Chapter 6 #7
I’m smiling when I get to the kitchen. Ezra’s presence snatches all my attention.
How could it not? His mere existence is so powerful that I instantly feel drawn to him.
He’s humming a tune while placing the food on the counter, wearing only a pair of black jeans, no shoes, no shirt.
His wide back has more old scars marring it, but the fresh red claw lines are the ones that make me wince.
I did that while he was fucking me. I feel guilty and satisfied at the same time. What am I becoming?
I look away and around the kitchen. It’s as new as the rest of the place.
A long gray marble counter, stainless-steel cupboards and fridge.
It feels like it was built or renovated not long ago.
There’s no table, only two chairs near the high counter, no appliances except a coffee machine.
I haven’t seen anything personal lying around, no photos, knick-knacks, or other things that make a place look lived-in. Does Ezra even live here?
“Where are we?” I ask, walking toward him.
His eyes move up and down my body, and when they find mine, sparkle with approval. He makes me feel so seen and wanted, when he has barely looked at me before. What changed?
“A cottage ten minutes from your university.” He grabs my hand and pulls me against him.
He leans closer and smirks when I eagerly tilt my face up.
His lips come closer, but before they can touch me, he spins me around and bends me over the counter.
He lifts the hoodie, revealing my bare ass to the cold air, and smacks it.
A low moan comes out of my mouth, and I squeeze my ass cheeks, feeling the sting.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he growls in my ear just as I feel his hands spreading my butt cheeks and then a slick finger rubbing my hole before sliding inside. It feels cold and tingly wherever he touches.
“It’s a soothing ointment. It will help with the burning sensation,” he explains as he rubs the cream inside me—thoroughly.
An ointment? Then why is his hand pinching my nipple under the hoodie? “Ezra…” I whisper his name.
“Your dick is hard, Little Chick. And I’m famished.”
Does this mean what I think it means? His finger leaves me, and I’m suddenly lifted on top of the counter.
It feels cold and hard under my naked butt.
Ezra kneels in front of me, reminding me how he did the same when I was quivering a few hours ago.
Now I’m trembling again, but fear and apprehension are not the cause behind it; excitement is.
“Such a pretty cock.” His lust-filled statement erases all my stupid insecurities, as he keeps staring hungrily between my legs.
He grabs my hips and pulls me to the edge of the hard surface. His eyes don’t leave mine as he takes my cock all the way down his throat in one go. I scream and grab his head with both hands.
He pulls back, then his cheeks hollow, pushing me deeper. He does it deliberately, as controlled as he always is, and when I pitch my pelvis forward, he sucks me in more. He’s blowing me just like I imagined him doing anything else—with confidence, precision, and ferocity.
His tongue feels so hot, twirling around my length. It’s wet, tight, and it lingers on the tip, prolonging the pleasure.
My head is spinning, seeing him in such a submissive position, sucking on my dick with gusto is the endgame for me. I come like a freight train, pulling on his hair and screaming his name. Not caring about anything but his big lips around me.
Before I even form that last thought, he’s kissing me. I moan at the feel of his taste mixed with the thick slickness of my cum as it enters my mouth. Holy shit! He kept some for me to taste. It’s so…dirty, and scorching hot.
“Fuck, you taste good,” he says, nipping my lip one last time.
I do? I’m panting, feeling boneless.
“I want to taste you, too,” I admit, when I get a look at the tent in his jeans.
“Later, Little Chick. Now we need real food.”
I pout, but he’s already taking drinks from the fridge.
“What did you get?” I ask, sliding down the counter. When my foot touches the ground, I lose my balance, but Ezra is there to hold me up. He anticipated my fall, the thought makes me smile with contentment.
“Chinese.” He lets me go to grab some paper napkins.
“My favorite.”
“I know,” he says as he takes a seat.
That reminds me. “Have you ever entered my dorm room when I wasn’t there?” My hands are gripping the edge of the counter, and I’m holding my breath.
“Come here.” Ezra taps his leg, inviting me to sit on his lap.
“Will you give me answers?”
“Yes.” He opens one of the Chinese boxes, and the smell of steamed dim sum makes my stomach grumble.
