Chapter 28

EZRA

Just a whisper. Barely a breath.

But it hits me like a detonator.

She doesn’t know what she’s asking for.

Or maybe she does.

I lean forward slowly, one hand curling around the nape of her neck again, the other sliding down her back, possessive. Her skin is warm under the thin fabric of her dress. Her body hums against mine.

“You want me to touch you?” I murmur, my eyes searching her face as I slowly lean closer until my lips touch her skin. “After you called me a devil?”

She shivers.

I trail my mouth along her jaw, slow and hot. “You’re asking a monster to touch you. You know what happens to pretty little things that tempt monsters?”

She doesn’t answer.

She just breathes.

So I press a kiss beneath her ear. A slow drag of tongue against skin. A soft bite.

“You want to forget. You want to burn. You won't remember this tomorrow.” I say in a whisper.

Then, I press my hips up—just enough for her to feel what she’s done to me.

She gasps, eyes wide, lips trembling.

I wait.

Wait for the recoil. For the clarity. For that one flinch that’ll snap me out of this madness.

But it never comes.

Instead, she rolls her hips down—slow, grinding, sinful.

A growl rips from my throat, primal and low, as my hand tightens around her waist. My other grips her neck, thumb brushing the soft, rapid pulse under her jaw.

My fangs press down into my lower lip, bursting out without warning, drawing blood.

“Fuck, Thea…”

“Touch me.” She breathes it this time—no longer a whisper, but a demand. Wrecked and brave and completely hers.

I know what this is.

Liquid courage.

But she’s drunk.

And I should stop.

Like a gentleman.

I should.

Instead, I pull her by the neck, crush her mouth with mine, and devour her.

It’s not a kiss—it’s a war cry.

Teeth clash, tongues fight, her taste—still tainted with champagne and tears—sets my veins on fire. I suck her bottom lip so hard she whimpers into my mouth, and I drink it down like salvation.

My hands roam without apology—one gripping her ass, the other tangled in her hair, yanking her closer. I want her to feel how much I want her. How deep this madness goes.

She moans when I bite her lip again, and it’s the prettiest fucking sound I’ve ever heard.

This isn’t just a kiss.

It’s possession.

Punishment.

A promise I shouldn’t be making.

And I already know—

If I don’t stop now, I won’t stop at all.

I don't want to.

I tilt my head, taking her deeper, sucking her tongue in mine until she gasps, breathless.

I break away from the kiss, cock painfully hard, panting. She's panting too, eyes dazed, lips swollen, eyes searching mine.

Then, she takes my hand that's on her ass and places it against her lower belly.

My breath catches in my throat as I look down. Her dress has ridden up, showing milky white thighs lined with beautiful stretch marks that look like the sea against the shore.

“Touch me…” she moans, voice breathy as she leads my hand north. “Please…”

Fuck.

I swallow hard, fangs throbbing.

Then, I push her back until she meets the leather seat, her back arched, eyes hazy with lust and god knows what else.

I hover over her, my hands on either side of her head, and I just… stare.

She’s drunk. And beautiful.

And I know I won’t fuck her like this—not when her defenses are down, not when tomorrow she might flinch at my touch.

But tonight?

Tonight is about her.

She won’t let me touch her when she’s sober. Wouldn’t let me close. Wouldn’t beg with that voice or look at me like I’m the only thing she needs.

So I give her what she wants.

Not everything—but enough to ruin her for anyone else.

I don’t tear the dress off—I can’t. If I do, I’ll lose control. I’ll wreck her. I’ll lose myself.

So I push the fabric up slowly, reverently, exposing inch after inch of her until I reach the soaked scrap of lace between her legs.

And then I do what I shouldn’t.

I tear it.

Rip it in one quick motion and stuff it into my pocket like a fucking trophy, leaving her pussy bare to my view.

My eyes darken.

I lower my head, and without touching her just yet, I breathe her in—wet, needy, and fuck, all mine.

She’s trembling.

But she’s not stopping me.

She’s watching.

Begging.

And tonight, I’ll give her everything she asks for—everything but my cock.

Because if I go there… I won’t stop.

And neither of us will come back the same.

I will worship her.

For the first time in my fucked up life. I'll worship HER.

I lean in again.

Close enough that my breath fans against her slick, aching pussy.

She gasps—sharp and startled—hips jerking, thighs clenching, but I grip them open with both hands. Firm. Commanding. Mine.

“Keep them open,” I rasp, voice low, rough with restraint. “You said touch… I’m touching.”

But I don’t touch her with my fingers.

I lower my head and slide my tongue up her slit in one slow, deliberate stroke, savoring the way her body shudders beneath me.

She moans—high, wrecked—and I groan right back into her, drunk on the taste, on the sound, on the fact that this is Thea. That she’s unraveling for me.

Her hips buck and I pin them down, locking her in place with my mouth. My tongue circles her clit, slow and torturous, then flicks harder, faster, relentless.

I suck her.

Hard.

She cries out, breath hitching, fingers diving into my hair and pulling like she wants to break me. I let her.

I want to be broken for her.

I want her falling apart on my tongue, one whimper at a time.

And she is.

God, she is.

Her legs tremble, thighs squeezing my head, her hips trying to escape and chase more at the same time. She’s so close I can taste it—feel it building, a storm in her belly, a cry in her throat.

I growl against her, the vibration making her sob out my name.

“Ezra—please—”

That voice.

That fucking voice.

I flatten my tongue against her pussy hole in an up and down motion and give her everything.

No mercy. No hesitation.

And when she finally comes apart—writhing, trembling—I don’t stop.

I want it burned into her skin.

Into her bones.

Me.

Only me.

Her taste coats my mouth and I swear I’ve never been so goddamn high.

Then, I taste it, just beneath the surface, a shallow nick from where my fangs must have grazed.

My control shatters.

Blood.

Sweet. Salty. Hers.

My fangs slide down, aching. I shouldn't. I know I shouldn't.

She gasps like she knows what I'm about to do.

But I don't dwell on it as my tongue nips at the soft flesh of her pussy. And then, I dip my fangs in, sucking her blood, straight from her pussy.

She moans louder, broken and breathless, and I feel her pulse throb under my tongue as I continue to suck while I pin her thighs down.

This isn't just hunger anymore.

It's something else. Something I can't put a name on.

I pull back only when her body goes limp, chest heaving, eyes glossy and dazed.

She looks wrecked.

Ruined.

Beautiful.

And mine.