The Second Friday

[OD****]

She didn’t wait for the text this time.

Friday morning, his phone lit up with a picture.

The collar sat in the center of her dresser.

Black leather against pale wood.

Underneath it:

Are you going to make me behave tonight, or should I plan on disappointing you again?

He read it once.

Then again.

Last Friday, she had spent half the evening pretending she wasn’t nervous about giving up control.

This Friday, she was starting trouble before breakfast.

He typed:

Wear the collar.

Her reply appeared almost immediately.

Make me.

He smiled.

Then put his phone down.

By lunch, she had checked her screen enough times to irritate herself.

Nothing.

So you’re just ignoring me now?

Still nothing.

By mid-afternoon, she had almost sent another message twice before deciding she refused to give him the satisfaction.

At 6:42, her phone finally buzzed.

Be ready at eight.

She stared at the screen.

That was it.

No mention of the collar.

No reaction to her attitude.

No indication whether she had won or lost whatever game she thought they were playing.

And if I’m not?

The typing bubble appeared.

Disappeared.

Then:

Then I guess I’ll have a free Friday.

She laughed out loud.

“Asshole.”

But at 7:55 she was dressed.

And the collar was already around her neck.

When the knock came, she looked at the clock.

7:58.

Of course.

She waited five seconds before opening the door.

Just because she could.

He stood there wearing that same infuriatingly calm expression.

His eyes moved from her face to the collar.

Stayed there for a beat.

Then returned to her eyes.

Nothing.

No praise.

No smirk.

Not even a raised eyebrow.

“That’s all I get?”

“Hello.”

She stared at him.

“You saw it.”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And what?”

She stepped aside.

“You’re irritating.”

“You started before breakfast.”

Her mouth twitched.

Almost.

He walked inside and set his keys on the counter.

She followed him.

“So what are we doing tonight?”

He turned.

“You really want to start already?”

“I asked a question.”

“And you already know the answer.”

“No, I don’t.”

He stepped closer.

Not enough to touch her.

Enough that she noticed the distance disappearing.

“You don’t need to.”

The collar suddenly seemed warmer against her throat.

He reached toward it.

Stopped.

“Did you put that on because I told you to?”

She almost gave him something clever.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She shrugged.

He waited.

“Because I wanted to.”

His fingertips finally brushed the leather.

One slow pass beneath her chin.

“Better.”

Then he stepped away.

“Let’s go.”

She stood there a second longer than necessary.

Dinner felt different the second time.

Last Friday she had been watching him.

Tonight she was watching herself.

The faint pressure of the collar when she swallowed.

The sc*** of his chair against the floor.

Candlelight warming her skin.

His voice dropping low enough that she had to lean closer to hear him.

He asked about her week.

She answered.

He made her laugh.

She caught herself relaxing.

So she started testing him.

She stole a bite from his plate after he told her not to.

He looked at the empty spot.

Then at her.

Nothing.

Later, she sent him a message from across the table.

You’re boring tonight.

His phone buzzed beside his glass.

He read it.

Looked at her.

Set the phone down.

Continued eating.

Her lips parted.

“You’re seriously not going to say anything?”

“About what?”

“You know exactly what.”

“I’m having dinner.”

“With a brat.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

She leaned back.

“You’re supposed to do something about that.”

His fork stopped.

“Am I?”

The question settled between them.

She shifted in her seat.

He leaned forward.

“You don’t get to misbehave and secretly write the punishment too.”

Her knees pressed together beneath the table before she could stop them.

His eyes flicked downward for less than a second.

Then returned to hers.

She felt heat climb into her face.

“So what happens when I break a rule?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Why you broke it.”

He watched her.

“You want attention?”

Her fingers tightened around her glass.

“Reassurance?”

She looked away.

“You want to know whether I’m actually watching you?”

Her eyes returned to his.

He paused.

She caught it.

“You didn’t expect that.”

“No.”

A small smile appeared.

“Good.”

He studied her.

Then nodded.

“Fair.”

She traced a finger around the rim of her glass.

“Sometimes I push because I want to see if somebody notices before I actually have to ask.”

He was quiet.

Glasses clinked somewhere behind them.

Someone laughed two tables away.

“Why not just ask?”

She shrugged.

“Sometimes asking feels harder.”

His hand appeared beneath the table.

Palm up.

Waiting.

She looked at it.

Then at him.

Slowly, she placed her hand in his.

His fingers closed around hers.

Her thumb moved once across his knuckle.

“Don’t get too sentimental on me.”

“There she is.”

The rest of dinner stayed quieter.

When they stood to leave, she took two steps ahead of him.

Then stopped.

Turned around.

Held out her hand.

He looked at it.

