Bear Shifters: Hunt Collection #2 (16 page)

Chapter
Eleven: Coming Home

It had been just a little over a month since they returned back to Montana.

Morgan had Mercy right where he wanted her. He had her at home, under no duress. He'd been released of all charges thanks to the woman he had strapped down in front of him. She was there sitting quietly on the end of cot that was in the basement. Her bindings weren't too tight, but they let her know he was still in control.

There was a fear and a fire in her eyes.

The blowjob.
She was thinking about how it had felt when she'd first given in, and given way, and how it had felt for his unbidden seed to take over her. Washing down her throat, she'd be overtaken by him in every way possible then. And now.
Now
.

Though Mercy knew he just a mortal man, he seemed taller. Stronger. More savage than seemed possible. Somehow, all of it made him equally terrifying. Terrifying, and desirable. She wanted him. Mercy
wanted
him with a savagery of her own. A secret, private desire that somehow, in the midst of everything, was safe now. It was safe to want him now, when he had her. When she had no escape. When escape was truly the furthest thing from her mind.

"Oh, Mercy," Morgan cupped her chin with his long fingers, every inch of his skin against her burning through the both of him. He loved to see her aching for him. It scented the air, how she longed for him. Captured and his, Morgan was happy to taste the fullness of her desire.

"I'm going to make you beg for me to fuck you. To let you come. Because you need to understand that you are mine." It was more than taking her, she had to give herself to him.

He walked her over and placed her on the rack.

And she would. She wanted to now. Until she was humbled enough, however, she wouldn't beg.

Lowering his mouth to her already aching and wet, tender flesh, he drank in every sweetness of her need and every aching moan she made when his lips and tongue made contact with every part of her.

Mercy squirmed. Squirmed as much as one could on a St. Andrew's Cross. Bound tightly, she wasn't moving enough to anything more than effectively stress her upper arms and ankles for a moment, and wriggle herself against Morgan's mouth. It only made her torture more delicious for the both of them.

"You want to beg now," Morgan hummed against her skin. Her clit swelled against his lips, and he flicked it with his tongue, then grazed it with his teeth.

Tears heated her eyes and ruined her vision, but Mercy couldn't say anything. Every moment of him touching her made her moan against her will. Her traitorous body ached and burned for Morgan's touch. To belong to him the twisted, sick way that he wanted her. When his thumb circled her clit, she shut her eyes hard, but then something broke within her. Every tension concentrated in her body at her abdomen and in her sex. Swelling, rising, falling, her breath fell into unison with his. A moan of pleasure betrayed just how right he was. How much she did want to be safe in this moment, and give herself to him.

"P-please," she groaned out when he replaced his thumb with his tongue. His thumb curled inside of her and pulled her tight against his face.

"Well, that was quick," Morgan laughed against her dewness and a waterfall of moans cascaded from her lips. Already, a tension built inside of her body and threatened to break.

"You want something?" He said teasingly, pulling lips and tongue over and around every inch of her.

When she said nothing, Morgan decided she'd had plenty of pleasure to help her along. Now, now she needed pain. His other hand rose to her breast and slapped in three quick thwacks, then captured her nipple and twisted cruelly.

"Please, please," Mercy's tears fell freely now and she knew what he wanted her to say. She wanted to say it. But she was shuddering in her binds and he was still working over her aching pussy. The sensations of pleasure and the insistent pain at her nipple were swirling in her mind and she almost felt the room was spinning.

Morgan had her crazy for him. She'd tasted some of his madness, now, and he'd like to dip deep into her void and let him taste hers. Mouth wet from her arousal, he closed it around her breast, and sunk his aching cock into her quickly.

Mercy screamed. Her orgasm was so close to the surface but all she could was yelp.

His cock retreated and Morgan sunk his teeth into that same abused nipple. Through gritted teeth he urged her on, pressing his hardness against her weeping pussy begging already for his cock, "Beg me to fuck you. Beg me to let you orgasm on my cock. Tell me that you're mine," he growled out the last sentence.
It'll be tonight
, he thought,
tonight the bear will come out and claim her.

He had to control how strong his urges were. He had to attempt to contain his madness until he could be deep inside of her where the true release could happen. Morgan wouldn't be free until she was enslaved.

"Please fuck me and let me come on your cock, I need it!" Mercy yelped. She didn't care how she felt, or about the tears burning streaks down her face. Her body focused and only existed where he was touching her. Only in yielding to him could she feel anything.

The full several seconds before he sunk into her were as maddening for him as Morgan felt they were for his trembling little Mercy, and when he sunk hard and deep to his balls into her, she shuddered around him, already so close to her release. Slamming hard, fast, again and again into her, she quaked around him. A wet smacking sound filled the air around them and the temperature of the room seem to go as molten as their lust.

Mercy was out of her body and so deliciously in every moment as her body shook around Morgan's, still tied up and his body pressing her even further against the "X" he had her bound to. She'd never felt so confined and so free all at once. Her body was filled with his large, pulsing cock, thrusting hard and unforgiving into her with more and more force each time, and her body took every inch and every second of it and seemed to become only that space. Only that feeling. Her entire being summarized in the feeling of him overtaking her, her eyes shut and velvet wings purred beneath her eyes. Somewhere in the darkness she'd found herself somewhere so entirely
other
and beyond normal.

It was safe. Safe, captured, captive.

Barely coming down from her high, Mercy felt the flutter of a thought that she couldn't ever go back to who she was before Morgan, even if he was done with her.

The idea of him being done with her made the tears flow harder, which was frightening. Mercy hadn't realized she was still crying. Her stomach hurt at the idea of being taken where she was not and then dropped off the precipice of this dark, secret chamber she'd entered in her heart with Morgan.

