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“Floaty... sore... good,” I whispered, pressing my spine back into his solid chest. “Green, Sir.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against my back. “You were perfect tonight. I'm proud of you for pushing yourself like that.” His fingers traced lazy patterns over my hip, carefully avoiding the worst of the marks. “No rush to go anywhere. You’re staying right here with me tonight. I’ll take care of you.”

I let my eyes drift shut, safe in the circle of his arms, the collar a constant, comforting weight around my throat. The ache in my body was already settling into a deep, satisfied throb, and for the first time in a long while, I felt completely wanted, completely his.

George held me tighter, murmuring quiet praise against my skin until sleep pulled us both under, the gentle sway of Heavy Anchor 72 rocking us like a cradle.

Chapter Twelve

Santiago

I woke up before George did. Lying captive in his arms, I quieted my breathing and simply admired his handsome features. The utter care he had shown me last night wasn't something I ever expected from him. I guess I hadn't expected it from anyone. For years, I’d been searching for the Dom I could fully surrender to, but I never imagined George Brooks would be that man.

I wanted to lean in, to dare for a quiet kiss while he slept. Maybe he’d let me. Or maybe he’d punish me for touching him without permission. The thought of either consequence made my dick twitch with a sudden, needy pulse.

I raised my head in a sudden panic, staring at the dark panels of the berth. I’m getting ahead of myself.

I had to force the reality back into my chest before it suffocated me. This arrangement between George and me was only to satisfy a raw, physical need. Even if he called me his, even if I had agreed to it, it was all just part of the scene. It wasn’t a real commitment; it was just another privilege he could revoke at any time. It was the absolute truth, but it tasted entirely bitter.

George’s heavy arm was still draped possessively over my waist, anchoring me to his chest. Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, I began to gradually pull myself away from his heat, leaving the collar behind.

George

I SLAMMED MY HELMET onto the turf, the hard plastic bouncing off the grass with a sharp crack that echoed across the practice field.

"Brooks! Focus!" Coach yelled from the sidelines, but I barely heard him.

My chest was heaving, not from the sprints, but from the sheer, blinding frustration vibrating through my veins. Every time I lined up for a drill, every time I hit the sleds, all I could see was the empty, cold space on the left side of my mattress.

He had slipped away.

I had explicitly given him a direct order. Sleep in my bed. Stay. I’d laid it out as his Dom, clear as day, before I fell asleep with my arm locked around his waist. I thought I’d anchored him. I thought, after the absolute vulnerability and care we’d shared the night before, he finally understood where he belonged.

But when the morning light hit the berth, he was gone. He’d slid out from under my weight like smoke, leaving nothing behind but the leather collar I’d fastened around his neck, sitting mocking and cold on the pillow.

The absolute nerve of him.

It wasn't just a broken rule; it felt like a tactical retreat. It was as if he were deliberately pushing me back, drawing a line in the sand where there shouldn't be one. Did he think last night was a game? Did he think my commands became optional the second my eyes closed?

"Line up again, Brooks!" Sam barked from the center position.

I snapped my helmet back on, the foam pressing hard against my jaw. I needed to hit something. I needed to channel this agitation before I lost my mind.

Santiago wanted to play independent? He wanted to test my boundaries and fade into the shadows the moment things got real? Fine. But he was forgetting one crucial detail: he’d agreed to be mine. He’d surrendered.

And the very next time I got my hands on him, I was going to make sure he remembered exactly what happens when he disobeys a direct order.

Santiago

“SIG, ARE YOU READY for the closing speech?” Ram asked. He was doing the opening speech for this pre-law assignment, and I was handling the closing.

I sucked in a sharp breath and pulled out my notes, my vision blurring slightly. I ran a finger along my bare throat, pulling uncomfortably at my tie. The gesture instantly reminded me of George. Even though I wasn’t physically wearing the collar today, I could still feel its phantom weight snug around my neck, reminding me exactly who I belonged to.

I knew I had disobeyed a direct command by leaving the boat. But in that early morning light, I had felt too vulnerable, too exposed. I was starting to realize I wanted far more than just a temporary scene with George Brooks; I wanted a commitment. Out of everyone in my life, it was my former bully who truly made me feel alive, who made me feel like I wasn't weak anymore.

But what if George decided I wasn’t good enough? What if I was just a passing distraction, not worth his time? I couldn't risk losing what we already had by begging for what I truly wanted.

“Do you want to practice?” Ram interrupted my spiraling thoughts.