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“Rhett.”

Ezra’s eyes never leave mine.

“Hands.”

Everything playful inside me disappears.

I give them to him.

Ezra wraps the restraint around my wrists before securing them around the cool iron shaft. He tests it carefully, sliding two fingers beneath the binding before looking at me.

“Too tight?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Good.”

Then, instead of fastening me to the mantel the way I expect, he carries the poker to the couch.

He sits.

And pulls me down across his lap.

“Oh.”

Rhett starts laughing. “That wasn’t what you pictured, was it?”

“Not even fucking close.”

“Good.”

Ezra guides my bound hands over his head, leaving my arms looped around his neck with the poker resting behind him.

Suddenly I’m straddling him.

Facing him.

Unable to pull my hands apart.

But I can touch him.

I can hold him.

And Ezra can look directly into my eyes.

Very fucking different.

His hand slides into my hair. “Better?”

I nod.

“Words, Sage.”

“Yes.”

He kisses me.

Slowly.