Page 37

EZRA

T aken out by a cold. I still can’t believe it. The heaviness in my chest isn’t just from an overload of emotions — I’m also stuffed to the brim with decongestants.

The familiar banter between the two firefighter brothers plus Lysander’s weight on me lull me almost to sleep.

Lysander stays awake, watching the show avidly.

I’ve introduced it during a couple movie nights — the ones where it’s just us, cause I don’t need to get shit from the guys about how the monsters are unrealistic — and he becomes absolutely glued to the TV. It’s kind of sweet.

When the episode ends, he props himself up. His sparkling blue eyes are contemplative.

“You said your friend is staying with you.”

“Yeah, Fitzie. He’s my best friend. His name’s actually Felix Fitzsimmons.

” I cradle both hands behind my head. I do feel a bit better.

Even my sniffles have calmed down. Lysander’s nearness is soothing, the familiar weight of his body grounding me.

It’s funny, around him, I feel so even-keeled — like I get to be the rock he needs.

“We grew up neighbors and went to the same school. He’s stuck with me through a lot. Like I said, he had a hard life, too.”

A really hard life. His dad was an asshole just like Jasper’s dad, but unlike Jasper, Fitzie didn’t run away. He stood up to the man.

For his trouble, he landed in the hospital.

After that he got himself emancipated. His dad is still around, living in the same house, but Fitzie’s been on his own ever since — another reason for me to feel like shit about prison, because I left him alone for all that time.

“He moved out of Greenriver a few years back. He’s a teacher at some fancy dance school now — was a teacher, I guess, since he quit. He’s staying here until he gets his feet under him.”

Lysander hums. “I can’t wait to meet him.”

He lays his head back down on my chest. The gentle, sweet scent of his hair tickles my nose.

“Let’s watch another one,” he says. “I want to know what happens to Carson.”

I press play, curling my hand into his hair. He sighs and shifts closer.

Maybe this is what it’s supposed to be like to have a boyfriend.

This time I do fall asleep, and when I wake up, my fever’s broken. The show’s paused and Lysander is a solid weight on my chest, out cold. Carefully, I slide out from under him.

I feel lighter, like it’s not just the fever that’s lifted.

When I get back to the living room Lysander is stretching awake, his adorable teal velour tracksuit with gold accents totally out of place on my crappy old couch. His wings spread as he yawns.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he says, blinking at me. “Your hair is wet.”

“I showered.” My own stink was getting to me. I also texted Fitzie to warn him for when he comes home — I can’t exactly put off introducing him and Lysander anymore. “I was digging through old boxes the other day and found something for you.”

I hold out the stuffed toy awkwardly. I’d actually hunted through five boxes before I finally turned it up, but Lysander doesn’t need to know that.

Lysander is nonplussed. “A rabbit?”

“It’s my sleeping bunny. I didn’t sleep too well when I was a kid, so my mom got this for me.

She told me he had a magic spell on him.

” I chuckle. Now that I know magic is real it’s kind of funny.

“Obviously he’s just a normal bunny, but for whatever reason, it worked.

It’s not the same as having a human teddy bear, but on nights I’m not around maybe it’ll help. ”

Lysander takes the rabbit delicately, a tiny smile curling his lips. “What’s his name?”

“Ezzy.” I grin sheepishly. “I wasn’t a very imaginative little dude.”

“Ezzy. I like it.” He strokes the soft patch between Ezzy’s ears where the velvet has worn away.

“Take care of him.” I crouch in front of Lysander and gently take Ezzy out of his hand, putting the bunny on the side table. “Now cover his eyes, cause I’m gonna apply the other remedy for your insomnia.”

I grasp the hem of his top. Lysander quickly puts Ezzy on the table, his eyes gleaming. Before I pull it off him, I turn the stuffed bunny around to face the other way.

Poor Ezzy has already seen what happens when a boy becomes a teenager, but there’s no reason to put him through it again.

Lysander’s skin pebbles under my tongue. His blue-green nipples tighten into sweet buds as I taste him, and he gasps.

“I thought you were sick,” he protests.

“I’m feeling much better,” I murmur into his chest.

“Oh.” His hand curls on the back of my neck. “I might need a demonstration to be convinced.”

I suck a kiss into the skin right next to his nipple, feeling it furl against my mouth.

His amulet winks at me, a dark blue gem on a silver chain.

