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Note: This chapter contains explicit sexual content and is intended for readers 18+. It takes place one year after the events of Sin Bin.

The box was small, black velvet, and sitting on Damon’s pillow when he got home from practice.

He stared at it for a long moment, heart hammering. It looked like a ring box. It wasn’t a ring box—he and Emmett had done that six months ago, a quiet courthouse ceremony with Ford and Luca as witnesses—but it looked like one, and that made his hands shake as he reached for it.

Inside, nestled against black silk, was a collar.

Not a joke collar, not a costume piece. A real one—supple black leather, about an inch wide, with a single O-ring at the front and a small silver buckle at the back. Simple. Elegant. Unmistakably intentional.

A note was tucked beneath it, written in Emmett’s neat handwriting:

Put this on. Nothing else. Wait for me in the bedroom.

— E

Damon’s mouth went dry.

They’d talked about this. Late nights tangled together, trading fantasies in the dark, Damon admitting in a whisper that he thought about it sometimes—being collared, being owned, having something physical to remind him who he belonged to. Emmett had listened, asked questions, never judged.

But they’d never actually done it.

Until now.

Damon looked at the clock. Emmett would be home in an hour—he always worked late on Fridays, finishing up equipment prep for weekend games. One hour to shower, to prepare, to wrap his head around what was about to happen.

He started with the shower.

He took his time, scrubbing every inch of skin, making sure he was clean and smooth. He’d started manscaping after they got together—Emmett had never asked him to, but the first time Emmett’s eyes had raked over his trimmed body with open hunger, Damon had made it a permanent habit.

When he was dry, he stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror and picked up the collar.

The leather was soft against his fingers, warm from sitting in the apartment. He lifted it to his nose and breathed in—leather and something else, something that might have been Emmett’s cologne, like he’d been handling it, preparing it.

For me, Damon thought. He got this for me.

He fastened it around his throat.

The fit was perfect—snug enough to feel present, loose enough to breathe easily. The O-ring sat right at the hollow of his throat, and when Damon looked in the mirror, he saw—

He saw himself. Tattooed, scarred, built like a weapon. But also collared. Claimed. Owned.

His cock was already half-hard.

He walked to the bedroom and knelt at the foot of the bed, facing the door. The position was instinctive now—he’d spent enough time on his knees for Emmett that his body knew where it belonged.

Then he waited.

The apartment door opened at exactly 6:15.

Damon heard Emmett’s footsteps in the hallway—slow, deliberate, none of the usual hurried energy of coming home after a long day. He was taking his time. Building anticipation.

Bastard.

The bedroom door swung open.

Emmett stood in the doorway, still in his work clothes, those dark eyes sweeping over Damon’s kneeling form. His gaze caught on the collar and stayed there, something hot and possessive flickering in his expression.

“You put it on,” he said.

“You told me to.”

“I did.” Emmett stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. “And you obeyed. Like a good boy.”

Damon shivered. A year together, and those words still hit him like lightning.

“Stand up,” Emmett said. “Let me look at you.”

Damon rose smoothly, hands at his sides, letting Emmett look his fill. He was fully hard now, his cock jutting out from his body, impossible to hide. He didn’t try to hide it. Emmett liked seeing the evidence of his effect.

Emmett circled him slowly, like a predator assessing prey. His fingers trailed across Damon’s shoulders, down his spine, over the curve of his ass. Every touch was light, teasing, nowhere near enough.

“Do you know what today is?” Emmett asked.

“Our anniversary.”

“One year since you knelt for me in that bar.” Emmett’s hand came to rest on the back of Damon’s neck, right above the collar. “One year since you stopped hiding.”

“Best decision I ever made.”

“Mmm.” Emmett’s thumb traced the edge of the leather. “I thought you deserved something special. A gift.”

“The collar?”

“The collar is part of it.” Emmett moved around to face him, looking up with those dark, commanding eyes. “The rest is what we’re going to do with it.”

Damon’s breath stuttered. “What are we going to do with it?”

Emmett smiled. It was the smile Damon had learned to recognize over the past year—the one that meant he was about to be taken apart completely.

“Tonight,” Emmett said, “you’re going to be mine in every way possible. I’m going to use every inch of you. And you’re going to thank me for it.”

“Yes,” Damon breathed. “Please.”

“Good boy.” Emmett hooked a finger through the O-ring and tugged, pulling Damon down for a kiss.

It was filthy from the start—tongue and teeth and Emmett’s hand fisted in Damon’s hair, controlling the angle. Damon melted into it, letting Emmett take what he wanted, giving himself over completely.

When Emmett pulled back, Damon was panting.

“On the bed,” Emmett ordered. “Hands and knees.”

Damon obeyed.

He positioned himself in the center of the mattress, ass in the air, face pressed against the pillows. It was vulnerable, exposed, exactly where Emmett wanted him. The collar pressed against his throat with every breath, a constant reminder of what he was.

Owned. Claimed. His.

He heard Emmett undressing behind him—the rustle of fabric, the clink of a belt buckle. Then the bed dipped as Emmett knelt behind him.

“Look at you.” Emmett’s hands smoothed over his ass, spreading him open. “So eager. Already presenting for me like you can’t wait to be filled.”

