Chapter 11 #2
Ezra got in the driver's side. He didn't start the car immediately. He turned to me, his eyes scanning my face.
"How was the draping?"
"Good. Complicated. I think I stuck myself with pins about fifty times."
He took my hand, inspecting my fingers. He frowned at the tiny red marks on my thumb.
"Wear a thimble," he said.
"Thimbles are for quitters. I need to feel the fabric."
He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed the tip of my thumb. The sensation sent a jolt of electricity straight to my groin.
"Ezra," I warned, looking out the window. "We're in public. People are watching."
"Let them," he murmured against my skin. "Let them see that I take care of my investments."
"Is that what I am?" I teased. "An investment?"
He lowered my hand, his gaze intense.
"You're the whole portfolio, Amara."
My heart squeezed.
He started the car, the engine purring to life.
"We have a stop before the team dinner," he said, pulling away from the curb.
"A stop? Where? I thought you maximized efficiency."
"I do. This is efficient."
He drove us toward the older part of campus, the gothic stone buildings that housed the administration and the library. But he didn't stop there. He pulled into the small, secluded lot behind the old Observatory.
It was deserted. The trees blocked the view from the road. The snow was falling heavier now, creating a curtain of white around us.
He cut the engine.
"Why are we at the Observatory?" I asked, looking around. "Are we stargazing?"
Ezra unbuckled his seatbelt. He turned in his seat to face me.
"No," he said. "I just haven't touched you in ten hours. And I'm losing my mind."
Oh.
Oh.
Before I could respond, he reached across the console. His hand cupped the back of my neck, pulling me toward him.
I met him halfway.
The kiss was frantic. It wasn't the sweet domestic kiss of the morning. It was hungry. Desperate. It was the kiss of two people who had been pretending all day and finally dropped the masks.
I scrambled over the console—a maneuver I was getting surprisingly good at—and straddled his lap. The steering wheel dug into my back, but I didn't care.
"Ezra," I gasped, my hands tangling in his hair. "We're in a parking lot. Someone could come."
"Windows are tinted," he growled, biting my lower lip. "And no one comes here in a blizzard."
His hands were under my coat, gripping my waist. He pushed the sweater up. His palms were hot against my bare skin.
"I missed you," he confessed, kissing down my throat. "I sat in three lectures and thought about nothing but the shape of your mouth."
"I missed you too," I admitted. "I almost sewed my finger to a dress form thinking about you."
He laughed against my neck. Then he sucked a mark right over my pulse point.
"Ezra!" I slapped his shoulder lightly. "We have a dinner! I can't have hickeys!"
"Scarf," he mumbled. "Wear a scarf."
He moved his hand to the button of my jeans.
"Wait," I breathed, grabbing his wrist.
He stopped instantly. "What?"
"Not… not all the way," I said, my voice trembling. "Not here. It's too risky. And… and I didn't lock the doors."
He rested his forehead against mine, breathing hard. He looked wrecked. His pupils were blown wide, his lips swollen.
"Okay," he said. "Okay. No sex. Just…"
He moved his hand higher, over the denim. He pressed his palm against my center. Even through the jeans, the pressure was maddening.
"Just friction," he whispered. "Just enough to take the edge off."
He kissed me again, deep and slow, while he ground his hand against me.
I whimpered into his mouth, moving with him. It was dirty. It was reckless. It was the hottest thing I had ever experienced.
We made out like teenagers for twenty minutes, hidden by the snow and the steam fogging up the windows.
When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathless and disheveled.
Ezra fixed my sweater. He smoothed my hair. He looked at me with a tenderness that terrified me.
"Better?" he asked.
"Worse," I laughed shakily. "Now I definitely can't focus on dinner."
"Good," he said. "Focus on me."
He buckled me back into the passenger seat. He checked his reflection in the mirror, wiping a smudge of my lipstick off his mouth.
"Let's go feed the team," he said.
The Hive was loud, but it was a controlled chaos tonight. Team dinners were sacred. No outsiders (except girlfriends), no hard liquor, just massive amounts of carbs and protein.
We sat at the head of the long, battered dining table. Ezra was flanked by his line-mates. I sat next to him, my hand resting on his thigh under the table.
It was… nice.
I watched Ezra interact with his team. He was different here than with his father. He was a leader, yes, but he laughed. He cracked jokes. He listened when the freshmen talked about their classes.
I realized with a pang that this was his family. The family he had built because the one he was born into was a corporation.
"So, Amara," Miller said, shoving a breadstick into his mouth. "Is it true you're designing the new uniforms? That's the rumor."
I laughed. "God no. If I designed them, they'd be velvet. And Ezra refuses to wear velvet."
"Velvet breathes poorly," Ezra said, taking a sip of water. "It's impractical."
"See?" I gestured. "Impractical."