I hear Elle’s echo?—
He gives girls the fantasy.
Just enough to make it feel real.
Then her voice breaks apart, swept up by the violins spilling through the speakers.
His smile fades.
His eyes trace the shape of my mouth,
jump back to my eyes,
down again.
He swallows hard.
“Fuck. You’re serious.”
It’s not a question.
I hold his gaze, burn it into him.
“Dead serious.”
A faint smile finds him.
It’s there—weak, then gone.
Like he’s tucking it away
and doesn’t want me to see it.
His hands shake,
the craving humming under his skin,
as if touching mine
is the only thing that’ll shut them up.
The bookshelf creaks when I press my back against it.
He steps closer.
And closer.
Watching me?—
my eyes, my mouth, my hands.
He’s searching for doubt.
He’s waiting for me to stop him.
I don’t. I won’t.
Instead, I lift my chin, tempting him.
