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All I’d wanted as a kid was to be seen. Zee had done that. So had Monroe, and before she died, Rosa. Now I was being forgotten again. I’d gone back to living in the dark. Zee was doing it so we had plausible deniability. She hadn’t told us we were in the Reserve Bank Museum to try to protect us—it was why she’d wanted to drop me off in the first place—but I didn’t need protection. I needed to be important enough to someone for them to want to include me.
My wrists were sore, the cuffs tight enough to bite the thin skin there, the nicks drawing blood to the surface. I focussed on the sting of the small cuts, my head down as I mapped the marks.
My breathing was erratic, my heart beating way too fast. I couldn’t stop shaking. Shivers skittered over my skin and through my bones.
The memory of Zee calming me down inside the bank floated in my mind’s eye. I closed my eyes and mimicked what we’d done, inhaling slowly, holding the deep breath for a moment, then slowly exhaling. With my hands in hers, I’d copied her moves and soaked up her calm.
It wasn’t working now.
I quaked, a full body shudder passing through me. My breathing was sharp, coming in fits and bursts. I was on the edge of hyperventilating, my vision spotting and panic churning in my gut.
The door opened, but I couldn’t bear to look. Shame crept through me. I shouldn’t be a crying mess. I should be strong. I should be demanding to see Zee and make sure she was okay. It’s what Ryder would do. Probably what Tristan would do too. But instead of being strong and stoic, I was a blubbering baby.
A bottle of water was placed gently in front of me. I recognized Detective Fraser’s hand. My insides wobbled, setting off another shiver.
“I’ll get the air-conditioning adjusted in here. It’s like a bloody icebox.” Detective Fraser sounded frustrated, annoyance colouring his tone. “Lean forward, Flynn.”
I did as he asked, still not looking up at him, and his warmth and scent enveloped me. My gaze shot up, locking on his. His eyes were filled with something unreadable. Remorse? Concern? I didn’t know what it was, but he’d shown me enough kindness to drape his suit jacket over my shoulders. Why?
There were so many questions spinning around in my head. How did he find out about us being at the museum so quickly? How did they know who to look for? It wasn’t as if we were well known in Sydney. We weren’t recognizable. It wasn’t as if one of the Kardashians or Hemsworth brothers were there. It was just us. Three relative nobodies in a population of a few million.
But I kept quiet, not trusting myself to speak.
“I’m going to spin your chair around, Flynn. You won’t fall.”
He gripped the chair and dragged it so I was facing him, and I tensed, hating that I couldn’t even hold onto anything.
Detective Fraser sank to his knees in front of me and undid the cuffs, dropping them on the table before massaging my wrists. His touch was warm and firm, and I relaxed into it. I couldn’t help but admire the difference in our colouring, his skin all golden and tanned against my paler complexion.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his gaze searching. “Are you warmer?”
I nodded, and he shuffled closer, his much bigger body kneeling snugly between my knees.
“Would you like a drink?”
When I nodded, still mute, he uncapped the bottle and waited as I slipped my arms into his jacket and tugged it closed around me. It was big—at least two sizes larger than I’d choose—but it was imbued with Ezra’s scent and warmth. My insides whirred, attraction flaring like embers sparking to life with a slow exhale.
My fingers brushed Ezra’s as he passed the bottle to me, the warmth like a brand on my cold skin. Condensation dripped off the bottle onto my lap, and my hands shook as I brought it to my lips. The water hit my tongue, and I chugged down half of it, trying to quench the thirst that had unknowingly built up until I was parched.
Breathless, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Ezra’s eyes blazed, his lips parting on an unsteady inhale.
Desire slammed into me.
I wanted to sip from those lips. To feel them sliding against my own. I wanted to know if they were as pillowy soft as I imagined them or whether the scrape of his five o’clock shadow would prick my skin. I wanted to watch him with Zee as well. Would he touch us differently? Would he be rough or gentle?
He eased the bottle from my hand and swallowed, his throat bobbing as he did. Our gazes connected and held, his eyes filled with wonder. Ezra touched my face, his thumb leaving tingles in its wake as he brushed it over my bottom lip. My cheek and jawline followed, my breathing as unsteady as his. My stomach swooped and my heart double-timed as want spiralled through me.
I was hard, my cock like a flagpole waving for attention. But getting off wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed to wipe away today. To take us apart and fit all our pieces back together. I wanted to mend the broken bits and smooth the jagged edges, to make us whole again. We were meant to be together—Zee, Tristan, Ezra, and I. Ry too.
But how did I make it happen?
Ezra was so close. All I had to do was lean forward, and I could press our lips together. Would I be able to taste Zee’s lips on his? Or would it be all him I was sampling for the first time?
Ezra stood slowly, and my gaze followed him up. Bending forward, he laid a kiss on my forehead, a soft, lingering press of his lips. I breathed him in and stepped off that cliff. My eyes slipped closed, and I reached for him, sliding my hands up his legs and wrapping them around the backs of his thighs. His thick muscles were tense under my palms, the tremble that rippled through him more of a vibration than a shiver.
He drew back, standing to his full height as he threaded his fingers through my hair. I tightened my grip, pulling him closer at the same time that he tugged on me, eliminating the space between us. With my forehead at his hip and his arse nestling in the L-shapes made by my forefingers and thumbs, my breath caught. His scent was heady, engulfing me and taking me higher and higher. I moaned, nuzzling his hip, his hard cock nudging my cheek. I shifted, running my lips over his length, blowing hot air over him before breathing him in. Ezra hissed, his hips flexing and his grip on my hair tightened as I mouthed him.
My mouth watered and cock pulsed. I wanted to taste him, to lick up the drop of pre-cum I knew would be wetting his slit. I wanted him moving inside me like I’d done to Tristan, sinking inside him with every plunge of my hips.
