Chapter 14
Ezra woke alone. That had been one hell of a dream.
A man’s face, a voice, smooth as honey. Magic in the air, so thick he could not only see it, but taste it, sharp and sweet on his tongue.
They shook hands, Ezra remembered. The man might have been wearing a white coat, but other than that, there was nothing Ezra could recall about him.
A little voice in the back of Ezra’s brain told him it wasn’t a dream, but a memory. If it was his, it was completely foreign to him.
He crawled out of bed, crossing to the window to check the sky—miserable, as always.
Shirt unbuttoned, he went downstairs to find Analise in the kitchen.
Her back was to him, hair everywhere. He’d intended on sleeping on the floor again, but she’d been quiet since Lira and Jem’s visit, rattled, and even though she didn’t ask, he could tell she didn’t want to be alone.
She unnerved him, and not much—or many people—managed to achieve that.
It wasn’t the way she watched him even when she wasn’t looking at him.
It wasn’t the way she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed on it while she was thinking.
It wasn’t how she’d slept pressed against him last night, her leg tangled with his.
It wasn’t even the fact she was a death witch.
It was that he remembered every second of the first night they spent together. Every touch, every sound that had escaped those lips, every press of her fingers into his flesh, the way her legs curled around his hips as he —
Analise glanced at him over her shoulder, blushed, and looked away.
Ezra blinked, and it was Agnes standing there.
His chest tightened and he blocked out the screams, the pleas, things he usually only heard in his sleep.
His dreams—his memories—were leaking into his waking life and Ezra didn’t know how to put them back in their box.
There were things in his head even Jem didn’t know.
If Analise knew what he used to do, all the charm and wit in the world wouldn’t save him.
Ezra noted the stiffness in her shoulders. ‘About yesterday—’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Alright.’ Maybe some humour? ‘I told you I have ways to release tension.’
Analise turned to face him, folding her arms. ‘You’re a pig.’
‘That’s only mildly insulting,’ Ezra said. ‘I’m sure you can do better than that.’
Her gaze swept over him, lingering on his chest, making him suppress a groan. He wanted this woman on her back, her legs wrapped around him, fingernails shredding his skin. Maybe it was being here, stuck in this house with her. Maybe it was simpler than that. He wanted her and he couldn’t have her.
Tea. That was what he needed. He found a cup, picked up the tea pot, and frowned.
‘This feels empty.’
‘I was thirsty,’ she replied. ‘That’s the last of it, sorry.’
‘Analise.’ Ezra set the pot down and rested his hands on the bench, taking deep, steady breaths. ‘I really need a cup of tea.’
‘You expect me to conjure some up? Turn water into tea? I’m not an alchemist.’ Chuckling, she went to walk away, but he caught her by the arm and pulled her back, trapping her between his body and the bench.
His mind was scrambled, his body screaming, tension and dreams and the heat of her skin all swirling in a powerful thunderstorm that was moments away from breaking.
‘You drank all the tea.’
Analise shoved him away, cheeks scarlet, then her open palm whipped towards his cheek. He deflected the blow easily, pulling her against him, angling his hips so she couldn’t knee him in the balls. She scowled, making him smile.
‘I like that particular part of me as it is,’ he murmured.
‘I was thinking that particular part of you could use some improvement.’
He leant in until their noses were almost touching. Fuck the tea, this was much more enjoyable. ‘So you do remember.’
‘Enough to know I was underwhelmed with your performance.’ Her breath caressed his lips and set every nerve on edge. Heat surged through his veins.
‘We can’t have that,’ Ezra managed. ‘You should probably allow me to make it up to you.’
‘Oh?’ Her face was tilted towards his, a smile playing on her mouth. It could have been his imagination, but he thought she moved closer to him. ‘And how exactly would you do that?’
He kissed her, and the moment his lips crashed against hers, relief purred through him.
He took advantage of her surprise and swept his tongue into her mouth, cradling the back of her head, his other hand curling over her cheek.
Her fingers dug into his hips and her breath on his skin left him a puddle on the floor.
Her back arched as his lips trailed along the underside of her jaw.
‘Kiss me again,’ she demanded breathlessly.
‘I don’t want to kiss you,’ he whispered. ‘I want to strip away all your layers until there is nothing but you. Then, I want to look at you for a while, memorise every part of you with my eyes before I memorise it with my tongue.’
