Chapter Fourteen Summer #2
I want to say so many things about that—like how he’s still useful even if he isn’t who he used to be—but I don’t. That’s too heavy a topic for us. Instead, I take another bite of my cereal that’s starting to get soggy. I chew, then swallow.
“I forgot how quickly this gets mushy,” I say, pushing the pieces around in the milk.
“Yeah, that’s the only downside of cereal. You have to eat it fast.”
We finish off our bowls, and Ezra takes them, setting them on the bedside table.
It makes me smile.
“What?” he asks when he notices.
“I was just thinking about how shocked I was by the state of your house. It’s like a museum in here or something with how clean it is, especially compared to your office.”
He scratches at the stubble that felt so good between my legs last night. “You noticed that, huh?”
“It’s kind of hard not to.”
“Yeah, it is a bit weird. I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I feel more at home at work, if that makes any sense. I spend so much time there that I feel more comfortable. This place feels like a museum because it practically is one. If I’m home, I’m usually in here in bed, and that’s it.”
“Then why’d you get such a big house? Why not just an apartment or something smaller?”
“I told you already—garage space.”
“Ah, yes, for the ten billion cars you have.”
“It’s only five. For now.” His hand sneaks over, pinching at the edge of the shirt I threw on earlier. “Nice shirt, by the way. It looks like mine.”
“Sorry. I just grabbed something to throw on real quick.”
“It’s fine. I like you in my clothes.” His voice drops an octave, his eyes darkening as they settle on my lips. “They look good on you.”
He’s inching closer, and even though my head is screaming Stop! We can’t do this again! my body is saying Kiss him! Kiss him! Kiss him!
I never was the best at listening to my head.
Our lips connect in a frenzy, like we’re both starved for each other’s touch, which can’t be true, though it certainly feels like it.
Ezra tastes like Froot Loops and mint, and it’s a horrible combination, but I can’t get enough of it. I can’t get enough of him.
I’m not sure who reaches for the other first, but I’m suddenly slinging my leg over him and climbing into his lap.
His hands cover my waist, holding me tight as his mouth devours mine.
Our tongues slip and slide together, and I’m all too aware of his hard cock resting against me.
I remember how good it felt last night inside me, the way he hits all the right spots like he knows my body innately. I want to feel it again.
I rock myself against him, and his grip on my hips tightens, and he drives up to meet me move for move.
He hisses, and I pull away instantly.
“Shit. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Fine. Just my hip,” he says, reaching for me again.
A thought slams into me, and I lean away.
“Wait . . . Is that why you pulled back when we kissed in your office?”
He swallows thickly, darting his eyes away, almost like he’s embarrassed by it. “Yes.”
I frown. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“What could I have said? Hey, sorry my weak-ass hip ruined the moment? Let’s try again?” His words are bitter, and he looks disgusted with himself. “No, I couldn’t. So I let you go. It was probably for the best anyway. We shouldn’t . . . we shouldn’t even be doing this, Summer.”
He’s not wrong. I’ve had the same thought over and over again this morning and last night, for that matter. But . . .
“I’m not even really your employee.”
His dark brows lift. “Oh, you aren’t?”
“No. I mean, it’s not like you handpicked me or anything, right? We just got thrust into a shitty situation, that’s all. A favor for my father.”
He nods, understanding that I’m grasping at straws here, trying to find any reason not to stop this, even though we both know that we should.
This is an absolutely terrible idea. Likely one of the worst ones I’ve ever had.
Still, I find myself saying, “Besides, it’s not like we’re worried about real feelings getting involved, right? You don’t do girlfriends and love, and I’m not sure I’m staying in Port Harbor. What’s the harm?”
His olive eyes narrow only slightly, and for a split second I think he might actually refute that, but then he nods once more. “Right. No harm at all.”
“Okay, then . . .”
“Then . . .”
And we’re kissing once again, and it’s even more desperate than before, like all the walls we had standing between us are now gone, and we’re free to just be.
I grip his dark hair, and his hand drops between us. It’s then that he discovers the secret I’ve been holding on to all morning.
He pulls away, his gaze capturing mine. “You’re not wearing any panties.”
I grin, shaking my head. “I’m not.”
“Jesus, Summer.”
Then he kisses me fast and hard, plunging two fingers into me roughly, and I gasp into his mouth.
“Do you have any fucking idea how hot that is?” he says, his lips ghosting over my jaw, his teeth scraping against me as his fingers work me over. “Knowing you’ve been walking around in my shirt all morning with no underwear on? With this pretty cunt of yours ready for me to take at any moment?”
“Then do it, Ezra,” I say desperately, because that’s exactly what I am right now—desperate for more. For him. “Take it. Take me.”
“Oh, I plan to.”
He reaches for the box of condoms sitting on the bedside table with his free hand, then gives it to me.
Worry falls over me. “Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt your hip.”
“I’m fine,” he says as he presses against my clit with his thumb, and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. “All I care about right now is how good your pussy is going to feel squeezing my cock.”
I waste no time ripping it open as he pushes his pants down just enough to free himself. He hisses as I slide the rubber over him, stroking him a few times just because I can. Just because I want to.
“Fuck, that feels good,” he mutters, kissing my neck now.
“Bet the real thing would feel better.”
“Let’s test that, shall we?”
I have no idea how he does it, but suddenly his fingers are gone, and I’m impaled by his cock.
I was right—the real thing does feel better.
“Fuck,” he says through gritted teeth as all of him fills me. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of this.”
Same.
But I don’t say it out loud. I’m too scared of just how true it might be.
I don’t think I could get tired of this, because nothing has ever felt this good before. Not even when I was told I’d be getting my own kitchen. Nothing compares to how it feels to have him inside me. To have him looking at me like he is right now—like I’m his whole world.
“I need you to move, Sunny. Ride me.”
I nod and lift up, then grind back down, loving the sounds that leave him as I do.
“God, you feel so good.”
“You too,” I tell him, moving against him again.
His hands never leave me as I ride him as instructed. They play with my hair, they trace patterns over my back, they hold on to my waist, and then my ass, as he ruts up into me.
I feel like I’m being worshipped, and it’s intoxicating in a way I’ve never experienced before, which is why I’m not surprised when I feel myself already teetering on the edge of orgasm.
“Touch me, Ezra. Please,” I beg him. “I’m so close.”
He slips his hand back between us, his thumb pressing against my clit as I continue my stride.
He surges up into me every so often, always hitting that spot that makes me see stars, and combined with his touch between my legs, I’m coming before I even realize it’s happening.
“Oh shit, shit, shit,” he mutters, his head falling into the crook of my neck. “That feels . . . You’re . . . fuck.”
None of it is coherent, but that doesn’t matter. I understand everything as his body shakes and his cock pulses as he fills the condom with a force.
I slow my movements until I’m just sitting on him, slumped against Ezra as the last twelve or so hours catch up with me.
I’m exhausted. Completely spent. And even though I slept so well last night, I could fall right back to sleep if given the chance.
Ezra must have the same idea, because he lifts me off him and lays me against the pillow.
I watch as he climbs out of bed with a stilted gait, and it tugs at my heart.
How could something so incredible cause him so much pain?
And why does he keep trying to put on a brave face when it’s obvious he’s hurting?
I want to ask him that and so much more, but I don’t. Those are the kinds of things you talk about with your boyfriend, and Ezra isn’t mine.
This is nothing. Harmless fun. That’s all.
It has to be, because if it’s not, then what the hell am I doing here?