The penthouse door shuts and Isla's gaze finds the crooked seam of my uniform. One quiet word from her and my hands fly to fix it, heart hammering at the thought of being sent away.
Her fingers linger against my waist, tracing the line she just corrected, and I feel the command building before she speaks it. I would drop to my knees on this marble right now if she asked. The city lights burn below us while I wait, pulse loud in my ears, terrified she will notice how badly I need her next order.
Her palm settles at the small of my back and stays there. Neither of us steps away.
