Chapter 21
SCARLETT
Itype the last sentence of the chapter and just sit for a second to take it all in.
My fingers hover over the keys as satisfaction settles into my chest.
I’ve written over eight thousand words today and found my stride. My deadline feels closer than ever, but I’ll make it.
This book is pouring forth from a place inside me I thought was dried up. Or maybe I’ve just been waiting for someone like Ezra to remind me of things I’d forgotten existed.
I lean back in the chair and twist my body, cracking my spine.
I unlock my phone and check my notifications, scrolling through the last conversation I had with Ezra.
It was nearly twelve hours ago. He told me to meet him on the third floor when I was finished.
Wondering if he’s still up there, I open the door of the cottage and glance up, seeing the lights in his house are still on, shining like a beacon in the night.
My heart races at the thought of being with him.
Without wasting more time, I move to my suitcase, digging through it until my fingers brush the fabric of a pretty pink sundress with white flowers.
The material is delicate and almost sheer against my skin. I slip it over my head, letting it cascade down my body without anything underneath. The sensation of cool fabric brushing over sensitive places sends a thrill through me.
My reflection in the mirror stops me as I pass, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with anticipation.
I run my fingers through my hair, wondering why I’m so nervous.
Ezra brings out a bold and playful side of me.
It’s enthralling, addictive, and I don’t want this to end anytime soon.
I enjoy Ezra’s company and appreciate how he makes me feel safe, cherished, and valued.
It’s the trifecta, what every woman wants in life.
After I put on a touch of lip stain, I exit the cottage.
Evening has settled in, and the crickets are chirping as I cut across the backyard. I imagine Ezra taking this same path to see his mom.
The sky fades into shades of deep lavender and soft navy. The touch of coolness in the air causes goose bumps to trail down my arm.
Excitement races through me, but it quickly turns into fear when I see Harry.
I immediately look away, refusing to look him in the eye as I whisper under my breath, “Good boy.”
But it’s not enough.
Moments later, Harry sprints as fast as he can toward me, beak cocked forward.
“Bad chicken!” I scream as he continues to trot in my direction.
I take off running toward the porch, but he’s just as fast. I nearly trip on the uneven stones of the path and rush up the steps.
Thankfully, I slide inside, then look at him from the back door window.
Harry is pacing on the porch, staring at me with his head tilted.
With my hand over my heart, I try to catch my breath.
“I didn’t look you in the eye,” I say between clenched teeth, tempted to flip him off.
I turn and see that the lights are lowered in the house.
A lamp is on in the living room, and the light above the oven is glowing bright.
I look around the space, knowing Ezra has always been here; this is his home.
I move down the hallway and up the stairs, passing the second floor, and moving up to the top.
The higher I go, the warmer the air grows.
Light spills from the open doorway ahead, and I move toward it, mesmerized, knowing Ezra is waiting for me on the other side.
I pause at the entrance, pulse quickening. My breath catches as I step inside, and my eyes widen.
Ezra sits in front of a pottery wheel, shirtless, with droplets of sweat dripping down his back.
Strong, skilled hands shape a lump of wet clay.
His hair falls forward, brushing his forehead, eyes focused as he works.
Everything clicks instantly into place—the mugs, the bowls, the plates—all handmade by him.
Ezra is the pottery artist.
“No way,” I whisper, barely audible, completely captivated by him.
His gaze flicks toward me over his shoulder. Blue eyes meet mine, and something electric passes between us. A shy, almost nervous smile forms on his lips.
All I can do is stare.
My heart pounds in my chest, and my body immediately responds to the sight of his hands shaping the clay. Hands I’ve imagined on me countless times. Hands that have touched me in my most sensitive places.
“The entire time.” I breathe out, mesmerized. “It was you the entire time.”
He nods, watching me. “Yeah. It was me.”
I move toward him, and the thin fabric of the dress brushes over my thighs, reminding me exactly how little I’m wearing. Ezra’s gaze dips downward, then back up to my eyes. He shifts slightly, turning his body toward me.
“I’m your biggest fan.” I blink down at him.
“What a coincidence,” he mutters, making sure not to touch me with his clay-streaked hands.
He remains seated at the wheel but reaches for a cloth, wiping the damp clay from his fingertips without breaking our gaze. The room feels smaller, somehow. I instantly feel like Alice in Wonderland, who chased the White Rabbit to the end.
“You didn’t tell me,” I say, eyes sliding along the contours of his bare chest, noting how the muscles of his shoulders tense when I touch him. It makes my pulse quicken, too.
