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New bruises on top of old ones, all different sizes and colors, at different phases of healing and fading.
My temper spikes again, my eyes crawling from one to the next as a blaze ignites just beneath my skin.
“What’s happening to you?” I murmur, my fingers lifting to trace the edge of one mark that blends into another.
Grabbing my hand to pull it away, he dips his head to catch my eyes, his finger tipping beneath my chin to tilt my head up and away from the clear evidence of something horrible.
“Tonight’s not about that,” he reminds me.
“Will you tell me?”
I can’t help the anger in my voice, the violence Ezra awakens inside me.
“Not tonight.”
Fingers tangling with mine, he tugs me closer but instead of kissing me, he allows me to lower my head to kiss one of the bruises on his chest.
I hear a breath rattle over his lips, feel a shiver run down his body as I move my head to press a soft kiss against another angry mark.
Trapping my chin with his fingers, Ezra tilts my head up again, but loses the ability to let me lead this dance.
His lips are gentle against mine at first, soft and warm, a slow movement that becomes more demanding as his tongue slides across the crease of my mouth.
As soon as I part my lips and allow his tongue to slide against mine, a low growl erupts in his chest, his hands moving to my waist to tug me closer.
Outside the room, the party continues on, laughter and music filtering into the shadows where Ezra and I are hidden.
I don’t let the noise distract me, don’t worry about what’s occurring beyond the searing heat of his kiss and the way his hands run up my body to cup my cheeks and trap me in place.
Our mouths open wider as he walks me backwards, his teeth nipping at my bottom lip playfully, his amber gaze holding mine in place with such ferocious heat behind it that I can’t breathe.
When the backs of my legs hit what I assume is a bed, Ezra stops.
We stand for what feels like hours in a moment of desperate indecision.
I know what that bed means.
So does he.
And with the way he pauses now, I also know he’s giving me every opportunity to make a different decision.
“You sure?” he asks.
No.
Yes.
Maybe.
What happens if he steals my heart while I steal my freedom?
I think that’s what scares me the most.
“Just fun?” I ask. “Just six weeks?”
Because what I’m really asking is whether we both can let go when it’s over.
“Whatever you want.”
