Page 30 of Collin: Episodes 10-12
Mr. Reevesworth looked away but nodded. He wiped a hand over his face.
Collin’s chest ached. He moved across the room and wrapped his arms around his master.
Mr. Reevesworth put one arm around Collin and rubbed his face one more time, sighed, and shook his head. “I’m angry, Émeric. It’s under my skin, and I want to scream.”
Mr. Moreau put the lid back on the pot. “Collin, get the bottle of red from the refrigerator, please. It needs to breathe. Can I leave you in charge of stirring this for five more minutes and then turning it off to rest?”
Collin straightened his back. “Yes, sir.”
“Thank you. Richard and I are going to go have a discussion.”
Mr. Reevesworth laughed, a rough but humorous sound.
“Are you, sir?” Collin dared to grin toward Mr. Moreau.
Mr. Moreau narrowed his eyes. “If you’re not careful, I will have a similar discussion with you or, more particularly, your ass.”
Collin blushed, but he couldn’t help grinning back. “How may I be the most respectfully uncareful, sir?”
Mr. Reevesworth laughed for real then, full and amused. “I think he understands you well, Émeric.”
Impulsively, Collin lunged for Mr. Moreau and hugged him tight. “I’ve got the food, sir. And I’ll set the table. Take all the time you need. I’ll be all right, I promise. I think I’ll shower and sit with Artemis.”
The big Frenchman hugged him back hard and tight. “Consider yourself under orders to be in my lap after dinner on the couch.”
Collin giggled. “That doesn’t seem very uncareful, sir.”
“Oh, you don’t need to be uncareful, kitten. Richard told me everything that happened while I was gone. If attention is what you’re asking for, you have it.”
Collin groaned, turning scarlet. “Master, did you have to?”
“Of course, kitten. Secrets in relationships are the root of disease.” Mr. Reevesworth grinned at Collin. He pulled Collin into a hug of his own and kissed the top of his head.
Face burning, Collin shuffled to the stove to the sounds of mirth from both of his doms. They went out, trading soft phrases in French before they had even made it down the hall.
Collin finished with the food. As he started to set the table, Artemis, her poor tail still in a splint, came in and rubbed up against his leg. He sat down on the floor and gave her the attention she wanted until she wandered off on her own. He finished setting the table and ambled down the hall.
An anguished cry ghosted down the hall. Collin paused, eyes darting toward the door to the dungeon. For all the times that Mr. Reevesworth had disappeared there with Damian, sound had never escaped from that door.
“Ah!” That was unmistakably Mr. Reevesworth.
Collin’s feet took him to the door. His hand came up, his fingertips hovering just in front of the dark wood. Something snapped and cracked. Mr. Reevesworth screamed, then cursed, languages mixing together in phrases without meaning to Collin. There was no need. It was all rage.
Terrifying rage. Collin closed his eyes, equally torn between rushing into the room and running.
Softer, calmer dark tones rumbled in response.
“More, Émeric. Damn it.”
More soft words. Mr. Moreau’s tones were unintelligible through the heavy door.
Collin shivered. His hand pressed against the door. He shouldn’t be there. He should move away. And yet he couldn’t. This was the only thing that mattered. Nothing else could fill his mind, not while his master was churning red hot like this.
“Émeric, please.” The words were an order and a demand. A supplication and a curse. They were full and alive. A man feeling deeply and thoroughly. Collin’s hand twitched with tension.
Not safe. Not right.
A whip cracked against flesh. Collin flinched. Mr. Reevesworth groaned.
