Page 145 of They Are Mine

I can already see how this will go.

She’ll push, softly, at first. She’ll test, she’ll tease, she’ll bat those lashes and smile like she’s in control.

And then?

She’ll crumble the second she realizes she isn’t.

She shifts slightly, dragging a manicured nail along the stem of her glass, pretending to be so casual.

But I see the way her chest rises and falls just a little quicker.

I see the way she presses her knees together.

Good girl.

“Elliot,” she repeats, and there it is.

The shift. The subtle little turn of the tables.

I hear it in her voice.

That velvet-smooth tease, that edge of something wicked beneath all that softness.

I can almost hear her screaming it.

I lift a brow, watching her watch me, and then, just to remind her who is in control here, I signal for the check.

And I pay for both of our meals.

Her lips part.

Not in shock, not in protest.

Just in acceptance.

I push my chair back, standing, adjusting my cuffs with practiced ease before glancing down at her.

“Walk you to your car?” I ask, not really asking.

She swallows, eyes wide, calculating, sweet.

Like she’s just realizing she has my attention now.

You wanted it, little girl.

Now you’ve got it.

I guide her through the parking lot, my hand grazing the soft curve of her back. A light touch. Barely there.

But she feels it.

I know, because her breathing is just a little shallower. Because she slows, just a fraction, like she doesn’t want me to pull away.

Oh, baby doll.

You don’t have to worry about that.

She stops by her car, turns to face me, and I don’t touch her.

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