“What?”

“You took my purse last week.”

“I remember.”

“So?”

“Are you asking me to carry it?”

She rolled her eyes.

“Yes.”

He took it.

“That sounded ***ful.”

“Shut up.”

On the drive, the city passed in streaks of white and amber outside the windows.

She watched his hands on the steering wheel.

At a red light, he reached toward the console.

Then stopped.

She noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You were going to do something.”

“Maybe.”

“So do it.”

“No.”

Her eyebrow lifted.

“No?”

“I want to see if you can go five minutes without telling me how to run my own game.”

She laughed.

“Fuck you.”

“Four minutes, fifty-eight seconds.”

She turned toward the window so he wouldn’t see her smiling.

Later, behind a closed door, the silence changed.

No restaurant.

No audience.

No distractions.

The lock clicked behind them.

She stood several feet away from him, still wearing the collar.

He took off his jacket.

Set it down.

Looked at her.

She waited.

Nothing.

“What?”

He leaned against the edge of the table.

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you spent all night trying to make something happen.”

She swallowed.

“And?”

“And now nothing’s happening.”

She stared at him.

Then walked toward him.

Stopped halfway.

He didn’t move.

“You’re really going to make me do all the work?”

“No.”

“Feels like it.”

“You came halfway.”

His gaze dropped briefly to the space still separating them.

“So decide.”

She crossed the remaining distance.

Close enough to feel the heat from his body.

He still didn’t touch her.

“That better?”

“No.”

She blinked.

“No?”

“You’re still waiting on me.”

“For what?”

“To tell you whether you did it right.”

Her hands went to his chest.

Not gently.

Not roughly.

Enough to claim some space of her own.

“What if I’m done waiting?”

Something changed in his eyes.

She saw it.

“There.”

His brow lifted.

“There what?”

“That look.”

“What look?”

“The one you get when you realize I’m not always going to follow whatever script you wrote in your head.”

He laughed quietly.

“You’ve been waiting all night to say that.”

“Maybe.”

“So what do you want?”

The teasing disappeared from his voice.

She hooked one finger beneath the front of the collar.

“I want you to stop treating me like I’m made of glass just because I told you something real at dinner.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

He stopped.

“I don’t want you guessing what I need. I don’t want to have to act worse just to get your attention.”

Her finger remained beneath the collar.

“But I also don’t want you getting so careful that everything changes the second I’m honest with you.”

He considered that.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

“That’s it?”

“No.”

He stepped closer.

His hand settled at her waist.

Firm.

Certain.

“You want me to listen when you correct me.”

“Yes.”

“You want me paying attention without making you beg for it.”

“Yes.”

“And you still want me to challenge you.”

Her breathing changed.

“Yes.”

His other hand touched the collar.

Not pulling.

Just holding the leather between two fingers.

“That I can work with.”

She smiled.

“Finally.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Careful.”

“There you are.”

He laughed once.

Quiet.

“Come here.”

She was already there.

Instead of moving closer, she leaned toward his ear.

“No.”

He went still.

Then she whispered:

“Ask better.”

His grip at her waist tightened slightly.

He pulled back enough to look at her.

“You’ve been thinking about that one.”

“All week.”

A pause.

Then:

“Come here because you want to.”

Her expression softened.

She closed the last inch herself.

Much later, the room was quiet.

The collar remained around her neck.

She was curled against him, one leg d***d over his, listening to his heartbeat settle beneath her ear.

His fingertips moved slowly through her hair.

She traced circles against his chest.

After a while, he handed her water.

She took it.

No argument.

He smiled.

She caught him.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

“Maybe.”

She drank and set the glass aside.

A few minutes passed.

Her fingers found the edge of the collar.

“You want it off?”

She thought about it.

Then shook her head.

“Not yet.”

His hand returned to her hair.

Eventually, she touched the buckle again.

He waited.

She looked up.

Nodded.

Only then did his fingers move behind her neck.

The buckle opened.

The leather loosened.

Cool air touched the warm skin underneath.

He set the collar beside them.

She rubbed her neck.

“So that’s the second Friday?”

“No.”

She looked up.

“What was it then?”

He took his time answering.

“The night I realized you don’t actually want me controlling everything.”

She smiled.

“What do I want?”

“To know I could.”

She stared at him.

Then settled back against his chest.

A minute passed.

“Next Friday, I’m planning the date.”

He laughed.

“I was going to tell you that.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I actually was.”

“Too late.”

She reached for the collar on the nightstand.

Picked it up.

Placed it in her lap.

“My idea now.”

He looked at her.

And smiled.

Friday had changed again.

This time, because she changed it.

 

[me****]

I'm new. Is this part of what is called being bratty