The Collar

LEAH

He didn’t give me time to change my mind.

The moment the word “okay” left my mouth, Alpha Dominic straightened and walked to a recessed panel on the wall. It opened with a soft click and inside was a small black box.

 He took something out of it and turned back to me. My heart was racing so badly as I watched….. A thin strip of black leather rested in his palm.

It looked simple at first glance- smooth, expensive and no more than an inch wide. But when he stepped closer I saw the tiny silver clasp and the almost invisible seam that ran along the inside. A faint metallic glint suggested electronics.

“This stays on,” he said.

My stomach dropped. “What is that?”

“A monitor.” His voice was calm again, but the calm felt forced. 

“It tracks your location inside the house and on the grounds. It also carries a low-level scent dampener. It won’t stop what’s happening to your body, but it will keep the worst of your scent from flooding every room. Only I can remove it.”

I stared at the collar like it might bite. “You want me to wear a collar.”

“I want to know where you are when the next wave hits you.” He held it up between two fingers. 

“And I want to be able to walk into a room without immediately losing the ability to think. This is the compromise.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “That’s not a compromise. That’s-”

“Necessary.” He cut me off. “You agreed to one week. This is part of the week.”

I wanted to argue. The word “collar” sat wrong in my mouth. It felt too permanent, too much like ownership. But the memory of my mother’s hospital bills and the quiet desperation that had made me say yes earlier kept me silent.

He waited.

When I didn’t move, he stepped behind me. 

The leather was cool against my skin as he brought it around my throat. His fingers brushed the side of my neck while he fastened the clasp. The click was soft and final. The collar sat snug but not tight- just enough pressure to remind me it was there every time I swallowed.

Alpha Dominic’s hands lingered for a second longer than they needed to. I felt the warmth of his palms against the back of my neck before he stepped away.

“Don’t try to take it off,” he said quietly. “It will only tighten.”

I reached up and touched the leather. It was smooth and almost soft. The knowledge that he could track me with it made my pulse race for reasons I didn’t want to examine.

He walked to a built-in wardrobe on the far side of the study and opened it. Inside were shelves of neatly folded clothes in neutral colors. He pulled out a soft gray long-sleeved top and a pair of matching lounge pants, then set them on the desk in front of me.

“Change.”

I looked at the clothes, then at the wet patches still spreading across my uniform. My eyes flickered in shyness and shame.

“Here?”

“The bathroom is through that door if you need it. But you’re not leaving this wing.” His eyes dropped to my chest again. 

“And you’re not staying in that uniform. It’s soaked.”

Heat flooded my face and without wasting any more time, I grabbed the clothes and walked into the small bathroom attached to the study. The moment the door closed I leaned against it and tried to breathe.

The mirror showed me exactly how bad it was.

Dark, irregular circles stained the front of the uniform where milk had leaked through the bra and fabric. The material clung to me. 

Lower, the evidence of slick had made the skirt of the uniform damp enough to be obvious. I stripped quickly, wincing at the cool air on my oversensitive skin. 

My breasts felt heavy and full. Every small movement made more milk bead at the tips.

I pulled on the soft clothes he had given me. The top was slightly oversized, the fabric gentle against my skin, but it didn’t hide the fact that I was still leaking. Two new damp spots appeared within a minute.

When I stepped back into the study, Alpha Dominic was standing exactly where I had left him. His eyes went straight to the fresh wet marks. Something in his expression fractured.

“I can’t wear this,” I said, voice tight. “It’s going to keep happening. I need regular clothes. Pads. Something.”

“You’ll get them.” He didn’t move. “But first you’re going to stop pretending this isn’t affecting you as much as it’s affecting me.”

“I’m not pretending-”

“You are.” He closed the distance between us in two strides. “You’re shaking. Your pulse is visible in your throat. And every time I get close, you produce more.” His voice dropped. “I can smell it.” I took a step back. He followed.

“Don’t,” I whispered.

He ignored the warning. One of his hands closed around both of my wrists and lifted them above my head, pinning them gently but firmly against the wall beside the bathroom door. 

The position arched my back slightly and made the wet fabric of the top cling even tighter to my breasts. Milk continued to seep through. His other hand came up and rested against the wall beside my head, caging me in. 

He was so close I could feel the heat coming off his body. His eyes were almost black again. “Look at me.”

I tried to turn my face away. His fingers left the wall and caught my chin, forcing my gaze back to his. “I said look at me.”

The command in his voice made something low in my stomach twist. I met his eyes. What I saw there was raw and barely leashed.

Milk chose that moment to leak more heavily. A drop escaped the fabric and rolled down the outside of the soft gray top. His gaze tracked it. His breathing changed to deeper, slower, like he was fighting himself.

He released my chin and his thumb rose and caught the drop just before it could fall. I stopped breathing and my eyes widened in horror. He brought the thumb to his mouth and tasted it.

The sound that left him was low and wrecked. His eyes slammed shut for a second. When they opened again, the black had swallowed almost all of the gray. His hand tightened around my wrists- not enough to hurt, but enough that I felt the strength he was holding back.

“Fuck,” he muttered, the word scraped raw.

He stayed frozen like that for several long heartbeats, thumb still resting against his lower lip, my wrists pinned above my head, my body trapped between him and the wall.

 I could feel the tension vibrating through him. Every instinct I had said he was one second away from doing something neither of us could take back. Then he moved.

He released my wrists as if the contact had burned him and stepped back so quickly I almost staggered. His chest was rising and falling too fast. He dragged both hands through his hair, turning away from me.

“I need a minute.” His voice was hoarse.

He walked to the door of the study without looking at me again. His shoulders were rigid and every line of his body tight with the effort of restraint. When he reached the doorway he paused, one hand gripping the frame hard enough that the knuckles went white. 

“The adjoining bedroom is the first door on the left,” he said without turning around. 

“There’s a bathroom stocked with everything you should need. Stay in the private wing. If the leaking gets worse… come find me.” He left.

The door closed behind him with a soft click. I stayed against the wall, wrists still tingling from the memory of his grip, the collar warm against my throat, and fresh milk soaking slowly into the soft gray fabric he had given me.

My legs felt unsteady.

I could still see the exact moment his control had cracked—the way his eyes had gone black, the broken sound he made when he tasted me. He had walked away shaking. And the most terrifying part wasn’t that he had almost lost control.

It was that a small, traitorous part of me had wanted him to.