Page 42 of They Are Mine

And fuck.

I shift in my chair, my fingers flexing against my thigh.

Because now, all I can think about is that mouth on me.

That tongue, soft and wet, teasing my nipple.

Those lips, sucking, pulling, dragging pleasure out of me in slow, aching strokes.

I press my knees together under the table.

He has no idea.

No idea how filthy I’m being right now, sitting across from him, smiling like a sweet, devoted girlfriend, when really?

Really, I’m imagining him between my legs.

Imagining that mouth on my clit.

Sucking me the way he’s sucking every last bit of mashed potato off his fork.

I barely hear what he’s saying anymore.

I nod at the right moments. I smile when I should. But I’m gone.

Already in my head, picturing him.

Would he be soft at first? Careful? Would he let me guide him?

Or would he pin me down, grip my thighs, bury his face in me like he’s starving?

God, I hope it’s the second one.

Because I am so fucking tired of waiting.

After we’re done eating, he stretches as he stands, running a hand through his hair. His sweater lifts just slightly, and my eyes catch on the sliver of warm, toned stomach that peeks out.

God, I want to rake my nails down his skin, feel the muscle flex under my touch, hear that breathy sound I just know he’d make if I dragged my teeth over his hip.

But not yet.

I smile, leading him down the hall.

I show him the guest room, because I’m supposed to.

Because I need him to think this is his choice.

And then, I leave him there.

For now.

I need a shower.

Hot water streams down my skin, scalding, perfect, just the way I like it.

I let my head tip back, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting as the heat rolls over me.

And then, I think about him.

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