CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 38

EZRA

My back slammed against the wall and I gasped, his mouth still devouring mine.

“Dorian—”

He cut me off with another bruising kiss, his hands gripping under my thighs before I could even think. Suddenly, I was off the table, carried deeper into the house like I weighed nothing. My arms wrapped tight around his neck, my brain short-circuiting.

“You shouldn’t—” I panted.

“You want me to stop?” His voice was rough, daring.

My head shook before I could stop myself. “No.”

His smirk made me shiver. “Didn’t think so.”

He kicked a door open—his bedroom—and laid me on the bed. The storm outside sounded muffled, distant. All I could hear was my own pulse hammering in my ears.

And then he stripped.

One piece at a time, until his shirt was gone, his chest bare and inked, muscles shifting under the lamplight.

I stared. Again. Like the first time. Like every time.

“God…” It slipped out before I could swallow it back.

He leaned down, eyes gleaming. “Not God, Ezra. Just me.”

Heat flamed through me so fast I almost whimpered.

“Stop staring,” he teased.

“Then stop being… that.” My hand flailed vaguely toward his chest.

He chuckled, deep and low. “You like it.”

I wanted to deny it. I really did. But my silence screamed louder than words.

“Thought so.”

He lowered himself over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress. His lips dragged along my jaw, down to my throat.

“Dorian…” I breathed, already dizzy.

“Say it again,” he murmured against my skin. His mouth brushed the spot under my ear, then latched onto it, sucking hard enough to make me yelp.

“Dorian!”

He smirked against my neck, and I knew I was done for. My body betrayed me completely—arching into him, begging silently.

“You’re trembling,” he whispered, one hand sliding over my waist.

“I—I’m not used to…”

“I know,” he soothed, kissing lower, slower. “I’ll teach you.”

And then his mouth found my collarbone. Sharp teeth grazed. My breath hitched. He licked a path down, tugging at my shirt until it was bunched at my chest.

“Lift.”

The command was simple. My arms obeyed before my brain could object. He stripped the shirt away, tossed it aside, and leaned back just to look at me.

“Beautiful,” he muttered, like it was fact.

I turned red instantly. “Don’t—”

He shut me up by catching my nipple in his mouth.

I arched off the bed with a strangled sound. “Oh my—!”

“Sensitive,” he hummed against me, sucking harder. His teeth scraped gently, enough to make me gasp.

My hands fisted in his hair, helpless. “Dorian—please—”

“Please what?” His tongue swirled lazily before switching to the other side, giving it equal torture.

I couldn’t even think. My brain was static, my body one raw nerve. “Don’t stop,” I begged, shame curling with the heat.

“Good boy,” he said darkly, and the praise shot straight through me.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, my hips jerking up without permission. His body pinned me down effortlessly.

He looked up then, lips swollen, a smug tilt to his mouth. “You want more, don’t you?”

My throat was too tight to answer. I just nodded, frantic.

“Say it,” he demanded softly, voice like sin.

“Yes.” My voice cracked. “I want more.”

His smile was pure wickedness.

“Then you’ll get more.”

The way he said it made my stomach flip. My body was already begging, but now… now I was burning alive.

His mouth returned to my chest, teasing, biting, sucking until I thought I’d lose my mind.

“Dorian—” I whined, hips jerking again.

He looked up at me, eyes heavy, lips swollen. “You keep doing that, Ezra…” His voice dropped lower, darker. “…and I’m not going to let you stop.”

“I’m not—” I cut myself off with a hiss as his hand finally—finally—slid down my stomach. Hovered there. Waiting.

My whole body froze. “You can’t—”

“Can’t what?” he asked smoothly, palm pressing just above my waistband. “Touch you? You’ve already kissed me, Ezra. Twice. You think God’s going to count sins by the inch?”

“Dorian!” I squeaked, slapping a hand over my face.

He chuckled, low and dangerous. “Adorable.”

And then his hand dipped lower, cupping me over my jeans.

I gasped so loud I swore the storm outside paused.

“Sensitive,” he noted, rubbing slow circles that made me squirm.

“Stop teasing,” I blurted, half desperate, half mortified.

“Say it again.” His smirk widened.

“Stop—” My voice cracked. “Stop teasing.”

“Better.”

His hand pressed firmer, dragging against me until I was rutting up into his palm without even thinking.

“Good boy,” he murmured.

I moaned, my brain turning into soup. “Oh God—”

“Ezra.” His voice sharpened. “Eyes on me. Not God. Me.”

I forced my eyes open, meeting his. They were so dark, so hungry, I thought I’d combust right there.

“Please,” I whispered.

That was all it took. He tugged at my jeans, unbuttoning with one hand like he’d done it a thousand times. Then he guided me—literally took my hips in his grip and pressed me down against his thigh.

I choked on my own breath.

“Dorian—oh—”

The rough fabric of his joggers, the solid muscle under it—it was too much. Too good.

“Ride it,” he ordered, voice low. “Show me how bad you want it.”

My face flamed. “I—I can’t—”

“You can.” His grip tightened, forcing me to move. “Like this.”

And suddenly I was grinding against him, his thigh between mine, his hand steadying me so I couldn’t pull away. My body melted, sparks shooting everywhere.

“Dorian!” My voice cracked embarrassingly high.

“That’s it,” he coaxed, lips brushing my ear. “Take what you need.”

I buried my face in his shoulder, muffling the broken sounds spilling from me as I rocked against him. The friction built fast, way too fast.

“Look at you,” he groaned. “So needy. So fucking perfect.”

“Stop—talking—” I gasped, hips moving faster despite myself.

“Why? Afraid of how much you like it?”

“Yes!” I shouted, desperate, half sobbing.

He laughed softly, biting at my jaw before whispering, “Good.”

My whole body shook as the tension snapped, white-hot pleasure ripping through me. I came undone right there, clinging to him, moaning into his neck as my body spasmed helplessly.

When it finally stopped, I slumped against him, boneless, breathing hard.

Silence.

Then his smug voice: “Messy.”

“Shut up,” I mumbled, still dazed.

His hand rubbed soothingly over my back. “You’re trembling.”

“No, I’m dying.”

“Dying feels that good?”

I groaned into his chest. “If you ever bring this up again, I’ll… I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” His laugh vibrated against me.

“I’ll pray you bald.”

That actually made him snort. “Cute.”

But I could still feel him—hard, pressed against my thigh. And the realization made me swallow hard.

“Dorian…” I whispered.

“Don’t.” His voice roughened. “If I take more tonight, I won’t stop.”

My heart pounded harder. “Then… don’t stop.”