We kissed more deeply than we had at the marriage ceremony. When I released him, tears streamed down his face, and he made no effort to hide them.
“Stay.”
Ophelia’s collar was different—thinner, more delicate, the leather dyed a deep wine red, but the titanium ring matched Oliver’s. She looked up at me the way she always did when she was about to give me something that cost her—chin lifted, eyes fierce, daring me to be worthy of it.
“Ophelia. Do you accept this collar, knowing that it requires your vulnerability? Knowing that I will ask things of you that terrify you, and hold you through the fear, and refuse to let you retreat?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Freely?”
“I want to be yours.” Her hands trembled in her lap. “I never wanted anything as much as I want to be yours.”
I settled the collar around her throat and traced my thumb along the edge of the leather. She shuddered.
“Good girl.”
One tear slipped down her cheek, and I caught it with my thumb.
I stepped back and looked at them both—kneeling, collared, mine. I had given them rings and spoken vows earlier. This was the final commitment. What bound us together forever.
“You may rise.”
They stood together, and we embraced as one.
—Oliver—
When he released us, Ophelia and I knelt without being commanded to do so. Kiernan’s eyes scrunched, and his brow furrowed. He believed the ceremony was complete, that the claiming only flowed in one direction. He was wrong.
I caught Ophelia’s eye, and she nodded once.
“Sir.” I kept my voice steady. “The ceremony isn’t finished.”
“What do you mean?”
“Permission to rise?”
“Of course.”
We stood together and flanked him.
“You collared us,” I said. “You claimed responsibility. You gave us visible proof that we belong to you.”
“That’s what a collaring is.”
“That’s what a collaring used to be. Before us.”
Callen moved forward from his place along the wall. In his hands, he carried an aged wood box with the Lockhart crest carved into the lid.
Kiernan’s brow furrowed as he studied it.
“We talked about this,” I said. “Ophelia and I. What it would mean to belong to you. What we would gain.” I took a breath. “We also talked about what you would be giving up.”
“I’m not giving anything up.”
“You’re giving up control.” Ophelia stepped closer. “Not all of it. Not even most of it. But some. You’re trusting us to see the parts of yourself you’ve hidden from everyone else.”
“That’s not?—”
