Collared

Copyright © 2011 Kari Gregg

Cover by: Petite-Madame VonApple, L.C. Chase

Edited by: Rachel Haimowitz and Aleksandr Voinov

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Warning: This book contains strong language, sexually explicit situations, and may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for adults only. 

About Collared

Trans-Global IT director Connor Witt is a rare and prized anomaly: the aggression centers in his brain have been suppressed rather than stimulated by the mutated crops that so recently took over the world’s food supply. Bewildered by his physical changes and terrified of a world growing more and more predatory, Connor risks harassment and worse until Trans-Global CEO David Martin collars Connor to protect him against men like security consultant Emmett Drake. Men who stalk Connor as sweet, sexy prey. Men to whom the newly submissive Connor feels irresistibly drawn.

But David can’t be Connor’s master; David’s straight. He promises to find a worthy man, though. One willing to court and appreciate Connor as more than just some rich man’s toy.

While the world adapts to the biological disaster and new laws strip away Connor’s rights, David’s resolve to protect his boy slowly grows into something more. But can his new desires keep pace with Emmett’s determination to claim Connor?

One man offers safety; the other is a safer bet. Problem is, Connor’s never sure which is which. The one thing he does know? He wants them both.

Chapter One

Pleasantly buzzing from the cocktails his friends had pressed on him, Connor re-knotted the tie required at Trans-Global while he waited for the elevator in the lobby.

Work had been a nightmare since the CDC, the FDA and plenty of other alphabets had made their announcements about the genetic engineering disaster last year. First, the crush of investors scrambling to flee agriculture businesses had stressed Trans-Global’s stable of analysts.

Then symptoms emerged in the general population.

Nerves strung tight, Connor fidgeted with his tie. Frustrated investment brokers and technology did not mix. The increasing aggression the mutation provoked had taken a steady toll on the analysts—and the investment firm’s computer equipment. As Director of IT, Connor fixed what they fouled, replaced what they broke, and kept his head down.

Way down.

The less attention he drew to himself, the better. Intense, focused awareness followed him no matter where he went or what he did now—when he couldn’t hold a challenging stare, every time he yielded to the near-constant invasion of his personal space, whenever they touched him. And they always touched him. Fingers rustled his hair. A proprietary palm smoothed over the base of his spine when he walked. A heavy hand clasped his shoulder as he showed an analyst how he’d messed up his email. Again.

They were breaking their computers to get to him.

Connor didn’t know what to do. So when his friends had demanded the extra hour at lunch, he’d caved. He’d needed the break from the hungry stares at the office and saying no to the drinks his friends poured down him hadn’t been an option. Not really.

His friends had grown as predatory as the brokers. Connor’s nerves were shot. His stomach knotted when he felt heat at his back, a towering body that edged too close behind him. Didn’t matter how often one of them moved on him. It always made him shake.

The elevator’s arrived. Unless you planned to wait for another?

His muscles tensed. God, that voice. Connor darted a glance behind him and tried not to gulp at the full lips that curved into a sexy smile inches away. So near, Connor only needed to lean to bring that mouth to his. Part of him wanted to sway against him. The guy was tall, thick with muscle, and the confident glitter in his dark eyes promised there was little he couldn’t handle. Including Connor. Especially Connor.

He’d been fantasizing about that mouth for months. And he didn’t even know the man’s name.

Come on, pet. The dark-haired stranger chuckled, his fingers settling at Connor’s waist to nudge him forward. I’ll take you upstairs where you belong.

Heart thudding, Connor let the man guide him into the elevator. He wedged himself into a corner, though there was plenty of room for the two of them.

Seventeenth floor, right?

He jerked his head for a brief nod and kept his gaze glued to the tile floor, unsurprised when the stranger growled a warning to an office worker rushing forward as the doors slid shut, sealing them inside. Alone.

Jesus, the guy smelled good—musky aftershave, the wispy scent of soap and, underneath it, the earthy aroma of aroused man. Connor’s mouth watered. A wave of lust heated his skin from the tips of his toes to the face he knew must be pink with embarrassment.