“Would it have made a difference?” His voice is cautious. There’s vulnerability beneath his confidence, and I find it so damn sexy.
“No. But it’s incredibly attractive.” I reach out, running my fingertips along the edge of the pottery wheel, feeling the slickness of water and clay that has been left behind.
Ezra chuckles, a deep sound that I want to hear more of. “Yeah?”
I reach forward to touch the stubble on his jaw. “That’s why you understood me. Because you’re an artist, too.”
“Guilty.” His gaze drops to my lips. “You know, most people can’t materialize their ideas? Being able to create, to make something that you can hold in your hands, is a superpower, Scarlett.”
“Hell yes, it is,” I whisper.
“Come here. Let me show you how,” he says, grabbing the hand I’ve stroked against the clay and rubbing his thumb on the inside of my palm. Ezra guides me to stand between his legs. His hands move down to my waist, steadying me, thumbs pressing into my hips.
“Sit with me,” he says, pulling over another stool. He moves behind me, his solid, bare chest pressing into my back. I settle against him, pulling the fabric of my dress around my thighs. He leans forward, lips brushing my ear as his arms slide around me, guiding my hands onto the cool, slick clay.
Ezra’s warm breath steadies in my ear, matching mine as his fingers cover mine.
“Relax your hands,” he instructs softly. “Let me guide you.”
I loosen my fingers beneath his. He presses my palms inward, shaping the clay as the wheel turns. Our movements blend into one.
My hips shift, and Ezra inhales. His reaction ignites a need so intense that it has me arching against him.
“Scarlett,” he whispers, his lips grazing the curve of my neck. My head falls back onto his shoulder, my eyes drifting closed.
“Why do you deny me?” I breathe, turning, desperate for his mouth. His lips find mine, and the kiss is fierce, hungry, unrestrained. Clay-smeared fingers slide from the wheel, tracing along my thighs, bunching the thin dress higher. He explores the bare skin underneath.
“Shh…city girl, I’m not denying you. Ever.”
I moan into his mouth, forgetting everything but the feel of his strong hands on my body.
Ezra pulls away, breathing hard against my lips, his chest rising and falling beneath my fingertips.
He unties the straps of my dress, and it falls down, exposing my breasts.
Heat rushes through me, my cheeks flushing.
I stand in front of him, and his steely gaze moves over every inch of my skin, lingering, drinking in every curve. I love how he memorizes me, like he’s etching me into his memory. I do the same as the fabric drops to the floor, leaving me completely bare.
“Fuck, you’re perfect.”
His words ripple through me, my pulse racing faster.
Ezra shifts forward, his mouth hot on my breast, fingertips brushing over my other nipple.
I moan out loud, loving how he sucks and licks me all over. His hand slides between my legs, and he looks up at me. “So fuckin’ wet for me, sweetheart.”
“I’ve been writing sex scenes all day.”
“Ahh, you’ve been thinking about me?” he asks, his finger curling deep inside me.
I grab his shoulders, steadying myself as his thumb circles my clit.
“Yes,” I admit. “I was so turned on, I almost took a break to cash in one of my O-coins.”
“Mm. Big saver,” he says, dropping to his knees in front of me.
“About to be a big spender,” I tell him with a laugh as my ass hits the pottery wheel. Ezra’s tongue dives inside me. I lean back on the wheel as he eats me like I’m his last meal.
“I’m so fuckin’ proud of you,” he says, flicking my clit. “Six. Fuck, Scarlett. Can’t wait to please you. Reward you.”
“Inspire me,” I whisper, feeling the cold clay on my back.
Ezra slides his firm hands under my ass, pulling me closer to him. He swings my legs over his shoulders, enjoying every drop of me. It’s euphoric, and I don’t know how he does it, but he has me crumbling within minutes.
His tongue dives deep inside me, and my pussy clenches with satisfaction. Gently, he moves back to my bundle of nerves. He starts slow, and I think it might be too delicate, but Ezra doesn’t give up. Heat builds, and I lose my ability to form words as another orgasm rushes through me.
“Two already?” he says cockily, kissing my inner thigh, then stands. His cock is at attention, and I smirk.
“Someone’s happy to see me.”
“Always,” Ezra says, capturing my mouth.
“Come with me.” He carefully lifts me into his arms, carrying me down the stairs to his bedroom. Gently, he pushes the door open and sets me on my feet.
Ezra’s hands trace over every curve of my body as if he’s studying the shape of me. This man takes his time exploring me.