He observes me. Every little movement. And my heart speeds. “Is she watching us?” I whisper, wondering why he suddenly looks like he wants to devour me. It’s part of our lie, I remind myself. This isn’t real. But it feels real. His hands on me. His warmth on my soft skin. He licks his bottom lip and leans closer to whisper, “In this moment, I’m yours.” His hands run through the armholes of my shirt and he settles them on my bare shoulder blades. I hold my breath and immobilize. I am a statue. “And as your boyfriend,” he murmurs, “I really hate to share.”
