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She tries for sarcasm, but I notice the small tells now.
The way her fingers toy with the sleeves of Nate’s borrowed shirt. The way warmth deepens the rich brown of her skin beneath the elevator lighting.
And now that I know what I’m looking at?
It’s getting harder not to push.
“Oh?” I step closer slowly. “So you don’t want me to chase you?”
Her eyes widen immediately. “I-I did not say that.”
I laugh under my breath as I brace one hand beside her head when her back meets the elevator wall, caging her in without touching her.
Sloane stills instantly and tries to compose herself as she tilts her chin up at me, trying for defiance while her fingers curl once at her sides before she forces them flat.
“It would have to be somewhere you’re comfortable,” I murmur, “you’re not exactly an outdoors girl.”
Her mouth twitches despite herself.
“So no,” I continue quietly as I tug at the lose strand of her hair. “I don’t think I’d chase you through a forest.” My nose brushes the side of her neck. “There are always other alternatives.”
Her head tips back as her fingers curl around my biceps, and her eyes flutter close.
“Late night at the office. Everyone gone. You realize you left something behind and go looking for it. I’d watch you first. Let you notice the building feels different before I kill the lights. And then I’d come find you.”
“You’d run, Little Doe. Not because you wanted away from me. Because making me catch you would be half the fun.”
My gaze drops lower, catching the faint outline of her nipples pressing through Nate’s shirt. Unable to stop myself, I lift my hand and let my knuckles graze one, featherlight over the hard peak. The slight catch in her breath is all the encouragement I need.
“I’d pin you against the desk first,” I say, lightly pinching the tight little bud through the worn cotton, before dragging the pad of my thumb over it in a slow, punishing circle. “Then I'd take my time, stripping your clothes off you until there's nothing left. Maybe I’d use a blade instead of my hands.”
That gets another reaction out of her.
Her teeth catch her lower lip as she looks at me again. Her expression shifts, but not toward panic.
Well. That’s new information.
“So,” I murmur, “my Little Doe likes knife play?”
The elevator dings, and Sloane startles slightly, as if she forgot where we were.
I finally force myself to step back before I do something reckless—like drag her right back upstairs and prove exactly how serious I am about every word that just came out of my mouth.
The doors slide open into the quiet lobby. Sunday has emptied it of its usual chaos. Weekend security lingers near the front desk while sunlight spills through the glass entrance.
But Sloane still looks dazed, and I have to physically stop myself from touching again. Her lips are swollen from biting them so much, gaze unfocused in a way that makes my restraint pull painfully tight.
Patience Eli. You’ll get your turn.
I rest my hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the exit before I do something stupid.
Warm air hits the second we step onto the sidewalk, and then I see him.
Adrian Cross is leaving the coffee shop across the street, a paper cup in hand. He stands near the curb in a fitted black polo and tailored slacks, checking something on his phone.
The second he looks up and spots me, he smiles.
“Elias.”
