Page 6 of Pas de Trois
He pulls several paper towels from the dispenser beside the sink and wets them in the slow-running faucet. Without being asked, he wipes the blood from my skin. He cleanses me without command because he loves me.
I stand still as he wipes my face clean. His movements are gentle, though the paper is rough against my skin. My panicked breaths begin to slow as I watch him work. His brows slant inward, wrinkling his forehead with a look that’s focused and caring and worried.
He’s worried about me.
He should be worried about me.
I’mworried about me.
I let out a breath as my heartbeat wills itself to steady, to calm, to slow. I sigh as he moves from cleaning my cheeks, drawing the towel down to my neck. He scrubs across the hollow of my throat and I swallow hard. His eyes flick upward and meet mine, and we catch on a beat of nothingness.
It’s that beautiful nothingness where no mental or physical anguish exists—it’s only the two of us and everything is perfect because there is nothing else.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him as he curves around to the side of my neck.
“For what?”
“For…being crazy.”
He smiles as he gently tosses my hair back over my shoulder. “You’ve never been crazy. The four families...? Fucking nuts. You? Never.”
The edges of the towel flutter across my earlobe as he scrubs the side of my neck. I find that my head naturally falls to the side, opening the curve of my neck to him. Ezra’s lips fall open as he looks at me and his hand stills.
My heart skips a beat.
Though I’m blood-covered down my neck and chest, I’m otherwise standing bare and exposed in front of him. It’s been six months since I’ve been naked with Ezra. Yes, we’d had sex in that dungeon at the Leblancs’ the night I tried to kill myself three months ago, but it was quick, and we’d remained in our clothing.
But now my chest heaves with a heavy breath as something deep within me stirs, remembering what it was like to be touched gently, to be loved and given pleasure instead of pain.
His breath hitches as if he responds naturally to the coiling tension in my belly—which, of course, he does because our souls are linked beyond reason. His hand lowers, scrubbing over the dried blood on my chest, though his eyes don’t leave mine. The blood streaks across the mound of my right breast and his towel doesn’t neglect. I gasp as the rough ends of the paper graze my nipple while he scrubs. He’s diligent, finishing his work, cleansing me thoroughly of the stains of this awful night.
His eyes burn into mine and air catches in my lungs.
Before he’s done, we’re both panting, huffing together in an unsteady but shared rhythm—a shared rhythm we’d lost when we were apart.
Nothing else in the world exists.
It’s just Ezra and me and heat.
Heat.
“Ezra…” I whisper on a breath.
The paper towel drops to the floor and his hand clamps around my breast. We both exhale heavily on cue, and then we crash. He bends to meet me, and our lips collide, ramming together with bruising, desperate force.
I need him.
I need him more than water, more than food, more than rest. I need him to love me in the way only Ezra can. I need him to flood my senses and take over my emotions and drown me in his endless hope and possibilities.
He pushes back until I hit the wall and he presses into me so impossibly close that I can hardly breathe. But it doesn’t matter because I take in air through his kiss. His tongue swirls with mine as he absolutely devours me. I’m trapped by him and it doesn’t scare me, it doesn’t lead me to panic or fear—it excites my senses.
And I need more.
My arms latch around his neck, yanking him down to hold his face to mine, silently begging him not to stop. His hands fall to my waist and he squeezes, digging in his fingertips. He starts to lift and I jump in frantic determination, tightly wrapping my legs around him.
He holds me against the wall, kissing me with more urgency than I’ve ever felt before. He feeds me a growl, a groan of need that vibrates his entire body, and it pulls a tight knot in my stomach that only he can unravel.
“Inside me. Please,” I manage against his lips.
