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He grins, but not in a way that makes me feel safe.
Leaning in closer, Ezra runs the tip of his nose against my jaw line, his fingers sliding over my waist in a soft threat, his smile stretching against my cheek when my body trembles at how close he is, a soft, feral sound of pure male satisfaction crawling up his throat.
“You’re cute,” he whispers, and sadly it’s the nicest thing he’s said to me in the past four weeks, even if it is said in a way that drags icy fingers down my spine.
I fight to swallow, my voice a shaky whisper when I ask, “What do you owe me?”
“Three truths. Three pieces of my fucked-up life.”
My teeth are sharp against my lip. And while I want to tell him not to worry about it, that he can move away from me now and take his truths with him, I need those pieces and refuse to give them up.
Ineedto know. Even if he’s terrifying and cold while he gives those secrets to me.
His breath beats against my face, his scent wrapping around me in the most sensual of promises. But it’s his heat that melts me against the door, my legs weak and palms pressed to the wood beside my legs.
Closing my eyes, I absorb this man. Take him into me. Every part of him.
His cold rage.
His threats.
His insults.
His hatred.
Hisviolence.
Like the stupid woman I am, I invite all of him in.
Because I love Ezra and always will.
Even if he stopped loving me a long time ago when I had no choice but to hurt him.
“Fine, Ezra,” I say, my voice so weak even I can barely hear it, “if that’s what you want, just tell me.”
Ezra
There’s wisdom in the belief that a person should keep their enemies within reach. Keep them close. Keep them where you can study their behavior, their words, their every thought and movement.
It’s what I’ve been doing to Emily these last couple of weeks, ever since seeing her at my father’s house, her long red hair blowing around her shoulders as she walked down the driveway without a care in the world, not realizing my attention was on her.
The next time she saw Damon and me, she gave her usual smile to him and her typical scowl to me. She behaved as if she wasn’t going behind our backs and getting cozy with a man who’d abused us for more years than we can count. She batted her lashes and lied when joking with my brother, and she was careful not to meet my stare that often.
Maybe because of the way I watched her. Without an ounce of the love I’ve always felt for her. Without an ounce of remorse for the things I said that were intended to cut right down her fleshy center and twist into her heart.
I’m not sure Emily has any clue that I know what I know, but seeing as I’m not as patient as I’d like to be, I’m sick of waiting around to see if the guilt of what she’s doing ever gets to her.
Today I realized she doesn’t know the full story, that all this time, I’ve protected her because I thought the truth would rip her apart.
Now, I’m not so sure.
This moment is dangerous for both of us. I can’t claim my body isn’t reacting to touching her, and I’m very aware of how my fingers curl on her waist with the need to clamp down and hold her in place.
It’s taking all the self-control I have to be this close and not take what I want from her body, to not pin her down while I take my time to lick and bite and taste.
I whisper instead because I have to keep myself focused so that I don’t lose control and lose myself into a woman I hate as much as I crave.
“Tell me what you want to know.”