I woke up sore.
Thighs aching. Wrists tender.
The inside of me still echoing with the way he touched it like he owned it.
Because last night—he did.
The collar was still around my neck.
Not locked. Just… there.
Resting softly against the bruises he'd kissed and bitten like they were part of a language only we spoke.
And Jesse?
He wasn't in bed.
---
I found him in the kitchen, shirtless, leaning against the counter with a coffee mug like he hadn't just turned me into something feral twelve hours ago.
His eyes met mine the moment I stepped in.
Neither of us said anything.
I stood there, naked except for the collar.
And he looked at me like it didn't matter how much skin I showed—he could already see everything.
---
"You sore?" he asked finally.
His voice was quiet. Graveled.
Gentle.
I nodded.
"Good."
He turned away and poured another cup of coffee, handing it to me.
Our fingers brushed. I flinched.
Not from pain. From how easy it felt.
From how I suddenly wanted this to never stop.
---
"You didn't take it off," he murmured, eyes dropping to the collar.
"You didn't tell me I could."
His breath hitched.
He set his mug down and walked over.
His thumb brushed the edge of the leather strap at my throat, slow and warm.
"You really want this?" he asked.
I didn't blink.
"I want you, Jesse."
Something dark flickered behind his eyes. Not lust.
Something deeper.
Something scared.
"You say that now," he muttered. "But you don't know what I am when I stop holding back."
I stepped closer. Let my body press against his. Let the air between us turn hot again.
"Then don't hold back."
He gripped my hips. Pulled me close.
And this time, when he kissed me—it wasn't to dominate.
It was to worship.
Mouth soft. Lingering. His hands shaking a little like he didn't expect this part—like roughness was safer.
I kissed him back like I was starving.
Because I was.
Starving for the man who broke me in half last night and still made me feel whole.
---
After breakfast, I sat on the couch in one of his old shirts.
He cleaned up like it was a normal Sunday.
And that's what scared me.
The normalcy.
Because I could get used to this.
Too easily.
And I had a feeling—so could he.