Page 17 of The Sin Eater (Carnival of Mysteries #27)
“Peaceful garden.” I echo him and laugh. “Is that like a lady garden? Cuz I for sure don’t have one of those.”
“Never seen one, to be honest.” He flexes his hips, an easy motion that promises more. “But I want you, and I’m pretty sure you want me. The only thing I don’t understand is why we’re sitting here talking about it.”
“Because we both just stuffed ourselves with Indian food?”
“Oh, for fuck’s”—he jerks his head away from my hand—”if I bend over and spread my ass cheeks, will you find something else to complain—”
“Stop.” I cut him off, my voice low. “Don’t be like that.”
He laughs, a bitter sound. “Like what? I’m nobody from Bumfuck, Arkansas. Better men than you have used me and abused me and lived to tell the tale.”
“Ezra.”
“Cut it out. Pity’s not much of a turn-on, you know.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, this isn’t about pity.”
“What, then?” His voice rises and I cover his mouth with my hand to shut him down before he completely ruins the mood. Instead of biting, he licks a stripe across my palm. Whatever resolve I’ve cobbled together starts to shred and I slide my hand around the back of his neck, pulling him closer.
“You’re not nobody, not to me, anyway.”
He gets his hands around my neck and tugs hard enough that it’s either kiss or end up with a bloody nose. I tilt my head so I can press my lips to his. He’s already open, his tongue warm, his breath heavy with curry. He takes charge of me, angling my head, demanding I give as much as he is.
My dick’s trying to break free of my jeans and my eyes are closed, my senses overwhelmed by his taste and his touch, his scent with notes of cigarettes and spice instead of lavender. The rough heat of his body against mine.
He grinds on me, his hips as aggressive as his kiss. I thrust against him because how the hell could I not? He makes a sound somewhere between a whine and a growl and grabs my hand, dragging it down to press against the hard length running down his thigh.
His jeans are so tight his cock has nowhere to go. It’s gotta hurt, but his hand on mine is insistent so I stroke him through the denim. He thrusts against me, a wet spot forming, and I break the kiss so I can taste the skin on his throat.
“Gonna come in my pants.” He gasps between words.
I slow my hand, moving it away from his dick. “We can do better than that, baby.” I start to work on the buttons at his fly. He drags my hand away before I get more than two buttons undone.
“You can’t be nice to me,” he says, thrusting against me. “Don’t deserve it.”
“Shut up.” I kiss him to keep him from saying anything else stupid. He’s enough smaller than me that he should feel fragile. Except it’s like having my arms around a wild creature.
A wild thing that could bite with very little warning.
Having him pressed against me, his sweater rubbing against my bare chest and his kisses fierce, I’m overwhelmed by need. The need to protect him from his demons. The need to show him joy.
The need to come. My dick’s an iron rod and my balls are starting to pull up in response to lightning flashes of heat from the pit of my belly.
Before he can consume my soul, I break the kiss. “Where do you want me?” I punctuate the request by standing up, holding him close. Ezra wraps his legs around my waist and flashes a filthy grin.
“Bedroom’s mostly a closet, so let’s try the chaise.”
A chaise? I scan the room and pick out what looks like a long, low couch. It’s piled with pillows and a thick, faux fur blanket, and after knocking some of the bedding away, I lay Ezra on it carefully, like he really might be fragile.
“You didn’t drop me.” He sounds insulted, which only makes me laugh.
“I would never.” I crawl over him, bracketing him with my arms and legs. His smile softens, as if he likes being underneath me as much as I like being on top.
“Now what?” he asks, his voice low. “You can have anything.”
I believe him, although it makes me a little sad. “What do you want?”
He looks away with a cryptic smile. “I want you to have your way with me, Big D.”
“I’m not sure what that means.” Giving in to my body, I grab his wrists and pin them.
While I’m not the bossy type, having Ezra Morgue spread out underneath me, his body pliant, his snarky mouth quiet—or less snarky, anyway—calls to a side of me I didn’t know existed.
A side that wants to tell him exactly what I want him to do.