I climb on his lap, sitting sideways. His arm wraps around my waist, and he adjusts my position before focusing on the food.
My naked ass is right on his jeans-clad groin, and I don’t know why, but it makes me feel all self-conscious for a moment.
He lifts a piece of pork dumpling near my mouth, and I let him feed it to me, savoring the hearty taste.
“So, did you ever enter my dorm while I wasn’t there?” I ask a while later around a bite of spring roll.
“Yes. I did.”
Well, I’ve never had much privacy—not in my father’s house where we had to put a chair under the door knob to stop people from entering, nor at Ollie and Rague’s where I practically shared my bedroom with Brad since I couldn’t sleep by myself after the attack; even less in the dorm where students don’t understand the meaning of knocking.
I’ve never been attached to things either because I never had much to begin with.
That doesn’t mean that I’m thrilled about having someone looking at my stuff, but maybe because it was Ezra is kind of flattering, actually. It shows his interest in me.
“Did you go through my stuff? What am I saying? Of course you did.” I accept another piece of bun while I try to remember if I ever felt like something was missing or misplaced. “Where did you watch me from? Did you have a favorite spot?”
“The tree outside your window.”
“The oak tree?” I knew there was something out there. Never thought it would be Ezra, though. “It must have been uncomfortable.”
“At times.” He smirks…suggestively.
Does that mean…was he there when I touched myself? My ears are on fire. It’s too late for my cheeks and neck.
“You are good, I never saw you.” I felt you, though.
“It’s part of my job.”
“Being a hitman?” I heard the others talking about it. That’s how I also know that he’s slowly fitting inside the brotherhood. Uri and Sari are making sure of it.
His hand slides under the hoodie and rests on my hip. The grip is loose but firm.
“That’s the one.”
My eyes fall on the burn on his wrist. Eight.
That number reminds me of the day Rague explained about the experiments and torture they all had to endure, and about the family side business—as they call it.
I never judged them or felt repelled by what they do.
I know there are really horrible people walking this earth.
I saw them right in the eyes, felt their wrongness on my skin.
What the brotherhood does is balance the scale of justice while keeping their inner darkness at bay.
I guess it’s different for each one of them.
What is Ezra’s reason to kill? Is it just money?
And if it is, can I accept it? Can I accept what he does whatever the reason?
“Isn’t turning you into assassins what the scientists wanted in the first place?” I ask him instead.
“It was. But I’m not that kind of assassin.”
I open my mouth to ask more, but he stuffs it with half a spring roll. I glare at him. I get it. He doesn’t want to talk about his work anymore—for now. I chew the too-big piece down and accept the glass of Coke he passes me—which of course he knows is the drink I always get with Chinese food.
I tilt the glass too much and some of the cold liquid drips down my chin and neck. While I’m internally scolding myself, Ezra takes the glass from my hand and places it on the table.
“Sorry.” I bite my lower lip hard, embarrassed by my gracelessness.
He tsks, grabs my nape to hold my head still, and then proceeds to lick away all the dark liquid from my skin—every single drop. His tongue feels warm, leaving a cold, wet path behind. It’s the most erotic thing that’s ever happened to me.
“I told you already, you don’t need to apologize to me, not for this,” he whispers in a deeper voice when he’s done savoring me.
I can’t resist. My hands pull his face near mine, and I kiss him, infusing in the act all my desire and gratitude. This man really wants me.
When I let him go, the corner of his mouth is curled up in a crooked smile. I guess he likes my thank you. We go back to eating—Ezra still feeding me.
“The Band-Aids?” I ask him. “Did you draw the hearts?”
“Yes,” he simply says.
I huff. “Why? There must be a story there.”
“There is.” He lifts his chopsticks near my mouth, but I purse my lips and cross my arms in rebellion.
He stares at me, his compelling eyes ordering me to open. I don’t, though.
“Stubborn Little Chick,” he mutters. “There was a male nurse who used to do it. He helped me escape the facility where I was held.”
My lips part in surprise, and he takes advantage, pushing the food into my mouth. I can see victory in his hazel pools.
“How did he help you?” I cover my mouth full of food with my hand as I ask. Is he going to tell me?
