Page 112 of Obey

He ignores me and goes straight for my neck.

“Elias.”

His mouth settles just beneath my collar, exactly where he knows the mark will disappear once I button my shirt again.

“Leave one, and you’re in the guest room tonight.”

His teeth scrape lightly over my skin and then he sucks hard enough to make my fingers tighten at his waist.

Bastard.

Elias loves leaving proof beneath the suit. Something only he knows is there while I sit through meetings looking exactly as controlled as everyone expects me to be.

The pleased hum against my throat tells me he knows exactly what that does to me too.

Eleven years of this. Of Elias knowing when to leave me alone and when solitude is the worst possible thing he could give me. Of him taking the impossible tasks I hand him without once mistaking trust for obedience.

I hook my fingers into his belt and pull him closer. “You’re enjoying yourself.”

“Immensely.”

“That can be corrected.”

His eyes darken. “Promises.”

I catch his mouth again, taking back the pace this time. Elias lets me have it for all of ten seconds, then his gaze shifts past my shoulder, and his attention sharpens.

I know that smile.

“What?”

“We have an audience.”

I glance back.

Through the glass wall, Jace and Sloane are staring openly from her desk. Jace doesn’t even attempt to look guilty; actually, the bastard looks delighted with himself.

Sloane is another story.

She’s gone completely still, eyes fixed on Elias and me, and there’s something about the look on her face that catches my attention. Not surprise exactly. Fascination.

As though she knew we were together but hadn’t quite understood what that meant until now.

Jace leans in to whisper in her ear, his hand dropping out of sight below her desk. A second later, her lips part on a soft gasp, her chest rising with the force of it.

My cock twitches against my thigh.

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter.

Elias exhales against my ear, warm and pleased. “Told you. The real danger sits behind the desk.”

I don’t answer him. I turn back to our two troublemakers, Sloane moves her hips—Jace’s fingers still moving beneath her skirt—and she bites down on her lower lip, trying to keep from making too much noise. Her hand finds the edge of the desk.

Her back arches, barely. Her lashes drop.

Then she shatters.

Elias’s hand settles at my waist, familiar and possessive even as we watch her come apart.