Chapter 10 #3
“Did you come here to pray?” Mallory whispers, certain he can hear her heart pounding. “Or did you come to confess?”
For a moment, Ezra just stares. She senses him turning over all the ways he could answer. Like he’s at a crossroad, calculating the risk of blurring every remaining line between them.
And then his grip tightens, like he’s decided he doesn’t care about the consequences anymore.
“Are you saying,” he asks in a low tone, “that you want my confession?”
“Yes,” Mallory breathes, tilting her hips to sink more firmly against him.
Ezra raises the rosary beads in his hand, thumbing the cross thoughtfully. As though he has too many sins to name, and he’s silently debating which one to admit.
“I confess,” he finally says, “that I can’t stop thinking about how you looked with my blood, right here.
” He grazes the tip of the cross along Mallory’s lower lip, and her breath catches.
“The way it seemed like you wanted more. Needed more. Am I right?” He ghosts the cold object down her jaw, over the cords of her throat, stoking a new fire inside her. “Confess to me, Jules. Am I?”
In the dim light, she’s brave enough to reply, “I like how you taste.”
Ezra’s surprised exhale warms her skin, and he drags the cross lower, tracing the neckline of her sweater. “Is that so?”
Mallory nods, rolling her hips again. There’s no mistaking the hard length of him, pressed directly against her core, and he releases a rough sound through his teeth.
“Take this off.” He gestures with the rosary beads to her sweater. “I want to look at you.”
Mallory’s pulse skips. “What if someone comes in?” She leans forward, peering through the wooden lattices.
“They won’t.” Ezra gently takes her chin, guiding her attention back to him. His thumb strokes her jaw, coaxing. “There’s no one here but us.”
Mallory reaches for the hem of her top. “Fine. But I don’t believe for one second you’ll just look.”
He smirks as she lifts her sweater over her head and drops it to the floor, hair settling around her shoulders. She watches as Ezra’s stare falters to her bra—white with a little red ribbon in the center.
“Pretty,” Ezra says as he slides the cross along the trim, mapping the swell of smooth skin above it.
She arches tighter against him as he drags the pointed end over her chest, following the shape of her breasts through the fabric.
The thin material does little to hide what’s underneath, and he notices, circling her hardening nipples before trailing down the soft plane of her stomach, then back up.
His expression is a painting of calm, but she wonders if he’s silently fighting the urge to fling the cross to the ground and fill his hands with her instead.
And then, just when Mallory thinks those painfully soft touches will go on forever, Ezra hooks the cross below one of the straps and tugs it down her arm.
She goes entirely still as he does the same with the other strap, baring her to him.
Ezra leans back on the bench, eyes lowered. As if he needs to take her in at a different angle. The only sound is their shared breath as he carefully studies her, rolling the rosary beads in one hand.
“You’re perfect, Jules,” he says.
Time seems to stop as he threads his hands into her hair, guiding her mouth right above his. The heat between her thighs turns slick as she anticipates the warmth of his kiss, the textured press of his coat against her bare breasts, the—
Heavy footsteps snag their attention.
“Shit,” he hisses, tugging her straps into place as she dives for her shirt.
Mallory yanks on her sweater, pulse racing, while the clattering continues from inside the chapel. As though multiple people are suddenly walking around. She narrows her eyes.
She didn’t hear the front door open.
“Ezra,” she whispers, fluffing out her bangs. “Does the chapel have a basement?”
He tosses her a confused look. “Not that I’m aware of.”
She peers again through the lattices. And for a second, she thinks she can make out several people dressed in black cloaks, like the crushed velvet she noticed in the armoire. Her stomach flips, and she thinks fleetingly of her dream again. Men in black robes. Men in masks.
Men cutting out a dead woman’s heart.
This whole time, she thought her dream was a reflection of the past. But what if it has roots in the present, too?
“Jules,” Ezra says quietly, reclaiming her focus. “I’ll head out first, make sure the coast is clear. Count to ten and then follow me, okay?”
She nods, starting to slide off his lap, but he stops her. Holding her in place.
“Come to my room later,” Ezra says in a low tone. “Say…ten thirty?”
Mallory tilts her head. “To contact Lily, you mean?”
He hesitates. “Of course. But also…”
He hooks the rosary beads around her neck, carefully tucking the cross into her sweater, right between her breasts. His other hand slips beneath her skirt, fingers grazing dangerously close to where she still wants him.
“I don’t start something unless I mean to finish it.” He leans closer, his whisper fanning across her mouth as he adds, “And I know exactly how I’m going to finish this.”