Page 71 of They Are Mine

Close my eyes.

Imagine him here.

Waking up, stretching, muscles flexing, rolling out of bed before dawn to hit the gym.

I picture him shirtless, every ridge of his body cut from discipline.

I bite my lip.

Fuck.

I should go.

I should just leave his tags and be done with it.

But instead…

I let my fingers skim over the spot where he sleeps.

I roll onto my stomach, press my cheek to his pillow.

Breathe him in.

God, Orion.

I imagine him coming home after a long shift, exhausted, dropping onto this bed, groaning, stretching out those perfect arms.

And then?

I imagine him jerking off.

Right here. Right where I’m lying.

I bite back a whimper, my hand sliding between my thighs.

What does he think about when he touches himself?

Some faceless woman?

Some nameless distraction?

Not for long.

Not after he meets me.

I let my fingers dip lower, teasing, imagining it’s him.

Imagining his rough hands, his calloused fingers, the way he’d hold me down, the way he’d growl against my skin as he takes me apart.

I press my face into his pillow, moan softly against the fabric, and fuck…

It hits like a freight train, and I whimper his name as I come hard.

Jesus, if just the thought of him does that, I can’t wait to see what the actual him does.

I slide off the bed, smooth the sheets, and leave my gift.

A single white rose on his pillow.

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