Chapter 13
SCARLETT
The sauce on my lip is long gone, but the way he looked at me when he wiped it away still lingers.
After my confession, he doesn’t immediately pull away.
Ezra’s eyes focus on my mouth, and something in my chest swirls.
He leans in until his fingers slide into my hair, and he kisses me. It’s not polite. It’s not cautious. It’s heat and hunger with a bold certainty that knows exactly what I want.
Him. All of him.
There is no hesitation as our mouths crash together. It’s urgent and unguarded, and I barely have time to think as I melt into him.
I’ve thought about this and told myself I wouldn’t cross that line again. I’d almost convinced myself that I needed to protect this man from me, from the people who will seek him out. Ezra doesn’t seem to care about my warnings, and he doesn’t treat me like a curse.
I whimper against him as I lose myself. My hand fists the front of his shirt, and he smiles against my mouth like he’s enjoying this as much as I am.
This feeling is all-consuming, and that’s what scares me the most.
I pull away, breathless. Dizzy from him. One hand rests behind his neck.
“I don’t think you understand what you’re signing up for,” I whisper.
“You,” he says. His forehead rests lightly against mine. “The rest, I don’t give a fuck about.”
I swallow, barely able to find the words. “The way I feel always ends up on the page. Some men can’t handle that, Ezra. They can’t handle my raw thoughts.”
He lifts his head just enough to meet my eyes.
“I’m not fragile,” he says. “Write about everything. I appreciate and respect art, especially if it lights you up like this. You’re not the same woman who walked into my house four nights ago. Something changed.”
The conviction in his voice knocks the breath out of me more than the kiss did.
“You’re right. I’ve written more words since I arrived than I have in two years.” I stare at him, heart pounding, fingers still curled in his shirt.
“Because of me?” he asks.
“Yes,” I whisper across his lips.
“And this book is about us?” His voice is low and steady, almost dangerous.
“Yes,” I truthfully say. “I’ll protect your identity.”
Ezra pulls away. “No need. I have a team who can manage it,” he says, smiling.
My brows furrow. “I want to know more—”
Our lips slide together, and I lose my train of thought. His fingers thread through my hair again, and he meets my eyes.
“Don’t hold back on my account,” he says. “Let me protect you, Scarlett. Not the other way around. You’re so used to taking care of everyone around you, but no one’s been taking care of you. Let me.”
I study him while I pick up my beer and take a long pull. “You want to take care of me?” I ask, wearing a lazy grin.
“Yes, I fucking do,” he says with wild confidence. “But you have to trust me.”
My brow pops up. I’m intrigued. My heart rate increases. “Okay. You have to promise not to hurt me.”
Ezra leans in, close to my head, his hot breath and mouth on my earlobe. “I promise.”
My eyes flutter closed as my breath hitches. His mouth is trailing down my neck, across my jawline, and back to my mouth. My cunt clenches, and I squeeze my thighs together as our tongues dance.
I want him to bend me over this table and give me what I need, what I want, but he pulls away, smirking.
“We should finish eating,” he mutters with a brow lifted. His eyes trail down to my breasts.
“I can’t believe you’re the sensible one.”
“Actually, I am, too. Had I met you years ago, we’d have already hooked up,” he admits.
“No, we wouldn’t have,” I tell him. “Years ago, I would’ve never spoken to you. You’re too intimidating.”
This makes him laugh. “I’m not. They call me the introvert whisperer.”
I pick up my beer and drink.
“Quiet girls have always been drawn to me. And they’re always the kinkiest.”
I nearly spew my beer onto him and cover my mouth. “You cannot simply say things like that.”
“I just did,” he says. “What’ll you do about it?”
I shake my head as we finish eating. I lean back in the chair and look out the window, catching a few stars in the sky. They blink into focus like they’re eavesdropping on our conversation.
Ezra stretches, arms overhead. I glance over and find him watching me. He’s not trying to figure me out like a puzzle, but he looks at me like he already knows how the pieces fit. “I should get back,” I tell him.
“I’ll walk you back,” he says, picking up the plates and setting them in the sink. I grab the box of leftover pizza and place it in his fridge.
“The cottage is thirty feet away.”
He tilts his head, smug. “And? I’ve got a wild cock out there with a vendetta.”
I roll my eyes, but I don’t argue. We slowly wander down the path that winds through the garden. The cicadas have quieted. The air smells like the sea and the lingering heat of the day.
The porch light at the cottage is still on, spilling a soft amber hue across the stone path.
“Are you planning to stay up all night again?” he asks.
