Reinette had been particularly focused on the placement of the last of her silk stockings when Jack chose to teasingly point out her particular placement directly between one state of dress and another. She had chosen not to comment on it aloud. Merely instead to lift her head high enough to meet his gaze over her shoulder.

There was a smile. A shared glance. And an arched eyebrow she more than trusted Jack enough to translate.

Cruel, perhaps. But surely crueler still had I not allowed you see too me undressed at all.

He understood, she knew. And Reinette continued with her task at hand.

But at the first tug of her laces, and Jack's chosen subject? Her gaze narrowed.

"Really Jack, that really is not the point."

Yet afterwards, Reinette fell silent. She allowed herself to simply enjoy the moment. Jack's hand at her waist, warm enough to be self through the fabric. The song of silk against silk as he worked. That constant rush of pleasure edged with pain as the lacings were tightened and her armor was complete.

Reinette turned slowly then. Precise to the point that Jack's mouth nearly caught the line of her jaw as she did so. She took her time, enjoying herself still. The bodice of her gown, a testament to Jack's skill brushed against his chest with particular care.

"You have to admit. I make it look better."