Imogen's palm presses flat against my chest right there in the hallway with the mail everywhere and my shirt collar still damp. My heart pounds under her hand but I stay exactly where she has me, because moving would mean losing the only steady thing I have left.
She tells me to take off the jacket first, her voice calm and sure as if she already knows I will. I shrug it off and let it fall to the floor while she watches without removing a single thing herself, and for a moment the lawyers and the house and all the rest fade under the weight of her command.
When her fingers trace lower and she gives the next order, the fear I have carried since I was a kid starts to stir even as I reach for my shirt buttons. I need this too much to stop her now, yet I cannot stop wondering what happens when she sees how empty I am without her telling me what to do.
