Wrath (Sinful Secrets 4)

“Yeah. Just swimming, you know. Like this swan dive and…” I swallow hard.

His hand touches on my back. “You learn to swim when you were really little?” he asks, sounding casual.

“Yeah. Most people do here. Because of the lake.”

His finger draws on my back; it feels like a wave shape.

“What about you?” I manage.

“Could I swim as a kid?” he asks. “Yes.”

He draws more waves, and I can feel him draw an umbrella. “Was that a beach umbrella?” I smile.

I can hear him smile back as he says, “Maybe.” In an almost whisper, he says, “You feel okay?”

“Yep, all good here.”

“Can you tell before it happens?”

Ezra. I have this weird flash of memory—of me standing in the shower, thinking his name. “Sort of,” I tell him. “But I think not always.”

He draws a star on my back.

“Starfish?” I manage, even though my lungs are tight from our proximity.

“Maybe.”

He draws a rectangle.

“Rectangle?”

“Square.”

Then he writes, “DG.”

My fucking traitor body does this little shiver. He scoots closer, wraps an arm around my waist. “Still okay?” he murmurs.

“You made me do that,” I whisper.

“My finger?”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

He rests his cheek against my shoulder blade, and right away, he moves to straighten up.

I put my hand over his—over the one that’s at my waist. After a moment’s hesitation, he lays his cheek against me again.

“I can hear your heart,” he says after a second.

“What does it sound like?” I whisper.

“Like music. Boom. Boom. Boom.” His head on me is heavy. “Good and steady.”

“You sleep okay last night?” I ask.

“I’m good.”

His head is still leaned on me. Shit. I fucking love it. “Did you sleep?”

He nuzzles his cheek against me, pressing it against a new spot on my upper back. “Don’t worry about me. I still remember your burger order, too. I’m gonna get it for you.”

“I don’t need it.”

He tips his forehead against me, and I can feel him inhaling.

“Are you smelling me, Masters? Oh I forgot, you don’t like to be called Masters. Ez.”

“Ez,” he rasps.

I nod. I put my hand over his, even as sweat prickles my body.

His hand below mine doesn’t move. I think he’s quit breathing.

“I like your hands,” I tell him. God, my heart is beating so hard.

“You do?”

“Yeah. They’re nice.” I clasp my hand around his wrist.

His hand tries to grasp mine. I can’t help laughing softly. I put my hand over his and thread my fingers through his, squeezing for a second.

“Never jump,” I whisper.

“Never fall.” His lips brush my back.

He hugs me tight, wrapping himself around me. “You gotta be careful, Millsy. Don’t come here without me.”

I let my head hang, shutting my eyes just to feel him. I want to see him, to touch him more, but I can’t turn around on top of the wall.

His lips brush my back through my shirt. “Smells like you,” he whispers.

“Makes sense.” I smile.

He presses his face to my nape. I can feel his ribcage expanding against my back.

He lifts the weight of his head off my back, and with one hand still snugly around my waist, he scrawls something on my side.

“D…G…D…G.” And then: “GOOD.”

He straightens up and draws himself away from me. His arm, around my waist, loosens, his hand curling. I can feel him take a deep breath. Then another one.

I murmur, “Hang on.”

Then I shift onto my knees, holding onto the top of the wall as I dangle my legs off on the cemetery side. I hear Ezra’s murmur, but I don’t look up at him; I need to focus. It’s a little harder than I thought it would be, because my muscles are still sapped, but I pull myself back up, climbing onto the wall so that I’m facing him.

He looks amused—and confused. Fuck, he’s so close. Right in front of me. My cheeks sting with heat as I’m consumed by a near-crushing wave of shyness. I swallow, and his lips quirk as he reaches out to touch…a leaf on my shirt. He picks it off and holds it in his palm. It’s star-shaped. He looks at it for a long moment before his eyes return to mine.

There’s nothing on his face. His eyes aren’t hard or soft. It’s like they’re seeking something—from me.

“What are you doing?” His voice is a low rasp.

I swallow, but when I try to speak, it’s just a whisper. “Looking at you.”

His mouth twitches again, but it’s a sad thing. Not a smile. “What do you see?” His nostrils flare a little, his eyes round on my eyes.

Sweat prickles around my hairline, and my heart starts to pound. The trees bend around us, as if we’re underneath a blanket. His shoulders rise as he breathes deeply again.

I reach out. My hand cups his throat.

“Ezra,” I whisper. My fingers move to where I know I’ll feel his pulse. The jugular. His eyes close and his head tips back a little, giving it to me. If I were a vampire, I would strike right now and drain him dry.