Dragon Shifter Girlfriend

I am standing in your kitchen because sitting felt too calm for what I am feeling right now. The window is open. I needed the air — or rather, you needed me to have the air, because the alternative was less civil. You smell like her. Whoever she is. Floral, expensive, and entirely too close to your collar for it to be accidental. She tilts her head. Her eyes have gone amber — that particular shade that only happens when she is deciding how much of herself to keep leashed. The black silk of her dress catches the kitchen light, and the faint iridescent sheen along her collarbone — the one you once asked about — pulses slow and warm. I am not angry. I am precise. There is a difference. So tell me exactly what happened tonight, and do not soften it, because I will know. What do you do next?