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I wince at the admission, my teeth biting down harder, tears welling at the backs of my eyes.
“Ezra,” I warn on a tremulous breath, but he doesn’t listen.
He reaches up with one hand to press his thumb against my lips, the gesture silencing me immediately.
But then it’s always silenced me, since the first time he did it in a shadowed room when we were kids.
I submit so easily to him.
So willingly.
But not sweetly.
At least until his strength defeats mine and he forces me to be sweet.
When his thumb slips between my lips, I bite, his hand gripping tighter on my hip, fingernails scraping the skin, his head dipping down and teeth nipping at the tender flesh of my inner thigh.
“I can’t help myself with you.”
It’s a soft growl, a complaint and grievance spoken against my leg, a warning before he bites again, and sharp pain explodes out from that spot to transform and settle inside me.
The pad of his thumb presses down on my tongue, my teeth still tight against his skin.
We’ve drawn blood before, not much, but enough that the marks were there for a week after.
Ezra’s violence is brimming at the surface, and the whisper of it is calling to me.
Straightening his posture, Ezra pushes to his full height, his stare locking on my mouth, his fingers tightening over my cheek as his thumb pulls my lower jaw down.
Then he dips his head again and kisses me. Leisurely. Seductively. The soft sensual pace of the kiss a lie that hides his cruelty.
Both hands grip my hips as he tugs me to the edge of the counter with such ease it steals my breath, his body hard where my legs wrap around him.
Still, he doesn’t speed the pace of this. It’s slow, slow,slow.A gentle entrapment. A casual exploration when his hand slides up my body beneath my shirt to palm my breast.
I melt into that touch, a gasp of air slipping over my lips that his tongue catches on one strong lick, a grin against my mouth when my body trembles in his hold.
Voice rough, he taunts, “You can’t help yourself, either, can you?”
No is the simple answer.
Not with him.
Neverwith him.
Even when he’s the worst thing for me.
With his mouth still against mine, he stills. The length of his lashes brush against my skin when Ezra closes his eyes. But what I feel is tension stretched so thin it’s about to snap.
Weeks, months and years of it, all building up to this point, this moment, this decision of what to do now that we’ve reached this precipice.
Do we fall?
Or do we back away from the edge to safely return to our lives apart from one another?
The only problem with falling is that I’m not sure what’s at the bottom of the cliff. It could be sharp rocks that tear and shred, or it could be a distance that’s never-ending, a perpetual dark hole that leads directly into hell.
“It’s been a long time, killer.”
