Page 48 of Booked on You
“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 takingcare 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.
