But not so tight that it restricts airflow or causes damage.
My fingers linger at the nape of her neck, brushing against the soft baby hairs there.
I drop my hands from the collar and step back, giving her space.
The O-ring glints between her collarbones—a promise of attachment, of control, of what's coming next.
But first.
"We need to discuss your safe word."
Emmaleen's eyes widen slightly. Her fingers drift up toward the collar, then fall away before making contact.
"I..." She clears her throat. The leather shifts against her skin. "I didn't know I'd get one."
"You think I'm a fucking monster?" The words come out sharper than I intended. I force myself to exhale, to find the control that's been slipping through my fingers since the moment she walked into my life. "You think I'd do this without giving you a way out?"
"You just told me I can never leave this house."
"That's not the same thing." I move to the correction cabinet, selecting a lighter from the top drawer. Test the flame. Watch it dance. "The safe word stops a scene. It doesn't end the arrangement."
I turn back to face her.
"Say it and everything halts immediately. No questions. No consequences. No punishments for using it."
Emmaleen tilts her head, studying me with those pale green eyes that see too fucking much.
"What's the word?"
"You choose it."
"Me?"
"Your chains, your choice." I walk back over to the throne and set the lighter down beside the candles she selected. "Pick something you won't say accidentally during sex. Nothing that could be mistaken for encouragement or protest within the scene."
She's quiet for a long moment, her gaze drifting around the room—the throne, the mirror, the kneeling mat, the training platform. When she speaks, her voice is soft but steady. "Wisteria."
The word hits me like a gut punch. The poem I recited to her at Rico's party. The tunnel we walked through. My grandmother’s garden.
She chose something that connects to me. Not just a random word for safety—a word layered with meaning, and memory, and brief moments when I let her see past the armor.
I should tell her to pick something else.
Something clinical. Neutral.
Instead I nod once. "Wisteria stops everything. Understood?"
"Yes."
"Say it back to me. All of it."
Emmaleen straightens her spine, hands folding behind her back in Position One without me having to command it. Jino's training is already taking root.
"If I say wisteria, everything stops immediately. No questions, no consequences, no punishments."
"Good." I pick up the lighter again, turning it over in my hands. "But there's something else you need to understand."
Her breathing shifts. Faster. Shallower. She knows there's a catch. There's always a fucking catch.