25. Ezra
Chapter 25
Ezra
I guide Lemon to the bathroom, my heart aching at how small and fragile she feels in my arms. Her skin is clammy, and I can feel her trembling. Fuck, what have we done to her?
"Sit," I murmur, helping her onto the edge of the massive marble tub. She doesn't resist, just slumps there like a doll.
I grab the first aid kit from under the sink, setting it on the counter with shaky hands. When I turn back to Lemon, she's staring at her bloodied palms, her eyes vacant.
"This might sting a bit," I warn softly, kneeling in front of her. I take her right hand first, cradling it gently in mine. The cuts aren't deep, thank fuck, but there are a lot of them. Little constellations of pain across her soft skin.
I work in silence, cleaning each cut with antiseptic wipes. Lemon hisses at the sting, but doesn't pull away. My touch is as gentle as I can make it, but I know it still hurts. I hate that I'm causing her more pain, even if it's to help her.
"I'm sorry," I whisper, not sure if I'm apologizing for the sting or for everything else .
Lemon doesn't respond, just watches me with those big, sad eyes that make my chest ache. I finish with her hands and move to her arms, dabbing at the few nicks there.
When I'm done, I cap the antiseptic and reach to put it on the counter, but Lemon's hand on my wrist stops me. Her touch is feather-light, barely there, but it freezes me in place.
"Ezra," she whispers, her voice raw and trembling. "Why?"
The question hangs in the air, heavy with all the pain and confusion of the past week. I can't meet her eyes, can't bear to see the hurt there again. Instead, I focus on her hand, tracing the lines of her palm with my thumb.
"Fuck, Lemon," I breathe, my voice barely audible over the hum of the bathroom fan. "I'm so goddamn sorry. What we did…what Atticus did, it was cruel. Harsh. I know that."
I risk a glance up at her face. Her eyes are wide, searching mine for something. Truth? Comfort? I'm not sure I can give her either, but I'll try.
"When you left," I continue, the words spilling out in a rush, "it scared the shit out of both of us. You have no idea. Atticus, well he doesn't handle being out of control well. And you leaving? That was the ultimate loss of control for him."
Lemon's fingers tighten on my wrist, just a fraction. "So he decided to punish me? To break me?"
I wince at the bitterness in her voice. "Yeah," I admit, hating myself for it. "That was always the plan. To break you down, so he could build you back up. The way he wanted. He told you that when you agree to this thing, although I doubt you actually heard him with the way your mind was spiraling."
"The way you both wanted," she corrects, and I can't argue with that.
I nod, swallowing hard. "You're right. But Lemon, you need to understand something. This isn't just about you. Atticus, he did the same thing to me. Broke me down, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but what he wanted."
Her eyes widen at that, surprise flickering across her face. "You?"
"Yeah, me," I say with a humorless laugh. "You think I was always this obedient? This controlled? Fuck no. I was a mess when Atticus found me. Angry, reckless, self-destructive. He saw something in me, though. Something worth salvaging."
I pause, lost in the memories for a moment. The long nights of punishment and reward, the slow stripping away of my defenses until I was bare before him, body and soul.
"It was hell," I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "There were times I hated him. Times I wanted to run as far and fast as I could. But in the end…fuck, Lemon, in the end it saved me."
Lemon's quiet for a long moment, processing. I can almost see the gears turning in her head, weighing my words against her own.
"I know it sounds fucked up," I continue, running a hand through my hair. "But Atticus is not just some sadistic asshole getting his rocks off. He genuinely cares. About me. About you, even though he probably wishes he didn’t."
I pause, searching for the right words. How do I explain something I barely understand myself?
"Look, I love him. Even when I act like a jackass and pretend we're not a thing. We are. And Atticus? He lets me have my fun, my joking and flirting. Because it was never about caging a hummingbird, you know? It was about giving the bird some fucking parameters so it doesn't fly into a window and break its neck."
Lemon's brow furrows, but I see a flicker of something in her eyes. Maybe she can start to try and understand. I press on; the words tumbling out faster now.
"He gives me freedom, Lemon. Real freedom. The kind where I don't have to worry about spiraling out of control or hurting myself or others. And yeah, sometimes his methods are harsh. Fuck, they can be downright brutal. But there's always a purpose."
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of Lemon's gaze on me.
When she speaks, her voice is soft, thoughtful. "So when you joke around, act like you don't care..."
"It's because I know I can," I finish for her. "Because Atticus lets me have that freedom. He knows at the end of the day, I'll always come back to him."
I kneel in front of her again, taking her hands in mine. They feel so small, so delicate. "I know it's hard to understand, Lemon. Hell, sometimes I don't understand it myself. But Atticus…he sees the potential in people. He saw it in me, and he sees it in you."
Her brow is furrowed, “So are you with other people? Is that what you mean?”
“No, there isn’t anyone else except for you now. Sometimes I want to scream and break shit and run away. But then I remember how I was before him, and I?—"
My voice cracks, and I have to take a moment to collect myself. Lemon's hand finds mine, her touch gentle despite the bandages.
"I remember the drugs, the blackouts, waking up in strangers' beds with no idea how I got there. The constant fear and self-loathing. Atticus saved me from that, Lemon. He gave me structure, purpose. Love, even if he rarely says the words. "
"But the silence," she whispers finally, her voice cracking. "The isolation. It was killing me, Ezra."
I nod, squeezing her hand gently. "I know, sweet girl. Believe me, I know. I went through it too. He could have done it differently. He should have. But you leaving like that really fucked him up, and he’s not perfect. As much as you and I like to think he is, he isn’t. He knows it and you showing up here, the issues with your dad, and then the little kitchen incident have frayed his nerves more than he will ever let us know."
