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Summary
“I can hear you overthinking,” Shiver murmurs. Callie shakes her head as if there’s any chance in hell they’re wrong. The hand scratching her head trails along her fringe, down her cheek, cups her pleasantly sore jaw to wipe the spit beading there. “C’mon, pretty thing. You know the rules.”
There’s so many rules that Shiver — no, master, always master when they have her like this — makes her abide by: no speaking unless spoken to, no touching without permission, no climbing onto the couch unless invited, but the cardinal rule of it all is that Callie can’t overthink. You spend all day thinking and talking and working, her master says, our time together is when you should be free of it.
(OR: Callie likes to destress by being Shiver's obedient puppy, and strict, dominating Shiver is always weak for her.)