“I can’t.” Damon’s voice was muffled by the pillows. “Please, Emmett. I need—”

“I know what you need.” A slick finger traced his entrance, teasing but not pushing in. “I always know what you need.”

Damon whined, pushing back against the touch, but Emmett’s other hand pressed down on the small of his back, holding him still.

“Patience. We have all night.”

“Emmett—”

“What did I say about patience?”

Damon bit down on the pillow and forced himself to be still.

“Better.” Emmett’s finger pushed inside, slow and deliberate. “You’ve gotten so good at this. At waiting. At trusting me to give you what you need.”

One finger became two, scissoring gently, opening him up with practiced ease. Emmett knew his body better than anyone—knew exactly how to work him loose, how to find the spot that made him see stars, how to keep him on the edge without letting him fall.

“More,” Damon gasped. “Please—more—”

“Greedy.” But Emmett added a third finger anyway, stretching him wider, and Damon moaned into the pillow.

“That’s it. Let me hear you.” Emmett’s fingers curled, hitting his prostate dead-on. “Let me hear what I do to you.”

Damon stopped trying to muffle himself. He let the sounds pour out—moans and gasps and Emmett’s name, over and over, a prayer and a plea rolled into one.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” Emmett said, withdrawing his fingers. “And you’re going to come on my cock, without touching yourself. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes—god, yes—anything—”

“That’s my good boy.”

The blunt head of Emmett’s cock pressed against his entrance, and Damon stopped breathing.

Emmett pushed in slowly, one long steady slide that seemed to last forever. Damon felt every inch—the stretch, the fullness, the overwhelming sensation of being claimed from the inside. By the time Emmett was fully seated, Damon was shaking.

“Breathe,” Emmett murmured, running a soothing hand down his spine. “I’ve got you.”

Damon breathed.

Emmett started to move.

It was slow at first—long, deep strokes that dragged over Damon’s prostate on every pass. Damon’s cock was leaking onto the sheets beneath him, untouched and aching, but he didn’t reach for it. Emmett had said without touching himself. Emmett’s word was law.

“You feel so good,” Emmett groaned. “So tight and hot. Like you were made for me.”

“I was—I am—yours—”

“Mine.” Emmett’s hips snapped harder, picking up the pace. “My husband. My good boy. My perfect—fucking—slut—”

Damon cried out, the word hitting him like a physical blow. They didn’t use it often, but when they did—

“You like that?” Emmett’s hand wrapped around the collar, using it for leverage as he fucked into Damon harder. “Like being my slut? My desperate little whore who’ll do anything I tell him?”

“Yes—yes—please—”

“Please what?”

“Please don’t stop—please let me come—please—”

“Not yet.” Emmett slowed down, grinding deep, and Damon sobbed with frustration. “Not until I say.”

He kept Damon on the edge for what felt like hours—speeding up until Damon was right there, then slowing down, denying him. Over and over, until Damon was incoherent, tears streaming down his face, begging with words that had stopped making sense.

“Emmett—please—I can’t—I need—”

“What do you need?”

“You—just you—always you—please—”

Something shifted in Emmett’s rhythm. His hand tightened on the collar, pulling Damon’s head back, and his hips drove forward with new purpose.

“Come for me,” Emmett commanded. “Now.”

Damon shattered.

The orgasm ripped through him like nothing he’d ever felt—full-body, devastating, whiting out his vision and stealing his breath. He came untouched, spilling onto the sheets, clenching around Emmett’s cock so hard that Emmett followed him over the edge with a shout.

They collapsed together onto the ruined sheets.

For a long time, neither of them moved. Damon couldn’t have moved if he wanted to—every muscle in his body had turned to liquid, every thought replaced by a warm, floating blankness.

“Hey.” Emmett’s voice, soft and close. “You with me?”

“Mm.”

“I need words, baby.”

“I’m here.” Damon forced his eyes open. Emmett was hovering over him, face flushed, eyes worried. “I’m here. I’m good. I’m fucking incredible.”

Emmett laughed, relief flooding his expression. “You scared me. You went pretty deep.”

“You told me to come. I came.”

“Smartass.” But Emmett was smiling as he pulled out carefully and rolled Damon onto his back. “Stay there. I’m going to get supplies.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a warm washcloth, a bottle of water, and a handful of chocolate from the stash they kept in the nightstand. Damon let himself be cleaned up and cared for, accepting small sips of water and bites of chocolate, slowly returning to himself.

“How do you feel?” Emmett asked, climbing back into bed and pulling Damon against his chest.

“Like I died and went to heaven.” Damon’s hand came up to touch the collar, still fastened around his throat. “This was… this was everything.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Damon pressed a kiss to Emmett’s collarbone. “Thank you. For knowing what I needed. For giving it to me.”

“Always.” Emmett’s fingers traced the leather. “Do you want to take it off? Or…”

“Can I keep it on? Just for tonight?”

Emmett’s smile was soft and full of love. “You can keep it on forever, if you want.”

“Forever.” Damon closed his eyes, settling deeper into Emmett’s arms. “I like the sound of that.”

“Happy anniversary, Damon.”

“Happy anniversary, Emmett.”

They fell asleep tangled together, the collar warm against Damon’s throat, the Seattle rain tapping gently at the windows.

One year down.

Forever to go.

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