You should wear your collar or your ID bracelet before you go out again. Something that identifies your master. The man crowded him, raising an arm to prop it against the wall next to Connor’s lowered head. Or have you slipped your leash?

He swallowed. The shaming desire to press against the stranger’s long body churned Connor’s gut. He unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth. I didn’t sneak away, he mumbled.

Technically true. He had no one to sneak away from.

Then he’s a fool for letting you wander. The stranger bent, his chin brushing aside the hair at Connor’s temple. The man sucked in a deep breath. Christ, you’re beautiful.

Connor trembled, both wanting and fearing that want all at the same time.

He’ll lose you. A finger traced the line of Connor’s jaw. It’s not safe for you to walk the streets without a master’s protection. I’m tempted to take you myself. He pushed Connor’s chin up, forcing Connor to meet his gaze despite Connor’s quiet whimper of protest. Tell me. Is he careless? Besotted? Or stupid?

Mr. Witt?

Connor startled at his name, then bodily sagged, never so relieved to see the receptionist, even if she was gaping at him. Barb had grown possessive of him, in her way. She’d rescue him.

Connor? Are you okay?

The body caging his stepped aside. He’s all right.

No, he wasn’t. He was turned on, scared, and his heart was trying to gallop out of his chest. None of that remotely resembled all right. He slid bonelessly to the elevator floor.

Just a lesson for the pet. And David Martin.

Barb hurried forward, alternately screeching at the stranger and clucking over Connor like a mother hen. For once, Connor welcomed the attention. The receptionist’s firm grip on him as she shouldered him upright steadied him and his knees wobbled only a little when she guided him from the elevator. He could almost breathe.

He jumped when the stranger grabbed his hand. My card. He shoved it into Connor’s palm. If David Martin is half the man I believe he is, he’ll contact my firm to protect you immediately. And if not . . . The man arched an eyebrow. My personal number’s on the back. Don’t let the other wolves have you, sweetheart. Come to me.

Word traveled fast.

As Connor escaped Barb and the front lobby, his cell vibrated in his pocket in time with the insistent chirping of his office landline. He’d meant to hide in IT. Shut the door. Try to forget the incident had ever happened. He’d climb seventeen floors every day before he’d set foot in the elevator again. To hell with the fact that he hadn’t dared the isolated stairwells between Trans-Global’s three floors in months. He just couldn’t . . . He couldn’t be near that man again. He smelled too good. And he’d treated Connor like a . . . a . . . thing. A toy. Like a choice morsel of meat.

Connor shivered. He had to steer clear of the stranger. Before he did something stupid like angle his cheek into the man’s palm, before he curled against his body. Before he grabbed the man with both hands and begged him to never let him go.

He needed a few minutes to stop his head from spinning. Trans-Global’s staff had decided an upset Connor was a weakened Connor, though, and a weak Connor was fair game. Especially now that Scott was out of the picture.

That all of them swooping down on him might rattle him never entered their aggression-doped heads.

Connor couldn’t think. They always crowded around him, offering bottled water and juice from the vending machines, a shot from a flask, chocolate to boost his blood sugar. He didn’t know whose hands rubbed his shoulders. He didn’t know who’d taken off his shoes. Somehow, this time, his tie ended up trailing from his collar, and his shirt was untucked, the first two buttons unfastened.

They meant well. These people had been friends and colleagues before the world had turned upside down. They still cared about him. None of them meant to scare the shit out of him. They were stripping him, though, and how badly he’d wanted to throw himself at the man in the elevator rocked him to the core. No matter how many people circled him, concerned and in their way trying to be helpful, Connor had never felt so vulnerable or alone.

Richardson, from accounting, shoved a box of tissues into his shaking hands.

When, for God’s sake, had he started crying?

That’s enough.

Oh fuck.

The crowd parted like the Red Sea for Mr. Martin, Trans-Global’s CEO, and wasn’t that perfect? When Connor knew the guy had probably been racking his brain for grounds to fire him all week? Given the escalation of unnecessary repairs the staff had rushed through IT to court him, Connor had been expecting the call for days. It was just that this afternoon, he couldn’t take it. He buried his face in a tissue and sobbed.

Mr. Martin threaded his fingers through the hair at the crown of