Still, I hold something back. I’ve had sex with more women than men, so I’ve always tried to be careful.
Ezra is strong, though. He can fight back if I do something he doesn’t like.
I’m just not sure he will.
“Okay,” I say, squeezing his wrists harder and rocking my hips against his.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to get up and get out of these jeans, and you’re going to do the same before I have to cut ’em off you.
I figure we both ate too much for me to fuck your ass or your mouth, so if you’ll point me to some lube, I’ll take care of both of us. ”
“It’s there.” He points to a small end table with a drawer in the front, his eyes glazing over. His hair’s a mess and his lips are swollen and if anything, that makes him more beautiful.
I stand and unbutton my jeans. “Oh, and I get to come first, and you don’t get to say anything at all unless it’s to tell me to stop.”
His eyes get big, and quicker than I would have thought possible, he’s naked and waiting for me on the chaise. I lower myself on my left elbow, twining one leg between his. “Let me know if I need to stop,” I whisper and lower my lips to his throat.
I start under his ear, kissing and licking the soft skin. I brush the edge of his whiskers and keep going to the hollow over his sternum. I spend some time there, long enough to make him whine. “Shh.” I nip him to get my point across.
He’s cupping the back of my head, fingers threaded through my hair. I keep going, teasing one nipple with my lips, the other with my fingers. The bottle of lube is in easy reach, but I’m not ready for it yet. Soon though. We’re both smearing precum as we move against each other.
I trail light fingertips down his belly.
He whines again, which makes me grin. His skin is perfectly smooth, muscles nicely cut.
Telling him he couldn’t actually speak was something of a masterstroke.
This—taking control—seems to be what he needs from me.
It’s not something I have a lot of experience with, but if telling him what to do is how I take care of him, I’ll do it.
When I finally take both our cocks in hand, he makes a sound like nothing I’ve heard before.
His dick is long and slender, and there’s a patch of curls at the base that brush my knuckles as I stroke both of us, lowering myself so I’m mostly lying on him.
He mouths my neck, working his way along the thick muscle toward my shoulder. Near my scar, he uses his teeth.
“Fuck. That’s going to leave a mark.”
He hums, kissing the spot. His legs are wrapped around mine and we’re in synch, thrusting into my grip. “This feels so goddamn good.”
He’s got his lips pressed together, like it’s taking all his willpower not to speak. He looks damned happy about it, and that adds another layer to my pleasure.
“Don’t forget, I get to come first.”
Somehow just saying the words makes them true. My hips lose their rhythm and I manage to gasp a warning. “Coming.”
He wraps a hand around mine, and I lose all control, shooting hard, wrapped in a storm of white-hot pleasure.
For a good few heartbeats, thinking is something other people do. My dick slides away from my hand, and, resting my forehead on his shoulder, I let my brain come back online slowly. My first clear thought is that now it’s time for me to do what I really want, which is to take care of him.
My next thought is that anything like care will have him running for the door.
He’s thrusting into my hand and I shift so I can speak directly in his ear. Tightening my grip, I whisper, “Your turn.”
He grunts, his eyes closed. His hips move faster and he rocks his head from side to side, more a loss of control than a refusal. “Come on, baby.” My lips brush his ear. “Let it go.”
With a grinding cry, his body bows, muscles clenched, and hot come shoots over the back of my hand. “That’s right. You’re gorgeous right now, baby. Just gorgeous.”
He relaxes and I reach behind myself to see if I can grab the blanket off the floor. It’s within reach, so I pull it over both of us and snuggle in closer.
He cracks an eyelid. “You really are that hot, D.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I kiss his cheek. I should get up and find a wet rag to clean up with. I don’t. Not yet.
He snores softly, which makes me smile. At some point we’re going to have to talk about what freaked him out at the carnival.
Or we should, anyway, although I can’t imagine Ezra getting involved in any kind of serious conversation.
For now, I figure I’ve got a good hour before my shoulder’s going to insist I get off this chaise.
It’s really not meant to be slept on, not by both of us anyway.
For now, anyway, I’ll enjoy the warmth of lying next to Ezra Morgue.