11. Lemon
Chapter 11
Lemon
M idnight Oasis pulses with life. I’ve been to clubs before, but I’ve never felt the energy like I’m feeling here. Its name is very appropriate because it does feel like an oasis, at least up here it does in the VIP section. I shouldn’t be surprised with how magnetic he is. His words from twenty minutes ago swirl in my head, but it’s been quiet between us since then.
I’m perched on Ezra’s lap, feeling more than a little buzzed. My head spins just enough to make everything feel a bit dreamlike. His strong hands rub slow, deliberate circles on my back in a soothing matter, but each touch feels like it’s trailing fire on my skin.
"Enjoying yourself?" Ezra's voice cuts through the noise, warm breath tickling my ear. He’s got that smug smile of his, the one that says he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
"Maybe," I reply, trying for nonchalance but failing miserably as a soft moan escapes my lips. I lean further into his touch, craving more.
"Just maybe?" His fingers dig in a bit harder, making it impossible for me to hold back another moan. "Come on, beauty, we both know you are."
"I think your ego is exceptionally large and you have girls falling at your feet easily." I shoot back, though my voice lacks its usual bite. Too tipsy for sass, too caught up in the way his hands move over me, like he’s memorizing every curve and dip.
"Not every girl sits this perfectly in my lap," he whispers, his words tantalizingly close to my lips. Damn him. He knows how to twist words, and my stomach knots in delicious anticipation.
"Flatterer," I murmur, but I don’t pull away. Instead, I press closer, feeling my heartbeat sync with the bass thumping through the floor. The club fades away until nothing matters except his touch.
"Honest." His hands slide lower, fingertips slipping underneath the waistband of my jeans. Every nerve in my body is on high alert, buzzing louder than the music around us.
"God, Ezra," I breathe out, my voice barely audible over the din. I need more of his touch, his closeness. Just more of everything.
I'm wrapped around him as I move to straddle his lap, lost in the sensation, every stroke of his hand driving me wild. He’s not even touching me anywhere explicit. It’s my freaking lower back, but I swear I can feel him everywhere.
"You’re not the only one who wants more, you know," he grins, pulling back slightly to look into my eyes.
"Then stop teasing," I challenge, my voice shaky but determined.
"Where's the fun in that?" He winks, playful yet possessive, and I know I'm in deeper than I realized. “Lemon, you good? ”
"More than," I murmur, the alcohol loosening my tongue. My vision might be hazy, but the awareness of his touch is crystal clear.
"Careful, bellezza," he teases, his breath hot against my ear. "Wouldn't want you to get too carried away."
I scoff, rolling my eyes even though they're half-closed, heavy with desire and drink. "As if you'd mind."
"True," Ezra admits, chuckling, and his fingers press just a fraction firmer into my flesh, stoking the fire already smoldering within me. "But we've got an audience." His other hand moves up, thumb brushing the nape of my neck in a way that makes me want to purr.
My thighs tighten around Ezra's waist, the heat from his body seeping into mine as I grind down against him. The music pounds through my veins urging me on. Then his hands are gone, but before I can whine they land on my hips, guiding me in a rhythm that feels too good to be anything but sinful.
"Fuck, Lemon," he groans, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through my chest. His smirk widens, and I notice his gaze isn't entirely focused on me. Following his line of sight, I realize with a start that he's staring over my shoulder, up at the ceiling.
"Ezra," I whine, my frustration mounting as my movements become more frantic. My breath comes in quick, shallow gasps as I seek release, but he grips my hips tighter, controlling the pace, denying me.
"Not yet," he whispers against my ear, soft lips brushing the sensitive skin and causing gooseflesh to appear. His fingers dig into my denim-covered legs, holding me still when all I want to do is move. "Not until I say so."
I let out a needy moan, feeling the wetness pooling between my thighs. The friction is maddeningly close to what I need, but not enough to push me over the edge. "Please," I beg, hating how desperate I sound but unable to stop myself.
Ezra chuckles darkly. "Oh, babygirl," he murmurs into my ear, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin, "you should know by now that begging only makes me want to draw this out longer. You’ve got to earn it."
My eyes flutter shut as I try to catch my breath. The scent of leather and whiskey clings to him. I’m drowning in it, in him.
The feeling is too much, and yet not enough. My hands start to wander, one sliding up his chest while the other drifts downward, seeking my own release. Just as my fingers breach the waistband of my jeans, Ezra's hand snaps around my wrist, firm and unmoving, as he draws my attention back to his face.
"None of that now," he chides softly, his voice thick with authority. His grip is unyielding, a command that sends anticipation through me. The corners of his mouth curl into a smirk as he watches my pout form.
"But I need—" I whimper, the sound pitiful even to my own ears. The alcohol in my system makes everything feel more intense—desire, frustration, the need for him. My head spins with it all.
He silences me by gripping my chin between his thumb and forefinger and capturing my lips in a kiss so deep and consuming that it steals the air from my lungs and banishes any coherent thought from my mind. His tongue claims mine with a possessive intensity that makes me melt against him. The world narrows down to just this—his mouth on mine, the taste of whiskey mingling with the rum from my drinks.
When he finally pulls back, my lungs gulp in air as if I've been submerged underwater. "Time to go," he states firmly, not giving me room for argument.
I whine in protest as he helps me off his lap and onto unsteady feet. The world tilts for a moment before I lean into him for support. Ezra's arm wraps around my waist possessively as we navigate through the club’s thrumming energy.
