Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 35807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 35807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 179(@200wpm)___ 143(@250wpm)___ 119(@300wpm)
“That’s very cocky of you,” I reply.
Ezra throws money on the table and nods to the waitress. He tipped well, more than I would have, that’s for sure. Ignoring his hand hasn’t phased him. Instead, he settles his palm against my back as he guides me to his car. Subtle. Possessive. Nice.
His car is nice, but it’s older. A classic, maybe, because there’s no air conditioning, so he winds down the window as soon as he opens the car door for me. I watch, fascinated, and quite honestly liking his chivalry as he shuts the door and walks to the driver’s side, doing the same to his before he climbs in.
“Your place or mine?” he asks.
“Yours.”
He nods and then takes off. “Do you not want me to go to yours?” he asks after a moment of silence.
“No, I’d rather you didn’t,” I tell him truthfully.
The weight of his gaze burns the side of my face, but I keep my eyes on the road. “You’re happy for us to just fuck, and then you leave?”
“Quite happy.”
“Who were you fucking before me?” Ezra questions.
“Do you really want to know that?” I turn to face him.
“Yes.”
“Before you, I had a one-night stand. I can’t remember his name. So knowing your name is a big point to me.” I smile.
I watch his jaw twitch.
“You asked,” I inform him. “Who did you fuck last?”
I want to know.
It’s only fair.
Tit for tat and all that!
“Her name was Sabrina, and it was over three months ago. I met her at a bar.”
“Is that the only place you meet women?”
“I met you in my shop,” he states.
“Touché.”
He slows down and parks his car in his driveway. The last time I was here, I didn’t pay much attention. But tonight, I look at his house. It’s nice. A large, white older-style home with a brown roof, wrap-around porch, and well-maintained yard and garden. It’s just outside of town, the same as his shop.
Ready to get to why I’m here before he needles his way under my skin more with his niceness, I get out of the car before he can come around to open my door, and he waits for me to meet him near the hood. My boots click on the stoned driveway, and I stop just short of him. He plucks the food from my hand with a glance I can’t read—gentle, but expectant before he walks up the few stairs and opens the door.
The last time I was here, his hands and his mouth were all over me before we even got inside. I can’t even remember how we made it to the bedroom. But somehow, we did.
Leaving the door open, I follow him in and watch as he walks to his kitchen. The room gleams—cold, white, untouched. Like, no one lives here. Like he’s only ever passing through. He opens the refrigerator and puts my food inside before he shuts the door and returns to where I stand under the threshold of his front door. His hand reaches out behind me and shuts the front door, but his eyes remain firmly on mine.
Men have never intimidated me. I’m used to being around powerful men.
My eyes always hold steady. Not tonight. Until Ezra. I look away first. And I hate myself for it.
Powerful men are who I grew up with, and I work for one of the scariest men there is.
And yet, I can’t hold Ezra’s stare. I have to look away.
He leans in at the same time as I do, his breath tickling my neck. “Did I tell you how good you smell tonight?”
I gasp, and he leans forward more and touches his lips to my neck. Ever so slowly, he places a soft kiss there, and one of his hands presses against my back, holding me still.
“You didn’t,” I manage to say.
“What about how good you look?” he murmurs, his lips moving up my neck. The whisper of warm breath causes me to shiver.
“Failed to mention that as well,” I mumble back.
“I’m terribly sorry.” His mouth moves against my jaw. “I’ll be sure to tell you every chance I get.” And before I can say anything else, his other hand comes up and cups my jaw, gripping it hard, before his lips smash down on mine.
Fuck.
Chapter Four
EZRA
The second my tongue meets hers, a low growl rips from my throat, and my hands grip tighter without thinking. My body hums, and I’m already craving more, like it’s been starving for her. Swear to god, I could kiss her for hours. Tasting her is becoming addictive, and I sure as hell don’t want help overcoming it.
She kisses me like she’s trying to win something—sharp, all teeth and pressure. But then her breath hitches, her fingers flinch on my shoulders. Her eyes scream conflict—want, and war wrapped in one glare. And still, she stays. I ease my hands down her hips, slower than I want to. I can’t afford to fuck this up—not with her.