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“Breathe in,” Tess said.
Emilia inhaled. The leather cinched around her waist, not tight enough to restrict her breath, tight enough to remind her of its presence.
“Too much?” Tess asked.
“It’s good,” Emilia said. “Feels like being held.”
“Fitting,” Tess said. “Given the engraving.”
Emilia touched the collar at her throat, the words inside it almost a phantom sensation now. Held, not tamed. On the bed, Brooke sat cross-legged in stockings and a half-done garter, painting a thin line of eyeliner in the compact she’d balanced on her knee.
“I still can’t believe I’m actually here for one of these,” Brooke said, “Party nights always feel less real through a screen.”
“You’ll change your mind when you smell the dungeon,” Tess replied. “It’s very real.”
Emilia laughed before she could stop herself.
“What, leather and sweat?” she asked.
“And the cleaning fluid afterwards,” Tess said. “Don’t forget the romance.”
Ren was at the dresser, back to them, adjusting the cuffs of her dark suit. Tonight she wore charcoal instead of black, the lines of the jacket sharp. The only concession to decoration was the silver tie clip shaped like a narrow bar.
“Less commentary, more readiness,” Ren said, tone dry, watching them all in the mirror. “We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”