He shudders as I tease all around his nipples, relishing how his breathing gets heavier and a blue flush seeps down his collar.

My lips trail down his slim chest and I mouth at his soft, concave belly.

“Hands behind your back.”

He twists, clasping his hands behind him on the couch obediently. I don’t have rope at home so we’ll have to get creative. I loop the scarf I found around his wrists and tie it snug, not so tight he can’t get out, but enough to make him feel restrained.

His eyes widen. “You…”

“Is this okay?” I pause.

He nods mutely.

“Tell me.”

“Yes,” he whispers. “I like it.”

I drag in a breath. How does he manage to tip my heart over with just a handful of words?

I’m so out of my depth, but everything Lysander does solidifies that I want this — I want to be this person for him.

To give him what he needs. He stares down at me, wide-eyed, his thighs falling open.

His eyes are faintly glazed. I slide the soft velour pants down his thighs and leave them in a puddle on the floor.

“Scoot back,” I tell him. I bend his knees and put his feet on the edge of the couch, opening his thighs to expose the heated mound between his legs and the smooth, damp slit where his cock hides. The sight of him makes me burn. “Keep your feet up.”

His toes curl into the cushion.

“Ezra,” he begs. “This is so…”

“So what, baby?” I prompt him as he trails off.

“So open .” He flushes.

“That’s how I want you.” I kiss his knee. “What do you think of that?”

He shudders, and I watch in fascination as his cock peeks from the slit, slowly pushing aside the folds. “I want it too,” he whispers.

“Good.”

I grip his ankles. His words dissolve into moans as I swipe my tongue over his slit, collecting his sweet essence along the way.

I let it drip from my mouth onto his cock, then chase it with my tongue.

His chest heaves as I tease him with the tip of my tongue.

His prehensile cock follows me, waving in the open air.

“Please,” he gasps.

I don’t hesitate to bury my face between his legs.

Putting my mouth on someone has always been incredibly intimate, sometimes even more intimate than fucking.

When it comes to Lysander, I can’t get enough.

His heady, nectar-like scent envelops me.

Every stroke of my tongue makes his thighs shake and choked cries spill from his lips.

He gets wetter by the second, dripping down the base of his cock and over his hole.

His gorgeous green abs contract in front of my eyes.

I swallow him down all the way, lashing his slick wetness with my tongue.

He shouts. A burst of sweet come spills from his twitching cock as my reward and his thighs squeeze around my ears as I swallow pulse after pulse of his load. My heartbeat is so loud in my ears I don’t hear the door open and close — until Fitzie’s yelp of horror pierces my eardrum.

“Oh my god!”

The door slams. Lysander tenses.

“Oh, shit.” Instinctively, I loom over him, hiding his intimate bits from view. “Cover your eyes, Fitzie.”

“I’m not looking!” Fitzie yelps. “Who — what — oh my god. I thought you were sick!”

I grab the blanket off the other end of the couch and pull it over Lysander’s naked parts, fumbling behind him to untie his wrists. “Shit, shit, shit. Sorry. I’m sorry.” I don’t know who I’m apologizing to, him or Fitzie.

Lysander’s eyes are huge. He looks from me to the door and back. “Should I go?”

“No,” I say hastily.

“I’m going to the other room,” Fitzie announces loudly, still covering his eyes. He fumbles for the wall. “Get decent. And send your Grindr hookup away! I sleep on that couch!”

His voice goes up an octave. I wince. Oh, god. This was not how I wanted Fitzie to meet Lysander, or vice versa.

When Fitzie slams the door, I drop my head to Lysander’s thigh. “Christ.”

A soft huff of laughter sounds above me. “Oops.”

I groan and get to my feet. “I hope the amulet also works on your dick, because otherwise he might’ve gotten an eyeful.”

Lysander stands, shedding the blanket and giving me an eyeful. I take a brief, selfish moment to admire his perfect ass before he pulls his pants back on. “I suppose it’ll appear to be an ordinary human penis.”

“Sacrilege,” I mutter.

Tension creeps up my spine as he dresses. I was going to ease Fitzie into the idea that I’m seeing someone — after all, it’s not a lie to introduce Lysander as a friend. I’m his friend first, and the benefits are second. Now that’s all out the window, of course.

“What’s a Grindr hookup?” Lysander breaks the silence, and I bark out a laugh in surprise.

“Fitzie’s implying you’re someone I met on an app for casual sex.”

