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“I should’ve protected you and our boy,” he says as he wipes his face. A small, choked sound leaves me at the words—our boy. I don’t think it’s until this moment that I realize, yeah, Ian is his. Maybe not by blood, but he’s Ezra’s son in all the ways that matter.
“It’s okay,” I say, and he shakes his head again.
“It’s not.” He wipes his face again, and it shatters me. “It’s really not. I’ve given you no reason to ever trust or love me. I’m nothing but a—a—”
“Don’t,” I breathe, but he ignores me.
“Freak,” he says. “But I’m trying. I’m trying to change. I’m trying to be better. I’m trying to figure out the right way to be your man and his father. I’m trying, Kennedy.”
“I know,” I whisper. “You’re already perfect, Ez. You don’t need to change for us. Just be you. Just be there for us.”
“I’ve let this family down twice.” He holds up two fingers. “I can’t ever let it happen again.”
I slide from the bed and kneel in front of him. He doesn’t retreat from me this time. Instead, he slumps forward, but doesn’t touch me. I rest my hand on his knees and lean my forehead against his, my eyes closing. His breath is warm and minty against my mouth, and it brings me a weird comfort.
“I love you,” I whisper. His body goes rigid. “I’m in love with you, Ezra King.”
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I pull away to look at him. He lifts his head and stares into my soul, his eyes blazing and teary.
“You mean it?” he breathes, and I nod. “You—you love me?”
“Yes,” I say. “I–I’ve been awful to you, too.” He shakes his head as I speak.
“You’ve never been awful,” he says. “You’re incapable of being anything other than perfect.” I huff out a small laugh. “This means you’re mine?”
“I’m yours,” I say, looking up at him again. His shoulders fall, not in defeat, but in relief. His face softens, his entire body softens.Almosthis entire body. “And you’re mine.”
“I’m all yours, love,” he rasps. His eyes flick between mine, and I know there’s more he wants to say. But he hesitates.
“What?” I ask, and a small smile curves his lips. He stays silent as he gets to his feet, then holds his hand out for me. I give him a worried look as I slide my hand into his.
“If you’re mine,” he says, moving to the chair in the back of the room. His jeans are flung haphazardly on it, and he grabs them. “Then you need to claim me.” I blink at his back.
Claim him?
“Ezra,” I say warily. “What are you talking about?” He turns around, a large pocket knife in his hand. He tilts it back and forth and I retreat a step. “Ez. What are you doing? Put the knife down.” He shakes his head as he stalks forward.
“Claim me,” he says. I press my back against the wall, and he cages me in. My breath is ragged, and my heart is racing.
“With that?” I use my chin to point at the knife he’s holding out to me. He gives me a hard nod. “I’m not stabbing you.” One side of his mouth curves in a grin.
“Not asking you to stab me,” he says, laughing slightly. “Carve your name into me. Brand me. Make me yours.”
“I—what?”
He takes a step back and shoves his boxers down, letting his hard cock free. I clamp my hand over my mouth, from shock, or amusement, or a weird mixture of both.
“What the fuck?” I say behind my hand. “Put your pants on!”
He ignores me as he sits on the edge of the bed, spreading his legs and planting his feet firmly on the floor. He opens the knife and slaps the blade against his palm a few times.
“Come here,” he says, pointing at the space between his legs. I don’t move. Of course, I’m not going to fucking move. He’s sitting on my bed naked with a fucking knife! “You look terrified.”
“You have a fuckingknife,” I hiss, throwing my hand at him. He shrugs. “I’m not cutting you.”
“Yeah,” he says, looking down at the blade. “You are.” I let out a manic laugh, pressing my back harder against the wall.
“You’re not cutting me,” I say, and he grins.