Both of his hands grabbed her face, his hips rolling harder to thrust just right into her to hit every part of the most pleasurable fuck that he could give his Mercy, and his thumbs overtook every tear.

"You're mine,
always
," he growled, grinding his cock into her harder and spending himself deep inside of her.

Always. He could never give up Mercy. Never let her be free. He couldn't let her be anything other than his. Sinking his still hard cock deep into her, Morgan sharply turned her head to the side and sunk his teeth into her throat, carefully biting her as she gasped. He bit to claim her because he needed to feel her blood against his tongue. His bear required it.

"Mine," he groaned into the broken skin.

Whimpering, Mercy shuddered more against Morgan's cock, eager for every twisted thing he did fucking her.

"Yes," she cried out, feeling somehow past a point of no return when he licked the bite in her neck. Though it ached terribly, it gave her some sense of pride. She was pleasing him.

Just like that, he'd had her begging for him to let her have pleasure, and his pleasure had become the summary of her thoughts and desires. She did want to be his. Mercy knew she should be afraid but somehow she was more afraid at the fact that she wasn't afraid.

"I'm going to untie you now," Morgan growled against her throat, his lips pressing against her with every word, a little sticky against her with some of her blood on his lips. It was perverse but it made every hair of hers stand on edge in a way that was not unlike further arousal.

Saying nothing else, Morgan removed her binds and curled her into his arms, carrying her over to the leather and silk bed and sitting down with her in his arms. He rubbed where she'd been bound, making sure that the circulation would return properly. Mercy said nothing but she'd stopped crying. She seemed smaller, more fragile, more delicate, than she had this whole time. But that was the thing...she was strong. Strong enough to become small for him. Morgan delighted in owning her so wholly. He knew that she was the one for him. That he'd scorch the earth before he let her go.

Suddenly, he rolled her over to her stomach. Mercy's body took note and her nipples hardened against the silk sheets where she hung over his lap.

"You were very good," Morgan's voice was like a rough silk through the air. Dark, deep, rough, and entrancing. "Now, for your reward," he cooed to her.

Then, the first spank landed, hard, on her ass.

Mercy cried out loudly. It was sharp, stinging, and shocking. "I," she groaned but she had no words.

"Don't speak," Morgan ordered. Mercy would obey. She was his.

Obey, Mercy did, and as each spanking hit in exactly the same spot, but a little harder each time, Mercy felt the world around her transform into colors and music around her. As if she were a star scooped from the sky, her body was lightened and painted with stroke against her backside. How could the pain of being spanked be a reward for begging to be allowed pleasure? It didn't make sense in any normal way but the fearful symmetry of Morgan's dark magic enraptured her and she understood. Was enchanted. The wordless acceptance of his reward, of his hand, of his sensation, brought her higher and higher and she somehow felt it. Understood it.

Silence flew Mercy higher than she ever had before, Morgan confirmed it when she came on his lap, her shuddering body spending more pleasure on him. When her sensitive body shuddered afterward with ripe sensations, only then did he turn her around and bring his mouth back to the hearth of her arousal. Her pussy was hot and he was ready to surge more fire from it, sinking his mouth against her sex and dangling her body up in his arms around it. Like a rag doll she was suspending it his arms, moaning at his mouth's ravenous ministrations.

It was almost painful
, Mercy realized when she felt another orgasm building pressure in her belly. Her overly sensitive pussy was swollen in need. Morgan pressing three large fingers inside of her while his tongue harshly pressed over her clit was so good and the pressure so intense that it almost felt something like pain. Pain felt something like pleasure. Pleasure felt something like an ache. Mercy let go, again, and again, and was deep in a void from reality.

Morgan finally laid her against the bed, crushing his body against hers and feeling every inch of her on every inch of him.
His
. He would never stop claiming her as his because it felt right. Necessary. Her utter submission was as blissful to him as it had clearly been to her, and Morgan felt a large smile overtake his face.

Deep in the crevices of his mind he kept uttering "I love you" over and over again, even if the words didn't leave his lips.

Chapter
Twelve: Sunday Service

Morgan approached the pulpit stoic. It was his turn to say a few words at the service, a first for him. He'd chosen his bible passage careful in light of his life at the moment. While he was freer than he'd ever been, he was forever bound to Mercy.

He'd thought of nothing more than to collar her. Make her his completely. After service, perhaps.  The idea left him weak in the knees.

He took a deep breath before scanning the room. A room of people all trying to do the right thing; live the only way they know how. Morgan felt safe here in these walls.

"Today I'm going to be talking about the Song of Songs, or the Song of Solomon as you may know it. I read from Song of Songs 1, verses 12 to 13... while the king was at his table, my perfume spread its fragrance. My beloved is to me a sachet of myrrh resting between my breasts."

Morgan continued as the room held on each and every word. While the quiet man was always in service, and was acting deacon for the community, he usually organized events instead of speaking at them. Hearing him testify was vastly new.

Morgan called home to see how Mercy was after his service was completed. It was so new to him, this feeling of belonging to someone.

"I just wanted to see if you had a moment where we could talk about something important later tonight?" he said, speaking rapidly as he did whenever he was nervous.

"Well that sounds ominous, Morgan."

"No, no, it's a good thing. I'm just a bit nervous to bring it up to you, that's all."

"Well Morgan Rattle, if I didn't know you better I'd think you were going to propose."

Morgan pondered that. In his own way, it was much like asking her to marry him. Morgan wasn't a marrying type of man, and he believed collaring a submissive was just as much of a commitment and a life-long bond. For Morgan, while he wouldn't be giving her a gold band, the act of placing that collar around her slender pale neck would be just as significant.

"No, I'm not that type of man, Mercy," he laughed, "but you're close."

He clicked the phone off, and settled in for the short drive back to the home he shared with her.