Lysander’s eyes widen. “Have you done that?”

“Not really, sweets.” I curl an arm around him and lean in. “Not that there’s anything wrong with casual — it’s just not for me.”

My face lands very close to his face. His warm breath stirs my bangs and he smiles, his bright blue eyes meeting mine. “I guess it’s not for me, either.”

“He’s not a hookup.” I push the door open.

Fitzie’s scrolling on his phone and he sighs when I come in, his face drawn into a tight frown.

My heart twinges in spite of everything.

He’s been there for me through it all — the drugs, the parties, the crash-outs, and the moment I finally caught a clue about Jasper and the burning trash fire that was my future.

“I know.” He puts his phone away and crosses his arms. “I heard you. How does he not know what Grindr is?”

I wince. “He’s, um. He was homeschooled.”

Fitzie gives me a scathing look. “He’s some rich prick whose parents didn’t send him to public school, you mean. He probably had a valet send gold-foiled invites to other rich pricks he wanted to sleep with.”

“Fitzie!” I growl. “He’s not like that.”

“But he is a rich prick.”

“He’s very sweet and he’s had some trouble in his life.” I take a deep breath through my nose. Fitzie’s just being protective. “He’s my friend —”

Fitzie huffs.

“And yes , sex is involved in our friendship.”

“Ezra.” He interrupts, getting to his feet. His finger stabs my chest. “I know he’s not some Grindr hookup because you don’t do hookups. You don’t fuck around with friends. You dive in head-first and fall in love, and some assholes are happy to take advantage of that —”

“That was a long time ago,” I reply quietly. The word love jabs me right through the ribs.

“So you and him have a normal, happy relationship? You go on dates, he’s introduced you to his family? Is that why you didn’t tell me about him?”

I grimace, and the dreaded words leave my lips without my permission. “It’s complicated.”

“Exactly,” Fitzie retorts.

“I can’t make excuses. It’s not my story to tell. But can you please just be nice to him?” I beg.

He groans. “For the sake of our friendship, I will refrain from telling you my loving and correct opinions about this situation, and I reserve the right to say I told you so one single time.”

“Fine. One I told you so.”

Fitzie trails me into the living room. I surreptitiously take my amulet off in the hall — it’s weird enough knowing what Lysander is and not being able to say a single word about it.

Lysander turns from examining the photos on my wall, catching my eye immediately, but Fitzie marches up to him before I can figure out what to say.

“Felix Fitzsimmons.” He holds out his hand. “You may not call me Fitzie like this asshole. It’s Felix to acquaintances.”

I flinch. And Lysander, still flustered from being caught with his pants down, forgets that Fitzie’s a human and stares at his hand wide-eyed with worry.

Shit, fuck, balls. I step up smoothly. “Lysander is a bit of a germophobe.”

I can see a storm brewing on Fitzie’s face, but Lysander steps out from behind me, holding out his hand. “I apologize. It’s just a cultural misunderstanding. I’m honored to meet you, as Ezra’s close friend.”

Fitzie’s scowl barely fades, but he takes the offered hand. I’m watching closely enough to catch the microscopic flinch that goes through Lysander when he does, but luckily, Fitzie doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’m Lysander.”

“Like from Shakespeare?” Fitzie’s brow arches.

Lysander shrugs. “My parents enjoyed his work.”

I don’t doubt that in fairy-speak that means they were besties or something, considering how old he is.

“So how did you and Ezra meet?” Fitzie asks probingly.

“Lysander’s staying in the hotel above the bar,” I interject. “We ran into each other one night. I sort of bullied him into being friends.”

“You were kind,” Lysander protests.

“And you were too fun to resist.” And very much worth sneaking my way past the prickly outside. I don’t say that part out loud, because, well, that’s for me to know. “Okay, well, that’s enough getting to know each other. I’ve gotta take Lysander back to the club.”

Fitzie’s eyes bore into me when I turn back around. Comp-li-ca-ted , he mouths, and I make a zipping motion with my fingers. I want — no, need — him to understand, but I can’t tell him the truth about Lysander or The Sanctum. Not yet.

I hate keeping secrets from him. We’re supposed to be an open book with each other.

“He’s upset,” Lysander says in the truck, frowning.

“He’ll come around.” I try to project confidence. “He’s just not great with new people.”

First, I need to talk to Syril. Then I can explain everything.