Page 27

EZRA

I n a clever yet filthy-minded twist, Lysander greets me in the ceremonial robe the next night.

His intention is obvious and I give him what he wants.

I fuck him in it with the hem rucked up around his ass, watching his skin turn from pretty green to all-over blue as he clenches down and bites the pillow with muffled cries.

The next time he doesn’t have to ask — I pin him to the bed and slide inside, marveling at how well his slicked-up hole takes me already, and he squirms and begs until he’s spilling over my fist, his body clutching like it never wants me to leave.

I love what we’ve been doing, but this — this makes me an animal.

I’m not that kind of guy. I’m a get you off twice and tuck you into bed guy.

Normally, his pleasure and delight are a bigger turn-on than any plain physical friction.

But when I’m inside Lysander, I want to own him.

Consume him. Keep him pinned on my cock twenty four-seven.

Something about the way his body moves around me like he can’t help it, even when I try to go slow, the way his moans come out strangled and needy, flips a switch in my brain.

“You okay?” Orion’s voice interrupts my thoughts.

Shit . I shouldn’t be thinking about Lysander’s ass in the middle of the bar.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, shaking myself.

I head across the bar as a gargoyle waves me down, fleeing from his knowing look. Fine ? No. I’m much more than fine.

I’m delirious. I might even be bewitched.

The next time, I resolve to only use my mouth — I need to prove to myself I’m not gonna become obsessed.

Only Lysander drags me onto the bed and hooks his leg around my back and before I know it my cock is knocking at his warm, tight hole, and he’s staring intently into my eyes as I fuck him, making my heart flutter and the hair lift on the back of my arms.

“More,” he moans, taking my cock over and over like he was born to do it.

I told Lysander friends can do anything together, but I was definitely lying. This isn’t the kind of sex that friends have. Not at all.

But how can I deny him? Especially when afterward, he crawls on top of me and slumps over my chest to breathe in my ear, “That was amazing, Ezra.”

It makes me want to pin him to the bed and go again. I send my inner caveman slinking away. Twice in a row wouldn’t be very polite.

“It wasn’t too much?” I fucked him hard enough that I’m damp with sweat all over.

His wings wave lazily, stirring up a gentle breeze. He sighs happily into my neck. “No. I love being penetrated by your cock. It’s so intense and arousing.”

“Good.” I can’t help chuckling. “My cock likes to penetrate you, too, baby.”

“I can tell,” he purrs.

Well. Maybe I can use my mouth after all.

It’s not only about sex, though. When I’m not fucking him into next week, I’m running my secret campaign to get the rest of the staff to hang out with us — and maybe learn that Lysander has emotions just like anyone else.

I’m not the world’s greatest friend-maker, but the staff like me, Lysander likes me, and I sure as hell like every party in the equation, so I don’t see why they shouldn’t get along.

Staff movie nights are a hit, as are tasting parties for Larch’s latest recipes.

I even teach them beer pong, but with non-alcoholic punch.

It all kinda balloons out of my control when Mara and Plato kick off a competitive staff video game tournament and Syril learns how to play Mega Monster Slam to beat the stuffing out of all of us.

But it’s one hundred percent worth it to watch Lysander slowly unwind, to the point that he stops going all stiff and awkward any time someone else walks into the room.

As much as I like seeing him open up to other people, the moments I hold close are the ones between just the two of us. The sparkle in his eyes when I catch his gaze across the room. The secret brush of his wings against my arms. The weight of his bare legs in my lap.

It’s getting harder to keep the three F’s — fucking, friendship, and feelings — from getting all tangled up in my head.

The arrival of a letter from the nonprofit jars me right back down to earth.

I’d almost forgotten I called them. I guess I’d shoved it to the back of my mind, not expecting anything to happen. I tear into the letter quickly before my hand slips and it ends up in the recycling.

Dear Mr Pine,

I’m pleased to let you know we’ll be able to take your case on.

The paper crinkles between my fingers.

Your current employment status and the complexity of your situation make you a good candidate for rehabilitative financial support.

I’ve made some calls to your creditors and most of them sound open to a settlement.

