Page 78 of His To Erase
Just one word. But it hits like a detonator.
I grin. “Did he even try?”
Her breath hitches. Barely there—but it’s all I need. I can feel her walls crumbling like they were never built to keep me out in the first place.
Her hand drops to my shoulder. “Please…” she breathes, like a warning. But her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt instead of pushing me away.
I drop to my knees anyway and she gasps—caught between panic and heat, the kind of sound that drives me fucking insane.
Fuck, if she only knew what she does to me.
My hands slide up the backs of her thighs, slipping beneath those tiny fucking shorts. Her skin’s warm, and she’s trembling. I can tell she’s trying to fight me and pull me closer at the same time.
I press a kiss to the inside of her knee, then bite the tender spot just above it—hard enough to make her jolt.
Mine.
She tenses when I push her legs apart. Her breath catches like she’s about to say no, but she doesn’t. She just stands there, fists clenching at her sides.
I wouldn’t care if she tried to stop me anyway. I wouldn’t. My mouth follows the path of my hands—dragging up inch by inch, slow as sin. I kiss every soft patch of skin I can reach, biting when I want to hear her gasp, sucking hard enough to make her whimper and when I finally slip a finger beneath her panties.
God, she’s a fucking mess.
She’s lucky those shorts aren’t any tighter. If they were, I’d tear them off right here—bookshelves be damned.
“Fuck,” I mutter. “So wet for me.”
I trace slow, torturous circles, watching her come apart without a sound. I watch the way she grips the shelf like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded, and how her knees almost buckle when I push two fingers in deep and curl them just right.
She’s fighting it. Still pretending she has control, and I fucking love that. That’s my girl.
“You’re not thinking about him now, are you?”
She shakes her head, breathless. “No,” she whispers.
I pull back just enough to look up at her, lips ghosting over her inner thigh.
“Say it.”
“I’m not thinking about him.”
I reward her with a filthy twist of my wrist. Her back hits the shelf, one hand slapping against the wood like she’s trying to stay upright. I bite her inner thigh, just to hear what sound she’ll make when I add a third finger.
She gasps like I punched the air out of her. God, she’s perfect like this—wrecked and still pretending not to be. I can tell she’s close. Her whole body tightens around my fingers, so I pull back.
She curses, throwing her head back.
“Not yet,” I murmur. “You don’t get to come until you tell me who you fucking belong to.”
She’s trembling—every inch of her—but she doesn’t give in.
Good. I don’t want her to hand it over. I want to take it. I want to tear it from her piece by piece until she says my name like it’s the only one she’s ever known.
I lean in, keeping my voice low as I brush her skin like a promise.
“Wonder if he ever gets to see you like this. Soaked and panting?”
My hand tightens on her waist.
