Page 142 of They Are Mine

I smile, soft, sweet. “A woman who enjoys poetry.”

“Mm.” His fingers tap slowly against the linen of his napkin, like he’s considering me, deciding what to do with me.

I hope he takes his time.

I want him to think about it.

Because when he finally makes his move?

I want it to wreck him.

“I like ‘To Autumn,’” he says finally.

Of course.

He would pick the one about control, about endings, about knowing when to let go.

I bet he thinks he’s so disciplined.

I imagine him sitting at his desk, rolling up his sleeves, the top button of his crisp white dress shirt undone, flipping through a book, dismissing every woman in his life because none of them were worth his time.

Oh, Elliot.

I will be worth your time.

“That’s a good one,” I say softly. “Though I always liked ‘Bright Star.’”

His head tilts slightly, considering. “Eternal love?”

A small, slow smile curves my lips. “Something that never fades,” I murmur.

And for a brief moment, just a flicker, I see it.

A shift in his eyes.

A pause.

A hesitation.

Like he’s not used to being studied.

Like he’s not used to someone being just as deliberate as him.

And I want to purr.

He lifts his spoon again, takes another slow bite.

I wonder what his tongue would feel like against my nipple.

If he’d be methodical about it, teasing me until I begged.

Or if he’d snap, pressing me into the mattress, pushing my thighs apart, ruining me with slow, deep strokes.

Heat pools low in my belly.

I tilt my head slightly, watching as he chews, swallows, licks his lips.

I bite back a whimper.

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