Page 12 of Collared Mate

I don’t have to force her to stay here with me right now. Either she already has my pups in her belly, or she will come arching her back and begging for my cock soon enough. Better to let this rebellious, spoiled heiress come to her own conclusions as to how much she needs me.

“Run along then, little one,” I say. “Or would you like me to drop you home? I can send a car.”

“I don’t need you to send a car,” she says. “I have many of my own.”

She wants to sound impressive, but she sounds just like she used to when she was younger, spoiled and neglected in equal measure.

“I’m going to untie you, and I’m going to let you dress yourself, insofar as a jacket and boots and nothing else counts as being dressed, and then I’m going to drop you off behind your estate. You’re going to go inside, and go to bed. I will be watching. If you go anywhere but indoors, I am going to come and get you, and the punishment will be painful. Do you understand?”

She looks at me with wide eyes that betray her shock. She really is not used to being told what to do. She’s even less used to being looked after. She’s going to have to get used to both.

* * *

Fiona

He’s being impossible. And overbearing. And bossy. And kind of hot.

True to his word, Henry unties me and lets me right myself. The jacket comes down to mid-thigh as I sit in the back of the van with him. He has one arm around my shoulders, keeping me close.

Part of me wants to ask him to take me home. But he’d be doing that if he wanted to. He must want me to be back in my own place. I wonder why that is? Does he have some other fated mate in the wings? I haven’t heard about that, but I haven’t heard much about him at all.

“If I’m your mate, are you seeing anyone else?”

I blurt the question before I can really think about it.

He turns to look at me, using his big arm to draw me closer. “Fiona, you are the only woman in my life. I don’t mate with just anyone.”

“Could have fooled me,” I say. “Because I just watched you pick some chick up out of an alley and fuck her without even using protection. Kind of wild, dude.”

“Do not call me dude,” he laughs. “And that’s cute, but I do want you to know, I am quite serious about you being my mate. I’m taking you home because I don’t want friction with Rick right now. We’re going to have to work out how to approach this.”

“Why?”

“That’s something Rick should probably tell you.”

“Ugh. Mates aren’t supposed to have secrets,” I say.

I can see that comment hit home. Henry thinks about it for a second, but whatever he’s hiding must be too explosive to reveal in the back of a kidnapper’s van.

“We’re not going to have many, and certainly not for long,” he says. He leans forward and taps on the glass separating the driver and passenger from the rear. “Let’s drop her off at the Swale estate,” he says.

True to his word, he does let me go out the back entrance. This place is massive. It essentially takes up an entire city block. There are tall stone walls topped with iron spikes and worse to keep intruders out, and the gates are all monitored, if not straight up manned, twenty-four hours a day. I moved back here after Christian died because I wanted to feel safe. And I do.

“I will see you sooner than you think,” he promises, kissing me before allowing me to escape his captivity. I feel a certain giddiness from the kiss, not to mention everything else about him. The intense sex charge is starting to dissipate, and in its place is a general sense of wellbeing and relaxation.

The rear gate opens for me, recognizing my face as I go in. My first order is to go up and have a shower. I know I smell like, well, everything. Vapes, cigarettes, booze, blood, and cum.

Rick wouldn’t like it if he smelled the vape on me, much less everything else.

I am in a kind of post-coital haze as I shower, wishing Henry had come in with me. I would like to know what his body looks like when he’s not wearing a suit. I bet he’s fucking hot.

The water runs over my body and I lather myself up, washing away all my many sins in a continuous stream of suds. It’s not going to erase the whole experience from my skin, but it will make detecting specifics a lot more difficult.

It’s three in the morning, and I am absolutely famished. Shifting works up an appetite, as does murder, and sex requires calories even if all you’re doing is lying there getting fucked while bent over.

I decide to go down to the kitchen to get myself a snack. Chef generally leaves a decent array of them in little Tupperware containers in the fridge. I don’t really want carrot sticks and hummus right now though. I bet I could cook a steak.

It’s 3:15 in the morning when the smoke alarm goes off. I don’t know how Chef manages to get a perfect sear on her steaks without making the whole house shriek about it.