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“It’s your collar for the weekend.”
“It’s my what for the what?”
He added coughing to his laughter.
“You have so lost me.”
“I know,” he said, running the back of his knuckles down my abdomen.
“Aaron?”
“Apologies, I’m distracted by the thought that you have my dried cum on you under this henley you changed into in the car.”
I shook my head, and his smile was wicked.
“And by the way, watching you get out of your dress pants and into these jeans was one of the highlights of my life.”
“You’re such a wiseass.”
He waggled his eyebrows at me.
“Can we focus?”
“Oh, baby, I am so focused. Open that.”
I expected one of the collars I had seen at clubs I’d busted in the past, or something from a movie, or any of those I’d glanced at on the internet. I was not anticipating a rustic, hand-forged treasure. It was a silver chain with heavy links, had what appeared to be an oxidized patina, making it look like some ancient relic instead of something brand-new. At the center was a thick square piece with rounded edges, and on it was a heavily engraved A. When I lifted it out of the box, I realized that on the other side of the A was a D, and it could be flipped to show off whichever letter I chose. On each side of the square––channel set into the metal––was a long, clear stone that reflected the light.
“Aaron?”
“It will go back after this weekend. It’s just here on loan.”
“You could have slapped any old leather—”
“No,” he cut me off. “Never.”
My focus returned to the chain in my hands.
“Here,” Aaron said softly, “let me show you the clasp. It’s tricky.”
“The silver is nice.”
He scoffed. “Silver, please. That’s platinum, baby.”
“And I suppose these stones on the side are real diamonds.”
“Baguette cut, flawless, colorless, and yes, they are.”
My head snapped up. “Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m not kidding.”
“Jesus, what if I lose it?”
“It won’t come off accidentally. You’d have to purposely remove it.”
“But—”
“It’s nothing. Now look at this.”
