The collar stayed on.

Elena had stopped asking when it would come off. By late afternoon of the second day the soft black leather had become part of her—an elegant, constant reminder that her throat, her breath, even the pulse under her skin belonged to Damian for as long as he decided. The leash lay coiled on the coffee table like a silent promise. She wore only the black lace bra, the same one he had ordered her to put on that morning. The cups were damp in places from earlier, her nipples permanently stiff from how often he had sucked and bitten them.