Page 83 of Collin: Episodes 1-3
“I am going to torture you, Émeric.”
Mr. Moreau laughed. “Promise?”
“Oh, I do.” Mr. Reevesworth could not take his eyes off the small bits of silvery metal.
Mr. Moreau warmed them in his hand as he paced around the bed, blowing on them now and then. “I think they’re ready.
“It doesn’t matter if they’re body temperature or not, Émeric.”
“Hmm. How do you think Collin is going to look the first time you use a pair of these on him?”
“Like a pre-Raphaelite angel.”
Collin swallowed, holding very still. His eyes were fixed on Mr. Moreau’s hands. The Frenchman slid one knee and then another onto the bed from the far side, giving Collin the perfect view of Mr. Reevesworth. His long fingers, so adept with baking, now gripped his husband’s nipple and rolled the soft nub.
Mr. Reevesworth’s breath quickened. He fixed his eyes on the ceiling. “If you’re going to do it, just get on with it.”
Mr. Moreau said nothing. Mr. Reevesworth jerked on the chains.
Mr. Moreau changed his focus to the other nipple, leaving the first empty and bereft. Mr. Reevesworth cursed and tossed his head, arching up into the new pain.
Then he sagged into the bed. His eyes met his husband’s and something passed between them. He screamed behind his teeth as the first clamp met his flesh. Mr. Moreau’s face was blank, just staring down into Mr. Reevesworth’s own. His hands moved to the first nipple. He gripped it and waited. Mr. Reevesworth bared his teeth, breathing fast. One moment and then two, and he brought himself under control once again.
Mr. Moreau’s hands stripped him of it at once, clamping down the second bit of steel to his chest.
Mr. Reevesworth writhed. There was no other word for the movements his large body made against the mattress, stretched out and pinned and yet continuously in motion.
Mr. Moreau slid from the bed and retrieved the flogger. He wound the ends around his hands, gathering it together with ease that spoke of practice. Then he let it fly, catching his husband across the thigh. It might not have hurt. It didn’t leave a mark. Not at first. Strike after strike, he circled the bed, catching Mr. Reevesworth’s arms, his shoulders, the sides of his belly, his bulging thighs, and even his groin now and again. Sweat stood out on his arms and back and pooled in the dimple at the base of his spine just above his buttocks before trailing down the backs of his legs.
Color rose in Mr. Reevesworth’s skin in layers, a light blush and then a deeper pink, darkening to a red here and there. He still moved on the bed, eyes unfocused, lost in a haze, hair dark with sweat and the sheets drenched beneath him. His cock was hard, tight, and hard against his flat belly no matter how many times the flogger found it.
Mr. Moreau laid the flogger down on the side table and retrieved a bottle of lube from the drawer. Mr. Reevesworth continued to undulate on the bed senseless. Mr. Moreau slid his lubed fingers into his own ass as he watched, stretching himself, but barely. He poured more lube on his hands and climbed on the bed, straddling his husband.
Mr. Reevesworth struggled to open his eyes. “Émeric.”
Mr. Moreau grasped Mr. Reevesworth’s cock and held it upright. In one smooth motion, he sank down on it, taking the entire length into himself. He settled, buttocks pressed against Mr. Reevesworth’s hips. Mr. Reevesworth started to push upward.
Mr. Moreau grasped both clamps at once and released them.
Mr. Reevesworth screamed. It started as a sound and ended in silence, the man’s mouth open, his back arched so deeply that no part of his spine from hip to head touched the sheets.
Mr. Moreau ground his hips down and moved, milking Mr. Reevesworth as he orgasmed. Mr. Reevesworth shuddered one last time and dropped to the bed. Mr. Moreau eased off his husband’s cock, still hard and erect, and released all four shackles. Mr. Reevesworth’s eyelids fluttered as he watched him but was too spent to move.
Mr. Moreau crawled to the top of the bed and kissed him. “Now you may fuck me, Richard. If you wish.”
Mr. Reevesworth half raised one arm, trying to reach for his husband. The Frenchman leaned in, lying beside him and meeting him in a deep kiss. It lasted for long minutes of slow movement. Slowly, Mr. Reevesworth rose up on one elbow, pulling Mr. Moreau down and onto his stomach. He whispered into Mr. Moreau’s ear and then slid over his husband, mounting and entering him from behind, with Mr. Moreau lying flat beneath him.
They moved languidly together, pausing to kiss every few moments, neither rushing toward completion.
Collin stretched out on his stomach on the couch, getting more comfortable. He still watched, but his eyes were growing heavy.
In time, the muscles in Mr. Reevesworth’s back tightened, and he groaned softly, pumping a little more deeply into Mr. Moreau, emptying himself into his husband for a second time. They separated then and came together, cuddling face to face.
“Do you want to come, love?” Mr. Reevesworth whispered.
“No, I’m saving this for you in the morning.”
Mr. Reevesworth chuckled softly. “We should clean up then.”
