor. My cock is embarrassingly hard and bobs between my legs as I walk to stand in front of him. To think I once refused to take off my clothes for our encounters is both funny and a little disturbing.

I’ve gone so far beyond what I initially set out to do, I barely remember my own intentions—or the reasons why I had them in the first place. All that exists in this room is Mason’s gaze roaming over me and the shudder of want and anticipation that travels all the way to my core.

I kneel between his legs, tilting my head up, exposing my throat. He runs a finger along the band of my choker—his choker—so focused, so entranced in watching the way it curves around my neck and how the black heart sits in the little dip between my collarbones.

A choker. A collar. It doesn’t even matter anymore what I call it—the signal it sends out is the same: ownership. Submission. He told me once that I wanted it to be a collar, and maybe, just maybe, there’s some truth to that. He could clip a leash onto it right now and have me follow him wherever he wants, take me in whatever ways he wants, and I’d agree to it.

When I gave in to him that first time, I never would’ve thought I’d go along with this. I’m my own person; I’m not his property, not his puppy. But maybe I can be both—my own self and his puppy. Though I don’t know if he’d see it that way.

Maybe, by wearing his collar, an imaginary veil has fallen over me, and Mason will never again see me as a human with thoughts and feelings of my own, but rather as just a puppy that he can do with what he wants. Just an object of his desire. And I’m not sure that’s what I want.

Is it worth the risk? The desperate hardness between my legs would beg to say yes.

“Do you like it?” He tugs at the front of my choker, pulling me closer.

I nod. My heart is pounding, and my skin tingles when his knuckles brush my throat.

“I thought you would. It looks pretty on you.”

I try to say thank you, but all I get out is a choked whimper.

“And how about your other gift?” He motions for me to stand up, and he turns me around with a hand on my hip.

Face burning, I bend over to show him the end of the plug nestled between my cheeks. Mason inhales a sharp breath behind me, and he parts my cheeks wide with his thumbs, watching how my rim stretches around the silicone base.

“I thought I might have to help get it inside you. But you were so eager to get your hole filled, weren’t you? You did it all on your own.”

I nod, whining in agreement. I was eager. I’ve held out for two days, and now I’m starving for his touch.

“Did it hurt to push it in?” He grabs the base and tugs at it softly.

A whimper escapes my lips as the movement makes the curved end stroke my prostate. “A… a little. I went slow.”

“Yeah? But you’re ready for me, aren’t you?”

“For…?”

“For my cock.”

My cheeks burn. “Yeah. So ready.”

He chuckles. “Good. But first, come get your treat.”

When I turn around, he spreads his legs wide, exposing his hard cock and his heavy balls that bulge over the edge of the mattress. I sink to my knees and settle on the floor between his legs. My plug gets jostled with the movement, nudging my prostate. Fuck, I really want him to touch me, and I really want his cock. My, um… my treat.

“Go on,” he says. “You’ve earned it.”

He smells musky and slightly sweaty, as if he hasn’t yet showered after his recent gym session. I inhale deeply through my nose, letting his masculine scent and intoxicating presence fill my body.

I groan, eyelids fluttering shut. Why is that smell so addictive? I’ve come before when nuzzling my nose into his armpit, and I got hard by smelling his T-shirt a few days ago. It feels dirty, wrong in the most delicious way possible, just like everything else we do.

“Like that smell, puppy? How about the taste?” He grabs the base of his cock and swipes the head across my mouth, smearing precum over my lips, back and forth, back and forth, while I moan and stick my tongue out, desperate for that salty taste and the silky mouthfeel of his cock.