Page 103 of Parting Shot

It didn’t have a clasp; it had a lock, and it was impossible to work.

One piece had to be pulled back, twisted to the side, and then the two halves slid together and notched tight. He was right; you could never get it off quickly, and two hands were necessary. No fear of it going missing.

Once it was on, it sat heavily but comfortably, below the hollow of my throat, right above my clavicle.

“Does it look all right?” I checked.

The muscles in his jaw corded as he nodded.

“You’re so full of crap.”

He had to drag his eyes from the chain around my throat up to my face. “I’m sorry?”

“You think I’m an idiot?”

“I have no idea what you⁠—”

“Our initials are on the main part,” I pointed out, sliding my fingertips over the engraved letter A. “You had this made.”

He was silent.

“But the question is, when did you have it made?”

He didn’t answer.

“Aaron? You like the idea of a collar on me, do you?”

He was quiet, but he held my gaze.

“Answer me.”

“Yes.” His voice quavered. “I love the idea of you wearing something that says you’re mine. I wanted to have you wear a huge, heavy gold chain with some enormous, really obnoxious gold medallion with my name spelled out in diamonds on it, but I thought you’d find that gaudy.”

What I was wearing was beautiful and heavy, the weight of it substantial, but it was not flashy, and not something anyone would notice right away. Plus, any collared shirt would hide it; even the top button of a shirt open wouldn’t reveal its presence. I would have to be stripping out of clothes for it to be seen, which I guessed was Aaron’s intent.

As a chain went—or collar or whatever he was calling it—the piece had clean lines and was very beautiful in my opinion. And really, the weight was sort of grounding, comforting.

“I don’t know if I’ll keep it,” I said, glancing at him.

“Whatever you want, but maybe … you know, Jory has a tattoo on his shoulder of Sam’s name, and I never understood the point of that. I always thought he was such an idiot for doing that, but now …”

“Now you like the thought of that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“And so?”

“Would you let me do that? Could I ink my name on your skin? Or a brand? How would you feel about a brand?”

I couldn’t control my smile.

“Down the road,” he murmured, crowding up against me, hands on my hips. “Along with the ring.”

“We already talked about the ring.”

“Yes.”

“A ring is a serious thing, Sutter.”