Page 162 of They Are Mine

Oh my God.

Across the table, Elliot keeps chewing. Doesn’t even look flustered.

And then, he does it.

Draws his mouth into a slow, knowing smirk. “No.”

I freeze.

Heart stopping, eyes locked on him, breath catching in my throat.

He just keeps eating. Like he didn’t just casually level my entire existence. “I have many kinks,” he adds, voice silky smooth.

Jesus Christ.

Do we even have to eat? Can we just get to the part where I belong to all three of them at once?

I bite my lip, thighs pressing together under the table.

Orion grins, like he knew Elliot was going to be a fun addition. “Shit yeah, and the blindfold stuff. Yeah, huge thanks for that, by the way,” Orion says, lifting his fork in an almost-toast.

Noah sips his drink, watching the conversation unfold with that slow, amused curiosity he always has when Orion goes off script. “I’ve not partaken in that yet,” Noah muses, tapping his fingers against his glass. “I kinda like seeing her when she has my cock in her mouth.”

I. Cannot. Even. With these men.

Elliot finally looks up at Orion, like he’s actually processing him for the first time. “You let her blindfold you?” Elliot asks, tone unreadable.

Orion frowns. “You didn’t?”

Noah sets his fork down, perks up. “Wait. She let you blindfold her?” He turns to me, mildly offended. “I didn’t realize that was on offer.”

I exhale slowly, pinning Noah with a look. “Do I deny you anything?”

He thinks about it. Shakes his head. “Fair point.”

Orion leans forward. “No, seriously, let her blindfold you.” He gestures toward Elliot like this is some sacred wisdom he’s bestowing upon him. “It’ll hit you like a goddamn Mack truck. You’ll see stars.”

Elliot tilts his head slightly. Considers. And then, without missing a fucking beat, says, “I believe I’ll need a demonstration.”

Oh.

Oh.

I might die at this dinner table.

Orion leans back in his chair, stretching, all lazy satisfaction. “I’m game,” he says. “Can we skip right to dessert served on her body?”

Elliot lifts a brow, setting his napkin aside like he’s still debating it. “Clear these dishes first. And what exactly is dessert?”

Noah and Orion don’t hesitate. Immediately gathering plates, moving with the kind of eager efficiency that only comes from knowing exactly what’s coming next.

I swallow hard.

I am already dripping wet. “Ice cream parfaits, sir,” I say sweetly, watching him, watching me.

Elliot doesn’t blink. Doesn’t even smirk. Just stares, hungry. Then, voice dark and commanding, “Bring the ice cream.”

I swear to God, my knees buckle.

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