Page 93 of Seeking Shadows

And I loved it.

“Let me take it from here, Little Angel,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the contours of his chest under his shirt. “You have my heart, Zane. They can have my energy, my friendship, but at the end of the day, you have all of me. Only you.”

I pressed him back against the wall, slid my leg between his thighs, leaned in close to his ear.

“You’re mine. Say it.”

His breath stuttered. “I’m yours.”

“There’s my good boy.”

I kissed his neck, slow and deep, then bit down—just hard enough to make him shiver. He whimpered, soft and needy, and I cooed against his skin, “So sensitive for me. So jealous. So pretty. I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care ofyou.”

And I would. Until he forgot anyone else ever looked at me.

“Mia…” he breathed, like a warning, like a plea.

I slipped a hand down, unzipping his jeans, slow and lazy. His breath hitched—he was already leaking for me, so sensitive, so desperate.

“No one else could make me feel like this either,” I murmured, thumb circling his tip. “You think I’d ever let anyone else fuck me the way you do? Possess me the way you do?”

His hand flew up to my neck, not tight—just there, trembling, possessive, protective. His eyes met mine, wild and vulnerable. “You’re mine.”

I moaned at the sound of it. At the need in his voice. Theclaimin it.

“All yours, baby.” I wrapped my hand around him fully, stroking him with slow, teasing pressure. “Always have been.”

His hips bucked into my hand, and I pressed him harder against the wall with my body, locking him in place with my thigh between his.

“Fuck, Mia,” he groaned, biting his lip, brows drawn in that beautiful desperate frown I loved so much. “You’re driving me fucking insane.”

I kissed him then—deep and messy, swallowing that frustration, that hunger, like it was mine to devour. My free hand slid under his shirt again, feeling the way his stomach clenched under my touch.

“Iwantyou like this,” I breathed between kisses. “Jealous. Messy. Needy. Let me have it, Zane. Let me take care of my pretty boy.”

His hands gripped my ass, hard, like he didn’t know whether to surrender or pin me to the wall instead—but he didn’t stop me. He never did when I touched him like this. When I told him he was mine.

Because hewas.

And he knew it.

And now I was going to prove it, right here in the alley, in the daylight, with his breath in my mouth and his whimpers in my ear.

His hands finally moved—gripping my hips, hard, like he needed to anchor himself or else he’d float away. Or maybe snap.

That quiet restraint of his was unraveling, and I could feel it in the way his fingers dug into me, like he was trying to brand himself into my skin.

“Look at you,” I moaned, licking into his mouth when he tried to kiss me, all teeth and desperation. “So messy. So hard for me. Youlikewhen I take control, don’t you?”

He nodded, couldn’t even get words out now—his mouth was open, panting, eyes glassy and wide as I fucked him with my hand, rubbing him down with ruthless focus.

I could feel it in the way his breath hitched, in the tremble in his thighs as I stroked him slow and steady, my palm slick with how desperate he already was for me. Every noise he made was a confession. Every pulse of him in my hand, a promise.

Then he had the audacity—the nerve—to growl, “I should deny you your orgasm.”

My eyes snapped up to his, mouth curling as I dragged my fingers down his stomach, slow and taunting. “You won’t do that.”

His jaw clenched, but I saw the slip in his focus.

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