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“Give me your hand.”

“No.”

“Jamie.”

“I said no.”

“And I said you’re getting dressed. We’ve covered how I feel about no.” She holds out her hand.

I could do a lot of things that end with me unconscious on the floor again. Slowly, I put my hand in hers.

Her fingers close around mine. “One this time. We’ve established how I feel about no. Don’t do it again.”

The ruler cracks across my palm.

“Fuck!”

She lets me go. I snatch my hand back and glare at her.

“Take off your sweater.”

I grab the hem and yank the sweater over my head.

She takes it from me before I can throw it anywhere. Her eyes drag from the choker to the waistband of my skirt. She doesn’t look away when I catch her. “So pretty.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “Can we fucking not?”

She kneels in front of me. I step back. Her hand closes around my ankle.

“What are you doing?”

“Your tights.” She starts peeling them down.

I grip the edge of the dresser and stare at the top of her head while she works the tights over my feet.

“Skirt off.” She stands and picks up the other skirt.

I unbuckle and shimmy out of my skirt.

She extends the other. “Step in.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s not a day one activity.” She waits.

I step into the skirt.

She pulls it up and fastens the buckles at my waist. Then she adds a fitted black shirt with a neckline low enough that the choker sits completely uncovered.

I look down at myself. Fuck.

The skirt hits exactly where it should on my thighs. The shirt fits close without being tight, and the little silver buckles will pick up the ring at my throat.

I look good. Really good.

“Turn around.”

I do.