59

EZRA

Her mouth tastes like fire and guilt and everything I’ve missed in the hollow of my chest.

She kisses me back hard at first—like she’s trying to chase something away, like she wants me to be cruel. Maybe to justify what we’re doing. Maybe to feel less raw about how much she needs me.

But I won’t give her that.

I refuse to.

Because this isn’t hate.

This is the opposite of hate.

My hands trail down her sides slowly, reverently, like they have all the time in the world. Her skin is warm. Electric. Alive.

She whimpers into my mouth, and I press in closer, trapping her against the edge of the sofa. Her legs brush mine, bare and trembling. I can feel the slight tremor of her knees, the way her fingers twitch like she doesn’t know whether to push me away or drag me under.

I pull back just enough to look at her.

Her cheeks are flushed. Eyes wide, unsure. Her chest rising like she’s drowning in air.

“You think I could ever fuck you like I hate you?” I whisper, my voice hoarse, thick. “I’ve never hated you, Thea. Not once. Not even when I tried.”

She blinks fast, jaw clenched, like that’s harder to swallow than any of the moans she’s holding in.

I drag my thumb across her bottom lip, still swollen from my kiss.

“I’m going to make… love to you. Slowly. Deeply. Every second you try to pretend you don’t need this, I’m going to remind you exactly how much you do.”

Her hands fist at my waist while she shakes her head.

“Ezra…”

I kiss her again, shutting her up. Slower now. Softer.

And when I feel her start to melt, to stop fighting it, I guide her back onto the sofa.

I take my time. Not because I want to torture her, but because I need her to know this isn’t about possession. It’s about presence. About telling her with every brush of my lips that she’s not alone in this world, that she's not a ‘hole or bloodbag’ to me, that she should let me in, that I'll keep her safe.

I press my lips to the underside of her breast, my tongue flicking gently before I close my mouth around her skin and suck slow, deliberate. Her nails dig into my skin. Her back arches, but I hold her steady, like she’s something sacred I’ve been entrusted with.

She tastes like skin and salt and woman and… home.

Home. 

I've never had somewhere like this.

And now, I know home smells like vanilla, and sometimes vanilla and spice. And home tastes like sin and guilt and salt and… her.

Her breath comes out in soft gasps, and when I move to her other breast, she moans—a quiet, broken sound like it surprised her. Her legs shift restlessly under me, thighs parting on instinct, begging for friction. But I don’t go there yet.

Not until she begs.

Not until she knows this is about her.

I pull back just long enough to look at her—truly look. Her chest rising and falling like she’s drowning in heat. Her lashes fluttering. Her lips parted in a perfect O of want.

Fuck, she’s breathtaking.

I run my palm down the length of her side, over the soft curve of her waist, the swell of her hip, and lower, lower, until I reach her cunt.

And fuck—she’s soaked.

My fingers tease her first, just barely grazing her center. Her hips jolt up. I press down gently with the pads of my fingers, spreading her open, watching her glisten. Her breath stutters.

“Oh God,” she gasps, voice raw and I lean closer.

“Let me hear you,” I whisper against her ear, tracing her lobe with my tongue. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

She’s already trembling.

When I finally slide two fingers into her, she clamps down around me so tight, I groan.

Her hand flies to my shoulder. Fingernails digging in. Head thrown back. And I curl my fingers as I slide in deeper, hitting that spot that makes her cry out like I’ve unlocked something she didn’t know she kept buried.

“That’s it,” I breathe. “Give it to me.”

Her eyes well up, emotion bleeding into every gasp, every moan, every whispered plea.

Perhaps, she doesn’t just want to come.

She wants to be held.

To be seen.

To be kept.

And I plan to do all three.

Even if she doesn't want it.

I'll just keep doing it until she gives in.

I slide down, pressing kisses to her stomach, lingering a little longer on the scar on her belly. When I reach the space between her thighs, I don’t hesitate. I flatten my tongue against her clit and draw slow, wet circles, licking her.

She arches. A sob escapes her. And I keep going, tongue and fingers working together until she’s writhing, shattering, whispering my name like it’s a prayer and a curse all at once.

When she comes, it’s a flood. A release so intense she trembles, thighs squeezing around my head, body going stiff before it melts entirely.

I don’t stop until she’s begging me to. And even then, I kiss her one more time—slow, languid, savoring her.

Then I move up her body and kiss her deeply. Letting her taste herself. Letting her know I’m not done. Not even close.

Her hands find my boxers and pull them down, her fingers brushing my length. I hiss through my teeth as she wraps them around me. I’m throbbing. Desperate. But I won’t rush.

I want her to feel every inch of me. Every unspoken word. Every ounce of feelings i’m too much of a coward to say or ask.

I line myself at her entrance and still.

Her eyes meet mine—wide, wet, and open.

“You okay?” I whisper, voice fraying.

She nods, lips trembling. “Please fuck me.” 

My throat tightens. Because I don't plan to do that. But I'm not going to remind her again.

And then I push in—slow, deep, thick—and we both gasp like it’s the first time all over again.

She’s so warm. So tight. So impossibly perfect around me that I groan.

Her eyes are begging as I bury myself to the hilt and pause there, just breathing with her, matching her pace, her rhythm, her heartbeat.

Then I move. Slow. Deep. Rocking into her like she’s everything I’ve ever needed.

She wraps around me—arms, legs, soul, eyes teary, like she couldn't handle the… romance of this.

But I don't care as I fuck her like I’m trying to memorize her from the inside out.

We move in sync, a slow, aching rhythm full of gasps and sobs and whispered names. She brushes her lips against mine between moans, her body pulsing with need.

“I hate you,” she chokes out, tears in her eyes.

My hand cups her cheek, a smile on my lips, while I hold back the urge to sink my fangs in her skin. “I never stopped missing you, sugarplum.”

Her eyes well again.

I kiss them.

And when she comes this time, I feel it everywhere—like a heartbeat. Like gravity. Like a tether yanking me back to the only place I’ve ever belonged.

I follow her over the edge, spilling inside her with a groan that rips out of my chest like it's been caged there for years.

After, I stay buried in her. Still. Silent.

And she clings to me. Breathing like she’s been saved and ruined in one breath.

Because maybe she has.

So have I.