Page 10 of Single Mom’s Secret Diary (The Forbidden Reverse Harem Collection)

Avery

T he world disappears when Ezra kisses me. His fingers sink into my hair, supporting the back of my head and tipping me to access my mouth more fully. His thumb brushes along my jaw.

My fingers curl into the front of his shirt, needing to be closer. The broad expanse of his chest and waist press into mine, lifting me to the edge of his desk so we can eliminate every inch of space between us.

It’s so, so easy to sink into him, to forget everything else as his tongue tentatively sweeps against mine.

I don’t mean to moan, but I do. It’s low and soft and vibrates through me like a drug.

Ezra’s hand fists into the back of my blouse, traces of hunger hitting me in a feedback loop until nothing is left but him and this kiss.

Smoothing my hands out across his chest, I find and trace his collarbones, letting my touch meander upward until I stroke along his throat with a fingertip. I make lazy circles behind his ear until his grip tightens and his mouth falls to my throat in a smattering of kisses and bites.

His teeth pinch that sensitive spot he found that first night. A spot that primes me for detonation.

Another, lower, moan escapes me, and he grunts against my skin, nibbling and drawing my head back farther until I’m grasping at his hair. Encouraging or fending him off, I’m not sure. I can’t think straight.

My knees squeeze his hips, calves working against his thighs. I’m so utterly turned on that I’ve lost my control. God, how can he still do this to me?

When his mouth glides against mine again, I’m ravenous. Being with him is too fucking good, addictive like it all those years ago. And if I let myself get wrapped up in him again, I’ll never shake loose.

I force myself to break away, tipping my forehead against his as I catch my breath.

His chest heaves under my hands, and it takes so much self-control to follow through, to push him back far enough that I can slip around him.

Cold air breaches my overly hot skin. I rack a hand through my hair and turn away. I can’t even look at Ezra right now. The feel of him is too fresh. It worms into me.

I need to put much more space between us, but I can’t seem to make myself.

His confession. His plea for me to meet his mother. It makes me want to believe him.

Because I looked for him, too, albeit for a very different reason.

Still, I’d looked.

I’m pacing in circles and find him leaning against his desk where I’d been a second ago. He’s touching his mouth, like he can imprint the memory of me there.

A wild frenzy builds inside, something so completely overwhelming that I can’t comprehend it properly. I have to get out of here.

Have to escape this.

I step toward the door, and he follows. I can feel him behind me.

Someone knocks. Good. We need the distraction.

But Ezra traps me against the solid wood, his mouth at my ear, refilling me with the heat I’m trying desperately to dispel.

“Wait.”

I’m going to unravel, and I need somewhere private to do so.

His hand traipses down my bare arm, fingers fiddling with my own. “Come meet my mom. This weekend. Please.”

I can’t take a full breath.

Ezra turns me gently to face him. Fuck, that earnest look in his eyes, the unnatural downturn of his mouth. He will beg if I ask him to.

“I’ll think about it.”

His thumb brushes my bottom lip before he retreats, giving me the smallest nod. His gaze never leaves mine.

I have to turn from it, grasping the door handle and swinging it open to reveal Ryder on the other side. His bronze eyes take me in with a full, eager sweep, and he smiles. “Miss Caruso.”

The low timbre of his voice slides over me, teases and twists me up further inside. Then his gaze swings over my head. Ryder can see more than I want him to.

“Excuse me.” I push past him, charging down the hall to my office. Once the door is safely closed behind me, I slump back against it and suck in deep, gasping breaths.

What the fuck just happened?

Everything inside me buzzes, like my skin has shrunk and is ready to split me in half. Whatever that was, it resonates so deep against that old wound that I nearly crumple to the floor right in front of my door.

Anger lashes at me. At the old version of us. At the stupid decision he made. At the way I ghosted him.

Especially with the way he’s still able to make me feel so much .

I’m finally catching my breath. I just want this overwhelming feeling to subside, to dull enough that I can think straight.

When I’m able to climb back to my feet, every little movement makes my clothes grate against my newly sensitized skin.

My office chair presses my arousal back against me. Fuck, I’m so screwed.

How far would that have gone if I hadn’t already been disarmed and primed by Wyatt? Would nearly walking into Ryder have sent the zing through me if not for Ezra?

And Ezra…

I wish I could simply enjoy the man he’s become, but all of our baggage is heavy.

Part of me wants to just put it down and move on. And the other part…

I sigh and pull out my new safe haven. My diary.

I can’t even…

I can’t even…

What has my life turned into? My days are filled with chocolate and three testosterone and lust-filled men who mess with my head. And you know what? I can’t even.

I’ve got all of this anger and grief wrapped up in my attraction to Ezra, but the way he kisses me sends me back to that first night with him—both tender and greedy. That’s a good word for it.

Greedy.

The three of them make me feel greedy, make me feel like the slut I’ve never thought myself to be. It feels inevitable.

Ezra feels inevitable, just like he did when my assessment of him didn’t run him off.

When our touch sank into a tangled knot of fingers.

When the free drinks and mutual attraction tipped us closer together.

When he’d cupped my face and kissed me as the sun set, I swore my barstool would burst into flames.

When he pressed me back into my hotel door, I swore we’d set it on fire.

When he slowly undressed and worshiped me on that thin mattress, I swore we’d burn the entire place down.

Every day and every night, it got better. I hated being away from him for more than a few minutes at a time. I didn’t even try to play it cool.

Because he didn’t either.

And he’s trying so hard to play it now. Watching him break was intense. It’s still fluttering through my chest.

He’d barely pressed us together, done not even a tenth of what we’d done before, and it had me sinking into a version of me that I’d missed.

An open one. A needy one. A dreamy one.

God, what would it be like to be with him as a mature adult? How much hotter would it be to sleep with Ezra now?

Would there be anything left of me?