Page 69 of Collin: Episodes 10-12
Days? Collin whimpered and scooted closer to his sir.
Mr. Moreau laughed and snuggled him closer. “You’re not encouraging me to not to make this a regular occurrence, boy. What if I decide to never let you orgasm again?”
Never? Collin’s eyes widened, and he stared up at his sir with his mouth partway open. “Sir?”
“This is one of the things I wanted you to know about me, Collin.” Mr. Moreau wrapped an arm around Collin’s rear, pressing him close against his chest, even though Collin was still lying on the table. “I live for making my subs weak and needy and desperate, turning them into willing clay, for decorating them, and displaying them, and testing their physical limits, for suspending them in subspace so deep they forget their own names. Many people mistake me for the softer, easier dom between Richard and I, but they forget that I am the only one of the two of us who ever took on a slave.”
Collin shivered inside his sir’s arms. “Are you trying to scare me, sir?”
“Perhaps.”
Collin bit the closest piece of his sir that he could, the man’s biceps. Not a light nip, no. A hard, full-jaw clamp.
Mr. Moreau bellowed, half rising off the bench. His hands tightened where he held Collin. Their eyes met. Mr. Moreau stilled. Collin grinned around his mouthful. Gah, he was going crazy. Inch by inch, Mr. Moreau sat down. Only when he was fully seated did Collin release his teeth.
He smirked. He was still shaky. He was still empty and half in free fall, but something wild and insane was ruling him. “Don’t underestimate me, sir. Don’t think you’re too much for me.” He half rose on one elbow so he could be eye to eye with his sir. “I’ve told you what I need. I need to be needed. I need to be wanted. But you are not too fucking much for me, sir.”
“Is that so, Collin?” Mr. Moreau’s eyes darkened and narrowed.
“Yes, sir.” Collin met his stare with one of his own.
Mr. Moreau’s left arm was wrapped around Collin’s shoulder. He stood, spilling Collin onto his back, forcing Collin’s leg up between them and holding it in place so that Collin was folded in half and crushed against Mr. Moreau’s chest and the table. He stabbed three stiff fingers into Collin’s hole and shoved them up inside of Collin’s guts until they were entirely buried, his knuckles pressed against Collin’s ass.
Shock rolled through Collin’s spine. His hole spasmed and burned.
“Still not too much for you, boy?”
Collin jerked and shuddered. Blinking back water, he glared at Mr. Moreau. “No, sir!”
A smile, feral and pleased, broke out across Mr. Moreau’s face. He pressed Collin down on the table, pinning him with what felt like his entire body, including his mouth. His lips sealed against him, feasted on him, sucked the water out of him, and then gave it back as his tongue mapped every part of Collin’s mouth.
Only long after they were both gasping for air did he draw back, and even then, his fingers stayed buried in Collin’s ass. “I am never, ever, letting you go, boy.”
He blinked up at his sir, trying to smile through the bruises on his lips. “Who said I’d let you go, sir?”
Mr. Moreau laughed, and then he was crying. He pulled his fingers out of Collin’s hole and wrapped himself around him, dragging the blanket over Collin’s back as he lifted him from the table as if he couldn’t get close enough to his skin. They were moving, and all he could do was hang on with both arms around his sir’s neck, and then they were in one of the large chairs, and Mr. Reevesworth was there, and Mr. Moreau was pulling off his shirt and tossing it away.
“Émeric, let me help.”
“Need, Richard. I need.” There were so many tears on his sir’s face. Collin touched them, leaned forward, and tried to wipe them away. Arms were lifting him, and he couldn’t stay still long enough to wipe those tears away, and he wanted to; he wanted to so bad. Something was breaking inside his sir, and he needed to make it better.
Mr. Reevesworth was lifting him from behind, folding Collin’s legs in half and setting him back down. But not just down—no—he was setting him on. Mr. Moreau was dragging him forward, clinging to him. His pants were open, and his cock was at Collin’s hole. And now he understood. He reached out, steadying himself against Mr. Moreau’s shoulders and breathed out, taking his sir’s length in him. His knees were pressing up against the back of the couch just under his sir’s armpits, and he was splayed in a way he’d never imagined he could be shaped, but it didn’t matter. He wrapped his arms around Mr. Moreau’s neck and kissed him, hard, squeezing his hole around his sir’s cock, pressing his bruised nipples against his sir’s naked chest, holding him in every way he could find to hold him.
The blanket came back, a shadow of warmth that fell from above, and was tucked around him and his sir. Collin dropped his head to Mr. Moreau’s shoulder and squeezed with his whole body, arms, legs, ass. There were tears all over his face that weren’t his own, and his sir was shaking, his heartbeat pounding against Collin’s chest.
He was speaking, and he didn’t even know what he was saying at first. “I have you, sir. I’ve got you. I’m yours. You’re not too much for me. I want you. I want everything you want to do with me. I want to be your milk boy; I want to be desperate for you. I want to be your kitten and your kitchen helper. I’ll wash your dishes and cuddle you, and you can tie me up and take pictures. I promise. I have you. I love you.”
Between sentences, he kissed whatever part of his sir he could reach with his mouth. All the while, his dom sobbed. Deep, hard, almost silent sobs.
Mr. Reevesworth stood by the chair, one hand on Collin’s back, one hand on Émeric’s shoulder. He had tears on his face too, but they were all for Émeric. And maybe, though Collin wouldn’t ask at that moment, also for Enzo and the piece of Émeric’s heart that had gone to the other side to stay with his love.
Collin looked up at Mr. Reevesworth. His master nodded, reassuring him, and reached out, squeezing Collin’s shoulder. He kissed the top of Collin’s head. Collin turned his face and caught his master’s lips with his.
Richard kissed him. Not Mr. Reevesworth, not his master, not his dom. Richard.
Collin’s heart swelled. He’d never been kissed with love for two people at once before, but he could feel it in this kiss, his master’s heart overflowing for both Émeric and Collin. Loving Émeric through Collin. He and Richard were a pair, both holding the man they loved, each anchoring him in ways that only they could do.
Not sharing. Reinforcing. Not competing but trusting, relieved to no longer be alone. In so many ways.