Her breathing hitched.
‘Fuck, I want you,’ he managed. She trembled as his hands went to work on the buttons of her blouse, fingers fumbling.
With her breath on his neck, she slipped her hand inside his trousers, the contact of her fingers on his aching flesh making him groan.
His head dropped to her shoulder as she stroked the length of him.
‘Hurry up,’ she whispered; fingernails pierced skin in warning, making him hiss and sink his teeth into the tender flesh below her ear.
She withdrew her hand, swiftly undoing the buttons on her blouse for him, her amulet dangling between the curve of her breasts.
With a wicked smirk, she unbuttoned her trousers and eased them down her hips.
He caught her hands. ‘I’m going to do that.’
‘If you wish.’
He did. He really did, but not here, crammed against the kitchen bench.
Ezra slipped his hands beneath the soft curve of her arse, lifting her.
Her legs wrapped around him automatically, making his toes curl as everything that anchored him to the ground was torn away.
Analise wriggled against him impatiently, nipping at his lower lip.
The bedroom was too far away, and the stairs might be a problem because there was no way he was letting her go for more than a second, not unless he was removing her clothes.
‘The table?’
She nodded.
Ezra could barely think. He stumbled towards the table and, the moment he set her down, she slipped her hand inside his trousers again. Her grip was firm, her palm blazing. He shuddered, and pulled her hand away.
‘You first, remember?’ he murmured, pushing her back. Her hair was a mess, lips kiss-stung, colour splashed across her cheeks. With her chest heaving, her buttons undone, trousers sitting low on the swell of her hips, she was the most glorious thing he had ever seen.
In this moment, she was his, no matter if it was wrong, no matter what happened after.
Ezra leant over her, hands braced on either side of her head as he kissed her deeply, then trailed his lips over her jaw, down her throat.
A moan escaped her when he sucked on the skin above her breast, before his teeth dug into her.
There would be a mark there. A claiming of her, like she’d already claimed him.
How had that even happened? All he could think about was the places he wanted to kiss her and the places she’d probably stab him if she knew the truth.
He should have walked away from this the moment he realised what was happening; no, before then, when he stumbled into her morgue and discovered what she was.
But he hadn’t. And now he couldn’t, and didn’t want to.
Fingers trembling, Ezra eased her trousers off. She lifted her arse to help him and when she was naked from the waist down, he took a moment to appreciate the creamy skin and soft flesh, the flowing curve that ran from breast to thigh.
Analise opened her mouth, possibly to chastise him for taking so long, but before she could speak, Ezra trailed his finger down her stomach, along one thigh, back up, then stopped.
She groaned, thighs parting in invitation.
He fumbled for the nearest chair, collapsing into it, hooking his hands underneath her.
He’d told himself that when this finally happened again—if it happened—he’d relish it, take his time with her, learn each inch of her body.
But now they were here, her spread on the table like his personal feast, fuck savouring the moment.
Analise gasped when he plunged his tongue into her, the gasp turning into a moan as she shuddered, her back arching off the table.
Her hands were in his hair, fingernails scratching at his scalp as she tugged him closer.
He pushed her legs further apart and trailed his tongue over her again, working her with his fingers until she was hovering on the edge, about to crash over.
Ezra couldn’t take it any longer. He stood, pulling his shirt off.
‘I swear, if you’re not inside me in the next five seconds, I’m going to scream, Ezra,’ Analise said breathlessly as he positioned himself between her legs.
‘I’d rather you scream when I’m inside you, but point taken,’ he whispered.
She pulled his head down for a searing kiss, then wrapped her legs around him, her heels pressed into his arse.
Ezra surged forward, sinking inside her in one powerful stroke.
They both groaned as he withdrew then thrust back in, hard.
A voice echoed through the house.
‘Umm, whatever you’re doing, maybe stop?’
‘Shit,’ Analise hissed, pushing him away.
She scrambled off the table and pulled her clothes on as he cursed God into the Fallen One’s Hell.
Ezra was in the middle of buttoning his trousers with trembling fingers when Lira came waltzing into the kitchen.
She glanced at him, shirtless, and then at Analise, her flushed face, blouse only partially buttoned, hair a mess and, like him, one stroke away from release.
Lira smirked. ‘Anyone hungry?’