I knocked with the chain in my fist.
Morning light. His door still open from the night. I was sore in a way the toy had never left me — used, marked, his bite a dark stamp under my hair. I had not cleaned up. His spend had dried on my thighs in the night and then I had gotten wet again thinking about the ring on the leather.
Cole was already dressed. Coffee. Newspaper folded under one hand. He looked at the chain first.
“You packing.”
“No.”
“Say it.”
“I want the rest of the rules, Daddy.”
He took the collar from my hand. He stood behind me. The leather was cool. He buckled it at my nape, two fingers under it to check it wasn’t costume-tight, then hooked the small ring with his thumb like he was testing a latch.
“It stays on in the house. Shirt can hide it outside. You don’t take it
