When I slid the second onto Oliver’s, tears slid down his cheeks as he stared at the band on his hand.
Then Oliver reached into this pocket, and together, he and Ophelia placed the band on my ring finger.
“You may kiss your—” The officiant paused.
“Partners,” I said. “I may kiss my partners.”
I cradled the back of Ophelia’s neck, and brought my lips to hers. Then I turned to Oliver and kissed him thesame way, with the same intention. Then they kissed each other.
When I lifted my head, the room burst into applause. Callen was grinning. Ophelia’s mother and Oliver’s mother and sister were crying.
The reception wasbrief by design. We drank champagne, listened to toasts, and posed for photographs by the fireplace. After dinner, when the guests drifted to their rooms, I caught Ophelia’s eye and inclined my head toward the door. When she touched Oliver’s arm, he looked at me and nodded.
We slipped away without fanfare, changed out of our wedding attire and into what I’d chosen for us to wear tonight.
Ophelia’s was a deep-emerald corset with black boning that cinched her waist and lifted her breasts, paired with a black silk skirt that skimmed the tops of her thighs and nothing beneath it. Black stilettos added four inches to her height. Oliver and I wore black trousers, black shirts open at the collar, and matching leather cuffs at our wrists. We looked like what we were—two men who owned the woman between us.
Callen drove us to the Thorned Thistle. Gus and Rafe, who’d used the tunnels, said they’d be waiting inside when we arrived.
I helped Ophelia out of the SUV, then waited for Oliver to come around from the other side of the vehicle. Then we joined hands.
“From this point forward, you are mine.” Both of them responded the way they always did—spines straightened, breath quickened. “You will not speak unless I give permission. You will keep your eyes on me. You will trust that everything I do tonight is because I love you.”
“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.
I pushed the door open and led them to the room where the next ceremony would take place. The walls of the small and intimate space had been draped in burgundy velvet. Candles burned in iron sconces, and in the center sat a polished obsidian altar bearing two black boxes.
At the entryway, I helped Ophelia remove her shoes like Oliver and I had.
The only witnesses invited were the three men who were my partners and closest friends. Snow wasn’t in attendance, but he’d arranged to watch remotely. These were the people who’d built this place with me and whowould hold us accountable to the promises made tonight. While Ophelia and Oliver could’ve had guests of their own, both chose not to.
I guided them to the center and positioned them side by side, facing the altar, then moved to stand before them.
“Kneel.”
They sank together, heads bowed, hands resting on their thighs. I let the silence hold.
“What I’m about to give you is not jewelry. It is not a symbol or a gesture. When I place a collar around your throat, I am claiming responsibility for your well-being—your safety, your pleasure, your growth. I am promising to lead with intention, to correct with care, and to push you toward becoming the people you are capable of being. This belonging is the most sacred thing I know how to offer.”
I reached for the first box. Inside, against black velvet, lay a collar of burnished leather with a single titanium ring at the front.
“Oliver.”
His head came up, his eyes wet and his jaw tight.
“The submission you offer me is the bravest thing I have ever been given. Do you accept this collar, knowing that it binds you to my authority? Knowing that I willmake demands of you and hold you to standards and expect your obedience even when it’s difficult?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Freely? Because it’s what you want?”
“More than anything.”
I settled the collar around his throat and fastened it. The leather sat snug—not tight enough to restrict, but he would always know it was there. I cupped his jaw and tilted his face up.
“Mine.”
“Yours.”