"I don't know if I can trust you," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the hum of the bathroom fan. "Either of you."
I nod, letting my hand drop from her face. "I get that. And I'm not asking you to trust us right now. Just give us a chance to show you."
Lemon's quiet for a long moment, her gaze dropping to her bandaged hands. When she looks up again, there's a new resolve in her eyes.
"Okay," she says softly. "I'll try, but I have a question."
"Ask away," I say, my heart racing. I've got no fucking clue what she's about to throw at me, but I brace myself anyway.
Lemon takes a deep breath, her cheeks flushing pink. "Why haven't either of you...you know, actually fucked me yet?"
The question hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. I wasn't expecting that, not by a long shot. My mind reels, searching for the right words.
"I mean," she continues, her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm not a virgin. And you've gone down on me and fingered me more times than I can count. Hell, I've blown Atticus. So why?"
I run a hand through my hair, buying time. Fuck, how do I explain this?
"It's complicated, Lemon," I start, then wince at how lame that sounds. "Look, it's not about you being a virgin or not."
Her brow furrows again, and I can see the confusion in those big green eyes.
I pause, remembering my own experience. The long nights of teasing, of being brought to the edge over and over but never allowed to cross it. The frustration, the need, the desperation that built up until I was practically begging Atticus to take me.
"I'm not allowed to fuck you," I continue, my voice rougher now, "Not yet, anyway. That's Atticus' call. He decides when and if I get to have you that way."
Lemon's eyes narrow at that.
"But you want to," she says softly, not quite a question.
I can't help the harsh laugh that escapes me. "Fuck, bellezza. Of course I want to. Have you seen yourself? You're gorgeous, sexy as hell. The things I want to do to you..."
I trail off, shaking my head. No point in going down that road right now.
"But it's not just about want," I explain, trying to keep my voice steady. "It's about respect. Respect for Atticus, for his rules."
I reach out, cupping her face gently in my hand. Her skin is soft, warm against my palm.
"So if he told you to fuck me right now..." she trails off, leaving the question hanging in the air between us.
My cock twitches at the thought, and I have to shift to adjust myself. "I'd have you bent over this sink so fast your head would spin," I growl, my voice low and rough .
Lemon's breath catches, her pupils dilating, "I think I would very much like that."
"But he hasn't," I tell her, forcing myself to stay still. "And until he does, all I can do is look. Touch a little, if he allows it. But not take. Never take."
She leans forward, her face inches from mine. I can smell her shampoo, something floral and sweet. It makes my head spin.
"And if I begged you?" she whispers, her breath hot on my lips.
"Fuck, Lemon," I groan, my resolve crumbling. "I love when you beg, but I do have control as well, sweet girl."
Suddenly, a shadow falls over us. I freeze, my heart pounding in my chest.
Atticus.
Fuck.
He moves into the bathroom, his presence filling the space. I can smell his cologne, spicy and masculine, as he towers over both of us. His face is unreadable, those piercing orbs taking in the scene before him.
Atticus reaches out, his large hand cupping my face. His thumb pulls down my bottom lip, a gesture that's both tender and possessive. I can't help the small whimper that escapes me, my body instinctively leaning into his touch.
Then his gaze shifts to Lemon, and I feel her tense beside me. Atticus' hand moves to her face, mirroring his touch on me.
"Say I even believe that your father is innocent," Atticus says, a deep rumble with an edge even as his gaze never leaves Lemon's face. "That means he was set up. And you? You're bait, leverage. You'd be handing it to whoever on a platter."
I feel Lemon stiffen against my hands, her legs shaking .
"This is why I'm harsh, cruel even," Atticus says, his voice softening just a fraction. "I'd rather you hate me than you be dead."
His hand moves to cup Lemon's face, his thumb brushing away a tear I hadn't even realized had fallen. The gesture is so tender, so at odds with his words, that it makes my chest ache.
"Rich men do evil things, Lemon," he murmurs, and there's a darkness in his eyes that sends a shiver down my spine. "I would know."
The admission hangs in the air, heavy and ominous. I've always known there was more to Atticus than he let on, depths of darkness that he kept carefully hidden. But hearing him say it out loud makes it real in a way it never has been before.
"What do you mean?" she whispers, her voice barely audible. "What have you done?"
Atticus' jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. For a moment, I think he's going to shut down, retreat behind that impenetrable wall he's so good at putting up. But then he surprises me.
"Things I'm not proud of," he says quietly. "Things that keep me up at night. But also things that have kept me alive, kept the people I care about safe. My family is very different from yours, they always will be. Old money brings the devil out because he always wants to collect his pound of flesh."
Atticus' words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken secrets. I watch as Lemon processes them, her eyes wide and conflicted.
Suddenly, Atticus' hands are on both of us, pulling us to our feet. The movement's gentle but firm. My body responds instinctively, melting into his touch even as my mind races to keep up .
"Now you have two choices," Atticus continues, his tone softening just a fraction. "You can go back to your room and go to bed, or you can walk into my bedroom with Ezra and I and you won’t be getting much sleep."
The implication of his words hits me like a freight train. My cock twitches in my pants, already half-hard just from the possibility. I glance at Lemon, trying to gauge her reaction.
She's frozen, her chest rising and falling rapidly with each shallow breath. Her eyes are locked on Atticus, wide and uncertain. For a moment, I think she might bolt.
"Choose wisely," Atticus adds, his voice almost purring.
Time seems to stand still as we wait for Lemon's decision. The bathroom suddenly feels too small, too warm.
Then, without a word, Lemon moves. She takes a step forward, then another, her movements slow but deliberate as she exits the bathroom. My breath catches in my throat as she walks right through Atticus' bedroom doorway.
And then we’re following her, Atticus’ hand on the small of my back guiding me.