Page 49 of Booked on You
“Are you planning to stay up all night again?” he asks.
“I’m hoping not to,” I say. “I wrote a lot today. Might get an early start in the morning.”
He steps in close, closer than necessary, and I don’t move. I look up into his eyes, and that’s all it takes before we’re kissing again. But this time, his lips are soft and patient. It’s deep and intentional, like he couldn’t have ended the night any other way. Ezra takes a step forward, and my back presses against the cool wood of the door. My mouth demands more, and I can’t think of anything but the weight of him against me. I’m literally fucking aching for him.
I’m breathless. “You have to stop doing that.”
He grins and steps back like he didn’t just light me on fire.
“Good night, Scarlett.” Ezra tips his head, then walks away without looking back, his stride confident.
“Good night,” I murmur. I stand there for a full five seconds, heartbeat thundering against my ribs, as I place my fingers over my swollen lips.
Then I push open the door, slip inside, and let it close behind me. My back hits the wood with a soft thud.
I press my hands to my face, trying to muffle the half-gasp, half-laugh that escapes.
I’m giddy. I’m flushed. I’m incrediblyhorny.
My nipples are hard as diamonds, pressing through the tank top.
I move to the bed, turn on the lamp, and lie down.
I close my eyes, still feeling his mouth on mine. His kisses, the way he sucked and licked my neck, wrecked me.
When he pressed me against the door, I could feel how hard he was. It was like he wanted me to know what I had done to him without fully admitting it.
This is a dangerous game we’re playing, but I’m okay with it.
I’m already writing what happens next in my head. Every touch. Every inhale. The way his fingers threaded into my hair like he wasn’t ready to let go.
I slide my hand over my stomach. Not thinking. Just feeling. Just remembering as I unbutton and unzip my jeans.
The AC hums like a choir, but I’m still on fire. Ezra’s name is stuck in my throat. It’s as thick as the spit I swallow, picturing his tattooed arm wrapped around my body.
I arch, hips tilting up like some slutty fucking offering, and let my palm grind slowly over the soaked cotton of my panties. I’m desperate for him.
They’re drenched and have been since the moment his eyes met mine. Tonight, Ezra looked at me like he wanted to bend me over and split me open. My thumb digs circles through the fabric, rubbing the swollen nub of my clit raw. It’s not enough; it’s never enough when he’s on my mind.
I’ve memorized the way he smells, the tension in his shoulders when he gets too close, along with the way he looks at me after we kiss.
I drag my fingers lower, breath catching in my throat.
I reach toward the nightstand and fumble for my voice recorder, thumb finding the button like it’s muscle memory.
“Sometimes it’s not about needing someone. It’s about wanting them. Wanting them so much it aches in places you didn’t think could feel anymore,” I whisper, gasping out. My fingers move slowly, teasing just enough to make my pulse stutter.
Outside, the wind stirs the trees, and a long shadow shifts across the wall. Maybe it’s just a branch, or maybe it’s Ezra.
The thought makes my skin hum, but I don’t have the confidence to look.
My teeth sink into my bottom lip, and I fist the sheets. I imagine my fingers thrusting through his messy dark hair while he shoves my thighs apart and licks me like I’m his last meal.
I slide out of my panties, needing them off, wanting to be bare.
I plunge two knuckles deep into my slick cunt.
I’m greedy, almost shameful, and so fucking horny.
