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“Why are you here?” Ezra asks, his grip on my throat loosening just enough so that I can breathe.
Blood rushes to my head, and I nearly pass out. My knees buckle, and Ezra immediately pins my body against the cool glass window. The contrast between the warmth of his touch and the cold glass is like fire and ice — both burning, but in completely different ways.
I’ve never been man-handled like this before. . . but I think I like it.
A crimson blush blooms across my skin as heat rushes between my thighs. Ezra’s body is warm, and not only that, but he’s shirtless. Tattoos snake across his skin in intricate patterns, more than I can count, and I get lost in how beautiful they are. My fingertips graze his ribs, and he flinches, his dark eyes flashing dangerously.
“Valentina,” he growls, making my toes curl, “what do you think you’re doing?”
I have no fucking clue. I’m probably dying.
Finally, I manage to intake enough air to speak. “Your tattoos are beautiful.”
His expression hardens like iron. I must have said the wrong thing.
“Ezra—”
“Shut up.”
In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen his temper. Around me, he’s always been stoic. Passive. Professional.
But now, his armor is off. A myriad of emotions flicker across his face, too fast for me to keep up. It’s dizzying to try, and I lean my head back against the window. The room spins behind his head. A groan slips past my lips.
Ezra releases me without warning and my knees buckle, dropping me to the hardwood with a heavy thud. The next thing I know, he’s crossed the room and flicked on the lights, a scowl settling across his features as he looks down at me. His nostrils flare, but I hardly notice over the fact that I now have a full-bodied glimpse of him.
And fuck, he’s gorgeous.
I always knew he was ripped, but his muscles were hidden under a bulletproof vest and thick pants. Now, the only thing keeping him decent is a pair of black boxers hugging his thighs.
And what thighs they are. Toned muscle, smooth as the finest marble, covers the man head to toe. The tattoos I spotted earlier start at his neck and trail down his chest, disappearing beneath his underwear only to reappear on his thick thighs. I’ve never seen so much ink on one person.
Or so much cock.
A prominent bulge at his front catches my attention, and I can’t look away. It has to be at least nine inches. Maybe ten.
He grunts, distracting me from my measurements. “Get up.”
My heart hammers as I obey. My gaze flickers towards the bed beside us. This must be his bedroom. The sheets are rumpled, the comforter thrown to the floor.
I must have woken him up from a nap. . . or some alone time.
I bite my bottom lip as I imagine how soft his sheets would be against my skin. How warm his body would be over mine.
Forbidden thoughts. Dangerous ones.
I have no business sleeping with the enemy, and I’m pretty sure this isn’t a happy reunion for him.
When I look back at him, he’s stiff as a board in multiple places. With a jerk of his head, he gestures towards one of the pairs of pants I dropped when he grabbed me. “Get dressed.”
Oh, right. I don’t have pants on, either. I rub my thighs together and catch Ezra staring.
“Yes, sir.”
His eyes snap to mine, and this time there’s no mistaking the desire burning in their depths.
I take my time getting dressed, making sure he gets an eyeful of ass when I bend down to unlace my remaining boot and pull the pants up over my thighs. I might not be able to see his face, but I can feel the heat of his gaze on my body.
It was always his job to watch over me. To keep me safe and make sure I was okay at all times. Because of that, I’m used to him staring at me at all hours of the day.
