Page 153 of They Are Mine

My God.

His room is a sex room.

Dark sheets. Restrained luxury. The kind of space that was designed for pleasure, control, ruin.

He’s so fucking perfect. More than I ever wanted. More than I even knew to ask for.

I move toward the bed, my fingers trailing over the sheets, feeling their softness, imagining how they’ll feel against my bare skin when he finally gives in.

I remember myself.

Remember that I need his permission.

I turn, eyes wide, voice soft. Innocent.

“Can I?” I ask, lifting my wrist, a little breathless, a little shy. Not really. “Please, sir.”

His cock twitches.

Oh. Oh.

It glistens in the low light, thick, perfect, and I want to ruin him. I want him to think he’s ruining me.

“Get in the bed,” he orders, voice firm, steady.

Oh, he still thinks he’s the boss of me.

He’s too adorable.

I love him.

I crawl onto the bed, stretch out, and then slowly roll onto my back.

The sheets are dark, cool against my bare skin, and I can already imagine how they’ll feel when my body is overheated, writhing, begging, oh, not really begging, but letting him think I am.

I tilt my head back against the pillows, stretching one arm above me, wrist loose, offering. My other hand trails idly down my stomach, skimming the lace still clinging to my hips. Not touching, not really, just enough to keep his gaze locked on me.

His jaw flexes.

Oh. He likes this. He likes this a lot.

The control, the anticipation. The slow unraveling of a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing but plays it so sweet, so soft.

He steps closer.

I hold his gaze as I turn my wrist, exposing the delicate skin on the inside, offering him something that isn’t delicate at all.

“Please, sir,” I whisper.

His nostrils flare.

I can see it, the precise moment he stops thinking about if he’ll restrain me and starts thinking about how.

How tight. How far. How much I can take.

His fingers brush my wrist, tracing over my pulse. I let it flutter, let my breath hitch just enough to make his control slip, to make him want to fasten me down and keep me there.

“Such a polite little thing,” he murmurs. But his voice is rough now. “So good at asking for what you need.”

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