“A fire broke out in the cell near mine. I was locked inside, couldn’t get out without help, but everybody was running away; they didn’t want to save someone who was waiting for a chance to kill them.
” He’s looking ahead as he recalls the memory.
His voice is void of any emotion, as if this wasn’t a dramatic part of his past.
“But one male nurse who had always been nice to me, even after I stabbed him in the arm.” He sniffs like he’s remembering something funny.
“He opened the door, and he told me he was going to get me out of there. I recall thinking I would get rid of him once we were outside. Only a piece of the ceiling fell on me.” He touches the burn scars on his shoulders.
“When I woke up, I was lying in a bed, and my body was covered in pink bandages with little hearts on them.”
So he was saved by one of the people who used to work in the facility.
“What happened after?” My hand finds its way onto his chest.
“I needed time to recover, so I stayed with him and his father on their ranch.” He takes a sip of his beer.
“Were they good to you?” I ask, caressing his skin.
“Good?” He repeats the word like he never thought about it.
“They hid me, gave me a place to stay, food, books, and tried to make me understand society’s rules, asking in exchange to help them on the ranch.
Perhaps spurred by pity or whatever other useless emotions they were feeling, but they showed me how to live out in the world. Do you think they were good?”
The fact that he still uses those same bandages and takes his time to draw the hearts tells me that those people were more than just good to him.
I nod. “I’m glad you had them.” My voice sounds too breathless.
“They died in a car accident.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” My heart breaks for him. Does he have nobody except for Uri, then?
He shrugs. “I killed the fucker who caused it. It wasn’t his first time drinking and driving.” That was expected. “I own their ranch back in Ohio.”
They left it to him? And he kept it. They must have formed a bond of some kind if he didn’t sell it. The more I discover about him, the more I want to know. But isn’t it normal when you like someone?
“I’d like to see it one day. Would you take me there?” I hazard.
“If you want to go, I’ll take you.”
His fingers slide down and reach my ass, squeezing a cheek. The slow erotic massage sets a fire inside my gut. He lifts my hand, spits on it, and tells me with a dominant growl, “Now take my cock out and make it drip with precum.”
My mind turns blank, but my fumbling fingers are already on it. It takes a few extra seconds but I unbutton his jeans and release his very stiff dick. My wet hand wraps around it and starts jerking it off. It feels so smooth and hard and thick. Can’t believe I was able to take all of it inside me.
“Get more saliva on the tip.” His hips are thrusting up as I work him. I open my mouth and let my spit fall onto the crown, loving the sight of it.
His chest is heaving, the smell of his sweat and cum is filling my nose, and his dick looks so damn delicious I want to taste it.
My head is yanked upward when Ezra grabs the back of my hair. His mouth attacks mine, tongue invading, teeth sinking. He is all that I can taste, feel, smell, and touch.
“Does it hurt?” he asks over my lips as one of his fingers finds my entrance and slides all the way inside. I swallow hard and shake my head. I felt a light sting, nothing I can’t bear. He adds another finger and starts fucking me with them roughly.
“Don’t stop beating me off,” he commands me. My hand is moving, but I’m too taken by his fingers and his mouth, I can’t concentrate.
He suddenly stands up, lets my feet find the ground, and then like in a movie, he uses his arm to shove everything off the counter.
Boxes of food, plates, bottles, and glasses all hit the floor.
I don’t have time to say anything because in the next second, he bends me over the counter again and yanks my ass up.
I’m on my tiptoes when he pulls his hoodie up and gives two smacks right on my bare butt cheek.
A screaming moan rips out of me as I let my torso fall on the hard surface. His hand fists my hair and pulls me half up, forcing my hand on the counter. How does he know all my sexual fantasies? How does he know what I desire?
“First, I’ll fuck and fill this gaping hole right here against the counter.”
Yes!
“Then I’ll take you to the shower and have another go at your dripping ass.”
Gods, yes.
“I’ll turn you into a moaning mess that belongs only to me.” He spreads my ass and spits before I feel his tip kissing my entrance.
I already belong to him is my last thought as he slowly pushes his cock all the way inside me.