“Thanks,” Owen said. He left the package on his desk and saw Counselor Torres out the door. He had no clue what was in the package, but he had a gut feeling that its contents wereprivate.
Once she was gone, he made sure the door was firmly closed. There were no locks inside any of the counselor’s offices, but Owen figured that the turning of the knob and the sound of the latch would be warning enough. He headed back to his desk and sat down, looking the bubblemailerover.
No postage. No return address. No sender name. The only information written on the package was his name. Crawford’s elegant script brought the letters to life, and Owen spent a moment just looking at the dips and strokes of his penmanship. Handwriting like that spoke of wealth. No one wrote that well without time to practice calligraphy; few could afford thatluxury.
Owen’s finger traced the loops in the ‘l’s in Ellis, stalling. He tried to talk himself out of opening the package immediately, but not knowing what was inside was starting to drive him crazy. There was something in there—something physical. He could feel it through the protective wrapping, and he needed to know whatitwas.
Owen unlocked a drawer on his desk and withdrew a pair of scissors to open the package with. He drew the blade across the top and snipped. The bubble mailer yawned open, and Owen turned it over to empty itscontents.
A black leather collar tumbled ontohisdesk.
Owen choked back a gasp and pressed himself against the back of his chair like the collar might lash out at him. It was a simple thing. The leather was no more than an inch wide, and it was worked enough that it was pliant. A small metal plate was fastened to the middle. It faced away from Owen, its purposeunknown.
Unable to work out the breath caught in his throat, Owen stared at it for several seconds longer. His heart thrummed in his chest, near bursting. Heat rose in his cheeks. What was Crawford doing, sending him something like this? And at work,noless?
“God, what have I gotten myself into?” Owen whispered to himself. Hand trembling, he reached out to touch the collar. The leather was soft, and as far as Owen could tell, it was real. He let his fingers trail over the fabric, letting his touch warm it. He still hadn’t found the courage to pickitup.
Did Crawford really expect him to wear somethinglikethat?
Owen took a deep breath and grounded himself. It was just an object. A gift. It wouldn’t hurt him if he touched it. Gingerly, he took hold of one end and let it dangle from his fingers. The side opposite the buckle was marked by five evenly spaced holes. Owen had a feeling it would fit around his neckperfectly.
He twisted the collar around so that the metal plate faced his direction. It was small and lightweight, sturdy enough that it wouldn’t bend or break, but not thick enough to be cumbersome. The silver finish on it shone. It was engraved with four simpleletters.
Owen.
Owen’s cock twitched. He set the collar down on his desk and tried to compose himself. It was the middle of the work day, and he wasn’t doing himself any favors getting hard now. He had another three hours to get through before it was time to clock out, and from there, he needed to gethome,and…
No matter how he tried to talk himself out of it, he couldn’t stop his cock from hardening. The first sparks of arousal burned deep inside and ignited into flames that swept through his core and up hisspine.
Why was it turning him on so much? Owen had spent his life dedicating himself to omega rights—to making sure thatnoomega was treated like a lesser creature—and now here he was, getting hard because an alpha wanted to collar him andkeephim.
Controlhim.
Owen bit down on his bottom lip and tried to reason with himself. Hedidwant equality. Hedidwant to be considered worthwhile. More than anything, he wanted omegas who were suffering to break free from their oppression and rise above. Owen strongly believed that every one of them was capable of greatness, no matter their biological drives or competencies. Heat or not, no omega needed an alpha tosurvive.
So why did he want Crawford so much that he’d consider doing somethinglikethis?
Owen ran his fingers over the collar again, slowly coming to terms with it. Experimentally, he picked it up from his desk and held it to his neck. He didn’t go to fasten it, but the holes allowed it to be loose enough to hang or tight enough to fit against his neck firmly withoutchockinghim.
How tight it would go, he imagined, would be Crawford’schoice.
What the hell was he thinking? Owen squeezed his eyes shut and worked his way through a counting exercise, but it didn’t help. How could he be considering something like this after all he’d beenthrough?
Or maybe it was because he had been through so much that he was weak to Crawford’sadvances.
Abandoned. Alone. Hopeless. Back then, what would he have given for something like this? Owen sucked in a breath and opened his eyes. This wasn’t high school anymore. He wasn’t a sixteen year old, scared and going through his first heat. He wouldn’t let Crawford claim himsenselessly.
But after so long spent alone, maybe it was time to let someone in. Owen was lonely. He could pretend otherwise all he wanted, but the truth was that he was sick of keeping his walls up. After the procedure, he’d spent so long walled off that he’d lost all his friends and had no one left toturnto.
He didn’t want to always have to bestrong.
Crawford was offering him relief, but Owen wasn’t sure he could bring himself totakeit.
He picked up the bubble mailer and pushed in the sides so the gap split open. At the bottom was a letter that hadn’t fallen out when the collar had. Owen reached in and pulled it free. Unlike the letter from the week before, this one wasn’t sealed in an envelope. Owen lifted the flap and smoothed it flat onhisdesk.
Owen,
I had a lovely time at dinner on Saturday. I’d like to see you again. This Friday night, I want you to meet me at 2749 9th West. Eight o’clock. Dress appropriately. I will be waiting.Findme.
