Page 143 of Collared by the Vampire Prince

“Open.”

I do not want to, but he pinches my nose shut. Unable to breathe, my mouth falls open, and he pushes himself down my throat again.

I gag hard, the sound wet and ugly, but he only groans and keeps me there for one unbearable moment before drawing back.

“Fuck.” He looks down at me with naked appreciation. “I should have known you’d try to kill me. I nearly spilled my load when you went for the knife.”

The fact that he anticipated it—and that he seems so aroused by it—leaves me even more defeated. He thrusts in again, watching my face with predatory focus as I gag. Then he cups my face, his fingers tangled in my hair, and strokes my cheeks with his thumbs.

“You’re doing so well.”

He fucks my mouth in earnest after that. Deeper. Harder. Using me with the same controlled intensity he applies to everything else. Punishing me until my jaw aches and my throat feels raw.

Every time I gag, he holds me there a second longer, watching the tears track down my cheeks. Watching the way I struggle and still take him.

“Now show me what you’ve learnt,” he commands. “Keep sucking.” He releases me.

I draw off, gasping for air.

“Back on my cock.”

And I obey. I grasp the base and take him into my mouth again. All of him. The realisation closes around me as tightly as his hand did. He has outmanoeuvred me. Outsmarted me. I have lost everything. My pride. My dignity. My defiance.

I am kneeling here sucking the enemy’s cock, disarmed and humiliated, while he watches me obey.

How the fuck did I get here?

Nathaniel no longer guides me or moves his hips. He simply stands over me and waits.

In a way, it’s worse. Every downward movement is mine. Every time I take him deeper, it is my own body carrying me there. I am the one taking him in my mouth, dragging my lips along his length, working to bring him closer while he looks down at me with calm satisfaction.

My eyes stream. Whenever he tells me to look at him, I glare through the tears and keep moving, helpless fury burning in my veins. Somehow, he feels larger now, impossibly rigid as I force my mouth wider around him.

“Are you ready, pet?” he asks.

Ready for what? I can barely think. All I can do is breathe when I can, keep my head moving, and suppress the nausea rising in my throat.

Then I remember. Disgust fills me, my throat constricting around him.

“I’m going to come,” he informs me, his voice strained. “And you will swallow every last drop.”

I remember Eliza’s advice, delivered once in a low, practical whisper.

When he swells against my tongue, his thighs tightening and his breathing turning harsh, I push myself forward, trying to take him as deeply as possible so his release will go straight down my throat. At least I won’t have to taste it.

Nathaniel’s hand fists tightly in my hair and drags me back.

“Ah-ah.” He tuts. “No cheating. I want you to taste me. I want you to smell me. I hear wolves never forget a scent. You’ll remember this forever.”

He holds me in place, the thick head of his cock resting heavily on my tongue, and rubs himself there in small, deliberate strokes. The sensitive tip drags slowly across my tongue as his breathing turns uneven.

Then he comes.

Hot, thick pulses spray against the roof of my mouth, coating the inside of my cheeks and pooling beneath my tongue before sliding towards the back of my throat. The taste is immediate and overwhelming—salty, bitter, with a musky tang—and the heavy, sticky texture fills my mouth until I cannot escape either.

I make a choked, involuntary sound around him, but he does not care.

“Swallow,” he orders, still buried in my mouth. “All of it.”