"I want to bathe by myself," Jared said when he came out, and I relayed it to Elliot before turning slightly toward the kitchen. "Do you want some fruit?"
"Yes," Elliot answered immediately, voice low and clipped, like an Alpha accepting an offering from within shared territory.
I had just bought cherries earlier that day—expensive ones, the kind I rarely justified, but I liked them enough to ignore practicality. I washed a plateful and set them down between us, the red fruit glistening under the warm light like something almost ceremonial.
I sat beside him without thinking too much about it, picking up a cherry myself. The moment I lifted it toward my lips, everything shifted.
Elliot moved.
Fast. Certain.
One hand slid to the back of my head, guiding me before I could register the intent, and in the next second his presence closed the distance entirely. He took the cherry from my mouth directly—no hesitation, no restraint.
Not with his fingers.
With his mouth.
