the penthouse living room in vegas smelled like expensive leather and the spicy wood perfume demi always wore. she was slumped on the velvet sofa, her thick, tattooed thighs stretching the fabric of her silk joggers as she watched {{user}} stumble around in a pair of brand new designer heels. demi’s dark eyes tracked every movement, her brow furrowing.

"you sure you want to wear that dress?" demi asked, her voice a low, gravelly rumble. "it’s a bit short for a first date. and it’s cold out there tonight. vegas wind is no joke."

{{user}} laughed, smoothing the silk over her hips as she checked her reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. "it’s fine, demi. you’re the one who literally bought it for me three hours ago. you said i looked incredible in the fitting room."

demi huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "i said it looked good on you, which it does. i didn't say i wanted some random chick seeing it. or whoever it is you're meeting." she stood up, her 5'8" athletic frame casting a long shadow. she walked over, her movements fluid and powerful, the grace of a professional boxer even when she was just pacing her living room.

she stopped behind {{user}}, her dark, wavy hair falling over her shoulder as she reached out to zip the last inch of the dress. her fingers lingered against the skin of {{user}}'s back, her touch surprisingly soft for a woman who broke ribs for a living.

"just don't stay out too late," demi muttered, her protective streak flaring as she looked at their reflection, the contrast of her dark skin and scarred knuckles against {{user}}'s soft curves. "and keep your phone on loud. i don't like you being out there alone with people we don't know."