“I’m hoping not to,” I say. “I wrote a lot today. Might get an early start in the morning.”
He steps in close, closer than necessary, and I don’t move.
I look up into his eyes, and that’s all it takes before we’re kissing again.
But this time, his lips are soft and patient.
It’s deep and intentional, like he couldn’t have ended the night any other way.
Ezra takes a step forward, and my back presses against the cool wood of the door.
My mouth demands more, and I can’t think of anything but the weight of him against me. I’m literally fucking aching for him.
I’m breathless. “You have to stop doing that.”
He grins and steps back like he didn’t just light me on fire.
“Good night, Scarlett.” Ezra tips his head, then walks away without looking back, his stride confident.
“Good night,” I murmur. I stand there for a full five seconds, heartbeat thundering against my ribs, as I place my fingers over my swollen lips.
Then I push open the door, slip inside, and let it close behind me. My back hits the wood with a soft thud.
I press my hands to my face, trying to muffle the half-gasp, half-laugh that escapes.
I’m giddy. I’m flushed. I’m incredibly horny.
My nipples are hard as diamonds, pressing through the tank top.
I move to the bed, turn on the lamp, and lie down.
I close my eyes, still feeling his mouth on mine. His kisses, the way he sucked and licked my neck, wrecked me.
When he pressed me against the door, I could feel how hard he was. It was like he wanted me to know what I had done to him without fully admitting it.
This is a dangerous game we’re playing, but I’m okay with it.
I’m already writing what happens next in my head. Every touch. Every inhale. The way his fingers threaded into my hair like he wasn’t ready to let go.
I slide my hand over my stomach. Not thinking. Just feeling. Just remembering as I unbutton and unzip my jeans.
The AC hums like a choir, but I’m still on fire. Ezra’s name is stuck in my throat. It’s as thick as the spit I swallow, picturing his tattooed arm wrapped around my body.
I arch, hips tilting up like some slutty fucking offering, and let my palm grind slowly over the soaked cotton of my panties. I’m desperate for him.
They’re drenched and have been since the moment his eyes met mine. Tonight, Ezra looked at me like he wanted to bend me over and split me open. My thumb digs circles through the fabric, rubbing the swollen nub of my clit raw. It’s not enough; it’s never enough when he’s on my mind.
I’ve memorized the way he smells, the tension in his shoulders when he gets too close, along with the way he looks at me after we kiss.
I drag my fingers lower, breath catching in my throat.
I reach toward the nightstand and fumble for my voice recorder, thumb finding the button like it’s muscle memory.
“Sometimes it’s not about needing someone. It’s about wanting them. Wanting them so much it aches in places you didn’t think could feel anymore,” I whisper, gasping out. My fingers move slowly, teasing just enough to make my pulse stutter.
Outside, the wind stirs the trees, and a long shadow shifts across the wall. Maybe it’s just a branch, or maybe it’s Ezra.
The thought makes my skin hum, but I don’t have the confidence to look.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and I fist the sheets. I imagine my fingers thrusting through his messy dark hair while he shoves my thighs apart and licks me like I’m his last meal.
I slide out of my panties, needing them off, wanting to be bare.
I plunge two knuckles deep into my slick cunt.
I’m greedy, almost shameful, and so fucking horny.
This is the second time he’s gotten me so worked up I can barely breathe.
“He kissed me like he knew exactly how I’d react.
Like he was giving me something to remember,” I say out loud, knowing the recorder is capturing me coming undone.
I let the words pour from my mouth as my fingers move in and out with intent.
I let myself picture him standing at that window, watching and wanting me as badly as I want him.
I moan louder as I curl two fingers, straining for his dick.
“I wonder if he can feel it, too. The weight of this. The pull. The thing between us that doesn’t stop humming even when we walk away.” My breath catches. My hips lift. I need more.
I fumble for the vibrator buried under the crumpled denim jeans in my suitcase. It’s purple, thick, and veiny.
It’s not him, but it’ll do. I return to the bed and press it slowly against my clit. The buzz kicks in.
“Ezra. Oh,” I scream out, hips bucking, driving the head into my cunt. “Fuck, I need more…”
I imagine him kneeling between my legs, smirking as he watches me shove the toy deeper, inch by inch, until my pussy’s screaming, stretched around the fake ridges. I wish it were him. I’m fucking myself now, relentlessly, the vibrator’s base sliding into me. My free hand pinches my nipple hard.
I’m so close, muscles clenching. I’m so damn close to falling over the edge, and as I’m suspended in air, ready to spill over, I hear a knock at the door. His voice follows.
“Scarlett? I heard a scream. Are you okay?”