Page 165 of They Are Mine

Taste them in every press of lips, in every scrape of teeth, in every teasing, torturous flick of tongue against too-sensitive skin.

Elliot is right there.

I know it.

I can feel his breath against my clit.

Then.

Oh.

His tongue.

Slow. Precise. Dragging.

I cry out, trembling, melting, completely unraveling.

“Now,” Elliot commands, his voice a dark promise against my skin.

And I obey.

Elliot hums, satisfied, as he strokes a hand down my stomach. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs, voice like silk and sin, then licks me again. Slow. Deep. Like he’s savoring me. “Feed her.”

There’s a finger at my lips.

Cold. Sweet. Melting.

I part my mouth, take it in, suck.

And then?

Something thicker. Something hard, warm, slick with ice cream.

Jesus fucking Christ.

That is better than a waffle cone.

I lick the crown, taste Noah, and that little groan he lets out?

Delicious.

He’s not even a fan of dessert. We are such a bad influence.

Another shift. Another taste. This one’s different.

Orion.

I know my men.

Cold and hot. Hard as hell.

I reach to touch myself, aching, desperate, but there’s a firm hand on my wrist.

A finger pressing inside me, curling deep.

I whimper.

“Eat your dessert,” Elliot warns. Dangerous. Controlled. Completely in charge. He presses a second finger inside, strokes just right. “Don’t play with my food.”

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