Chapter 19 #2
“You know, if you want to tell me what he whispered in your ear, I won’t hesitate to take his tongue next.
” His statement sounds far too relaxed, as though he’s offering me the last bite of a burrito.
He’s anything but relaxed though; the tension working his hands into fists and that vein throbbing in his neck tells me Simon really did get off lightly because I suspect Ezra would have been more than willing to do more damage if the flip of his coin had another spin in it.
Reaching out, his thick calloused fingers skate across my neck as he pushes aside my hair. My lip quivers at the contact, and I bite down on it to silence the whimper begging to be released.
I move in tandem with him as he retracts his hand, my body moving without permission to close the space between us. Pinching his lower lip between his fingers to stifle his smile, he appears to ponder something, his gaze never breaking away from mine as we settle comfortably in our silent exchange.
It’s comical how his broad tattooed frame dwarfs the bistro table bolted to the floor separating us. It would take all of two seconds and very little effort for him to upend it and toss it aside, but if the playful twist of his features is enough of a show, Ezra is enjoying toying with me.
Have I been so irrevocably damaged that I find this man’s brutal show of ownership of me a turn on?
Always ready and waiting to hit me with a dose of reality, that little voice in my head pipes up, cackling like a hyena , ’Stupid questions win stupid prizes. Now don’t be ungrateful, and mount the brooding psychopath like a good girl. You know you want to.’
I’m sure if anyone could hear my internal monologue, I would be the one fitted with a strait jacket and secured to my bed for the foreseeable future, while men in white coats debate my lobotomy treatment.
But as crazy as the little voice is, I can’t ignore the glaring fact that I am wet between my thighs as sexual tension rages like a wildfire in my belly. I’m officially fucked in the head and the heart if I think catching feelings for the psychopath is a good idea.
Fuck him, get it out of your system.
I physically shake away the heaviness in my head. Maybe that lobotomy isn’t a half bad idea.
The loose strands of hair around my face tickle my neck, and I imagine it’s his fingers exploring my skin.
The lightest of touches before he tightens his grip around my throat.
Holding me in place as I fight for air, as though the fit of his hand was made especially to collar me as he claims me as his.
The clattering of trays breaks the spell I’m under, and the room around me rushes back into focus.
The sly smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips tells me he knows where my slutty little thoughts have wandered to.“That twinkle in your eyes for me, Red?”
“I’ve never even had a guy give me flowers. I mean this is… Thank you,” I choke out, spluttering the words like I’ve never spoken a lick of English before, genuine appreciation laced between the residual shock still thrumming in my veins.
“Thank you?” he parrots. “Is that for your gift, the late-night orgasm denial, or Simon’s maiming in your honour?”
“All of the above,” I reply before thinking.
The imprint of his presence when I awoke this morning was like a living, breathing entity in my mind.
The feel of his fingers dimpling my skin as he parted my legs, the harsh graze of his teeth against my instep, the tickle of his facial hair across my inner thigh.
Even in the drug haze of my sleeping pills, Ezra Wolfe’s energy was too strong.
The fact that I feel emboldened by the idea that he wanted to taste me, and he just took the opportunity, should probably ratchet up at least a smidgen of unease, but it doesn’t.
I just want to know if he’ll do it again tonight—and that idea has my core throbbing as a jolting zing flickers up my spine.
“I’m the bad guy your fairytales warned you about, sweetheart,” he cautions.
I don’t get the chance to tell him how he made me feel, or how desperately I need him to fulfil his promise and finish what he started, when the terse throat clearing of doom draws my attention away from him.
I can see in my peripheral vision that his gaze stays trained on me as I jump to my feet before Lenora.
If fiercely aggravated had a face, it would be hers, her thin lips taut and a brow raised as she glares at me.
“This is cosy. I didn’t think it pertinent to inform you, Miss Morgrieves, on the patient/employee etiquette that we expect here, but walking in here, I believe I may have failed to highlight what constitutes inappropriate behaviour.”
I don’t respond with the apology she is expecting, and for a second I think I see a flicker of surprise filter into her expression, but it’s gone too quick for me to be sure.
“Ezra, as we have discussed, you should know better.” I don’t know what I expected, but the playful nonchalance in her tone isn’t it.
“Heard, Lenora,” he snaps back, his Cheshire grin a balk at her show of authority, even if his retort appears respectful enough.
She huffs at his use of her first name, but nothing else is said as Ezra stands, towering over her as he moves to get between us. With his back to her, he tucks his spoon into his boot, flicks his coin, and silently considers the result as it lands in his palm.
“Soon, Red. God help me…soon.” He grips my hand, his fingers caressing my palm as we part.
I straighten as I turn to my boss, every tight line of her unamused expression conveying her frustrations as pointedly as a slap from her manicured hand would.
The twitching of her palm as she seems to consider it subsides as she collects herself.
Assaulting the staff probably wouldn’t be the best look for her, not that I think for a second that it’s that reasoning that is stopping her.
For the briefest moment, I wonder whether anyone has truly met the real Lenora Blackwood—and then her mask slips.
“We don’t fuck the patients, Miss Morgrieves,” she hisses, all show of workplace decorum vanishing as she sneers at me.
I swallow down the bark of laughter that threatens to rumble out of my mouth at this woman’s audacity—remembering clearly how I saw her mounting not one but two of her patients the other day in the basement.
Getting double-teamed on your lunch break by the Knox twins must be a higher management job perk I'm not privy to.
Choose your battles.
The thought, while clipped, makes a good point. Arguing back now will only spell trouble for me in the long run. With Simon off my case, I could use a few days sans the drama of this place.
A commotion in the game room next door is a blessing in disguise as Lenora turns away from me.
The tinkling of scrabble tiles being thrown onto the ground and the scuffling of bodies rolling around mid-battle doesn’t faze her as she commands the orderlies with a flick of her fingers to tend to the issue.
Gliding elegantly across the room in her expensive heels like she’s strutting her stuff on a catwalk, I breathe a sigh of relief and slump back down into my chair, chewing on my nails as I go over everything that has just happened.
I could do with a stiff drink right about now.
You could do with a stiff something.