"Sit." I command it, trying to distract myself from how inviting she looks. "Please." "What?" "Please sit. The ‘p’ word is a powerful one." She still lingers at the door, shifting her weight from one bare foot to the other. The gesture is oddly vulnerable, domestic in a way that makes my chest tight. "Put," I emphasize the ‘p,’ "your butt in that chair across from me," I say, ignoring her request and the way the firelight warms her creamy skin. She snorts with displeasure before doing what I ask.