It will take time to negotiate, so in the meantime you’ll need to make regular payments into a holding account.

This will be used to pay off a lump sum of the debt once the settlement is finalized.

At that point, we pay the remainder of the settlement amount and you continue paying us according to your ability.

I slump into the kitchen chair. A snort forces its way out of my nose. Even in a group dedicated to helping people, the lawyers sound like lawyers.

The monthly payments are still pretty sizeable, but it’s one amount, not eight different payments to eight different vultures. And I’m pretty sure I can manage it between tips and what Syril pays me.

There’s a bunch more to the letter about staying in communication and the terms of the agreement, which I skim.

I flip to the second page and find a list of the debts that’ll be consolidated — legal fees, the private loan I took out to post bail, the credit cards I ran up after getting out, the administrative fees I owe to the court, blah, blah, blah.

Just seeing it all written out makes me dizzy.

Fresh out of prison and barely twenty one, I’d pretty much made the minimum payments on everything and closed my eyes to the interest racking up.

It sure didn’t do me any favors, but back then, even thinking about it made me panic. In comparison, doing my time was easy.

Finally, I brace myself to look at the total sum.

Jesus fuck.

I’m not gonna pay that off until I die, settlement or no.

I toss the letter away from myself with a groan.

I’m happy they’ve agreed to work with me.

I won’t have to deal with the collectors and they’ll manage everything for me.

All I need to do is send one payment, on top of whatever the court’s taking off my wages — I don’t look at that, it’s too depressing.

The number they quoted means I can still pay rent and feed myself.

But nothing else. No saving up to find a new apartment, no emergency maintenance on the truck, no time off work.

It’s no worse than how I’ve already been living. So why the sudden crushing pressure on my lungs?

The Sanctum has been good to me — better than I deserve.

I’ve managed to trick them all into seeing a guy who’s more charismatic, responsible, and hardworking than I really am.

The guy I’ve tried hard to be since I got out, but who I just can’t mold myself into.

All this stuff — a good job, good friends, and people willing to help me — feels unearned.

The reality is, prison was something I brought on myself.

I made shitty choices in life. Before I met Jasper, I had a good home life.

I had supportive parents, extracurriculars, okay grades.

I had Fitzie. I threw it all away for the temporary thrill of getting attention from a guy ten years older than me, and by the time that guy handed me a baggie of cocaine and said ‘Bring this to the party for me’ , I’d already burned a lot of bridges.

When Jasper dropped me like the dud I was, I couldn’t even be surprised.

Then I spent a lot of the last few years trying to figure out why I let my life slip away from me like that, and I came up empty-handed. It was like no matter how far I got, the person I was back then still hung around my neck.

Every ‘no’ turned my stomach. Even if I got a job, I couldn’t keep it. Hell, there was a time I was sleeping in my truck down by the river, fighting the urge to just leave the parking brake off and let whatever happened, happen.

Yet somehow, all kinds of people are looking at me now and saying, Yeah, that guy — he’s a good one.

For some reason that scares me the most.

“Is everything okay?” Lysander murmurs, making the sheets tangle as he rolls over to face me. He always sleeps with his back to me, and maybe it’s embarrassing to be such a cliche of a top but I can’t get enough of his little spoon energy.

I put on a smile for him. I must’ve been miles away if he picked up on it. “Course it is.”

He tangles our fingers together. “Your heart is beating faster than normal.”

“I promise I’m fine,” I reassure him.

“I want to know if something’s wrong.” His eyes search mine.

I cup his slim jaw, loving the way his eyelashes flutter and he leans into my touch. “I know you do, sweets.”

Soon his eyes drift shut and his hand goes lax in mine. But I don’t sleep for a long time.

Even Fitzie doesn’t know the depth of my money issues.

I’m ashamed to tell him. He grew up with no money, and I always had everything I needed.

I dug this hole for myself. It’s not like I was a big time dealer or selling drugs on the playground, but I was as bad as Jasper even though I pretended it had nothing to do with me just because the money didn’t pass through my hands.

What happens when Lysander learns the truth about me?