"Careful," Ezra murmurs as I stumble into the passenger seat, my body heavy with alcohol and desire. The car door closes with a soft thud, sealing us away from the outside.
I slump against the cool leather of the seat, my head buzzing like a swarm of angry bees. The dim interior lights cast a soft glow, illuminating Ezra's sharp features as he slides in next to me. Everything fades into the background as we pull away from the curb and the only thing I hear is the low hum of whatever playlist he’s got on. A song murmuring about being a creep or something.
"You're quiet." My voice is breathy, slurred, with the remnants of liquor swirling in my system.
Ezra’s lips twitch into a half-smile as he stops tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and turns his head to look at me. "Just enjoying the peace, Lemon."
I snort, resting my head against the cool glass window. "Peace? With me around? You must be drunker than I am."
He chuckles, a deep rumble that sends another shiver down my spine. "If I were drunk, I'd be less restrained and I definitely wouldn’t be driving us anywhere. Trust me."
I shift uncomfortably in my seat, pressing my thighs together in a futile attempt to alleviate some of the persistent ache. "I'm so fucking drunk," I mutter, more to myself than him.
"I know," he replies softly, amusement lacing his tone .
"And horny." The admission slips out before I can catch it, but it's too late to retract.
Ezra's laugh is rich and unabashedly delighted. "Is that so?"
"Yes," I groan, frustration coloring my words as I twist to face him. "And you're not helping and don’t act like you couldn’t tell. I was only riding your lap like I was going for Equestrian gold at the Olympics."
All I hear is Ezra laughing at me while my eyes droop close and I don’t even fight them, letting the alcohol in my system tug me under with the rhythm of the car navigating through the streets.
"Wake up, beauty. We're here." Ezra's voice cuts through the fog of sleep as he shakes me gently. I blink, the city lights of New Haven shimmering like stars through the car window.
"Ugh, my head," I groan, feeling the weight of it pressing down on me. Ezra opens the door and helps me out, my legs wobbling beneath me. The night air is cool, soothing my flushed skin.
"Easy now," he murmurs, wrapping an arm around my waist. His touch is warm and grounding. I lean into him, my head resting against his shoulder as we make our way toward the penthouse entrance.
"Ezra, why does he live on the top floor?" I ask, my voice whiny and pathetic even to my own ears.
"Because he’s the big boss and likes to swing his dick around. I mean his money, but same damn thing. C’mon let’s get up there. "
The elevator ride is a blur of muted lights and soft music. By the time we reach the penthouse floor, my head feels like it's stuffed with cotton. The doors slide open, revealing the sleek, modern doorway leading to Atticus' domain.
"Atticus is probably waiting," Ezra says, more to himself than to me. I nod, not really processing his words. All I can think about is collapsing into a bed, any bed.
"Come on, Lemon. Just a few more steps."
We step out of the elevator, and that's when I see him. Atticus, all six-foot-two of controlled, deliberate masculinity, standing by the door that was just closed. His piercing cobalt eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, the world stops spinning.
"Uncle Atti," I breathe, my voice catching in my throat. His gaze is intense, bordering on predatory.
"Ezra," he acknowledges, his tone clipped. "Lemon."
"Hey," I manage, my voice small. I try to stand on my own, but my knees betray me, and I stumble forward. Ezra catches me before I hit the ground.
"Careful," he admonishes gently. But the look Atticus gives me isn't gentle. It's anything but.
"Had a bit too much fun tonight, did we?" Atticus asks, his voice a low rumble. He takes a step closer, his presence overwhelming. My heart races, caught between fear and lust. What if I just tippy-toed up and licked his cheek right now? Would he like it? I know I would.
"Maybe," I reply, trying to muster some sass despite my inebriated state. "What’s it to you?"
"Everything," he says, his eyes boring into mine. "You should know that by now."
"Is that so?" I challenge, my voice shaky but defiant.
"Have you made up your mind yet?" His voice is low, commanding, leaving no room for bullshit.
"About what?" I retort, trying to keep my voice even, though it wavers. My heart races, pounding in my chest like it's trying to break free.
"Don't play games with me, Lemon," he growls, his gaze locking onto mine, searching for any sign of weakness. "You know exactly what I'm asking."
"Maybe I do," I reply, tilting my chin up defiantly. "But maybe I’m not ready to give you an answer."
"That's not good enough," he snaps, his tone dripping with impatience.
"Yeah, well, I'm still thinking," I shoot back, leaning heavily on Ezra. "And until I decide, you're just gonna have to wait."
"Waiting isn't my strong suit," he replies, stepping so close I can feel the heat radiating off him.
"Then maybe you should work on your patience," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because I'm not rushing."
"Don't push me, Lemon," he warns, his voice dangerously low. "You won't like where it leads."
"Enough," Ezra interjects, his voice firm as he gently tugs me away from Atticus. "Let's get inside."
"Fine, but I still have like forty, no thirty-two hours. I don’t know how many hours but a couple days’ worth," I mutter, casting one last glance at Atticus. His eyes follow us as Ezra guides me into the penthouse and up the stairs to my room.
"Rest, Lemon," Ezra murmurs as we enter my space. "We'll talk tomorrow."
"Sure," I mumble, my eyelids growing heavier by the second. But as I drift off to sleep, I can't shake the feeling that tomorrow there is going to be hell to pay.