Chapter 23: Rory - Entities to Lovers

I have never been so grateful for Clementine.

Whatever benevolent spirit lurks inside her little porcelain body is also the ultimate wingman. I was dreading having to make the horrible walk home, thinking about the sweet and sexy moans Ezra made as I went down on him, and the vibrant pink blush in his cheeks. How was I supposed to walk home when all I want to do is get him naked and have my way with him?

I leave Ezra on the table, tucking himself back into his pants, and give him a second to recover from a close call with an orgasm. His breathing is still heavy and staggered, but as I kneel in front of Clementine, he splays out the blanket I keep tucked in a basket in the alcove for particularly cold days.

“Uh, thank you,” I whisper to Clementine, and pluck the condom from her little hand. “Seriously. Thank you.”

I scurry back into the alcove and pull the curtain shut. I do not need Clementine to see me absolutely ravage Ezra any further. Her little doll eyes don’t need that. Ezra lights a candle on my bureau and dims the chandelier above. It’s dark in here, with the purple damask wallpaper casting a cool hue over him. It brings out the still present smudges of makeup on his cheeks and under his eyes, and he strips off his brocade vest, draping it carefully over one of the chairbacks.

God, he even makes proper clothing care seem sexy.

Once the curtain shuts behind me, he grabs me by the waist and tugs me against him. It starts with a slow kiss, his hands cradling my face, and a melodic rhythm both our bodies have no problem finding.

“You,” he whispers between kisses, “fucking ruin me, Rory Woods.”

His words are filthy, taunting, but so warm and devoted at the same time. I work to remove his shirt, exposing the black T-shirt underneath. Ezra delicately removes my necklaces and undoes the collar of my blouse, carefully sliding the buttons out one by one.

He keeps kissing me, but doesn’t say a word, like we’re trying to channel and rein in an unruly spirit coursing through us. I grab his hand and drag it to my back, helping Ezra find the strings to my corset. I remove the blouse and toss it to the ground as he unties the strands for me.

“You said you could undo a corset.” I test him with a giggle. “Show me.”

In one fluid motion, Ezra spins me around, pinning me against the wall and dedicating both hands to undoing my corset. I catch his eyes in one of the mirrors—focused, intense, dark. His steady but heavy breathing feels deafening as he reaches the top, letting it loosen around my body. Ezra plants a kiss on the side of my neck, sucking hard at my pulse point as the corset falls to the ground.

He glances down at my breasts, and his erection stiffens again at my lower back. “God. You are unbelievable.”

Ezra turns me around with a gentle nudge, then, like I’m some kind of deity he wants to worship, he drops to his knees in front of me. When he looks up at me, his gaze is starry-eyed, his mouth drops open, and he holds my waist hard. His lips feather my lower stomach, working down, down, down, until he hits the top of my skirts.

I kick off my shoes and push them aside. Ezra works my skirts down, leaving me in my tights. As much as I love the way he’s letting me take control, putting me on this pedestal, I want us to be even above all. For a single moment, we put aside our weapons and words and call a truce. I want us to have each other in our most authentic forms.

I sink to my knees with him and pull his T-shirt off. His body is a compelling chiaroscuro of pale skin emerging from a canvas of dark hair, black tattoos, and a shadowed room. He’s backlit by a single red candle. It’s the most activating color, what I use when I want to get energies flowing and give a session a jump start.

We mold together, finding our way to the blanket sprawled on the floor. The kisses are furious and reckless; his touches light me on fire. Ezra dips a hand below my tights and works them down, along with my underwear. He’s careful and silent, and I’ve never felt so beautiful and beguiling before.

“Do I get to taste you?” he pleads.

I nod. “Please do.”

His eyes slip shut like in a silent prayer of gratitude. He kisses the hollow of my throat, between my breasts, sucking one nipple into his mouth. I shudder and heat rushes between my legs. My breath hitches in anticipation as he dips his head between my thighs and takes his first sample. He’s slow at first, shallow and exploratory.

I could take him now, more ready than I’ve ever been, but I have no problem letting us both indulge in this a little longer.

“Relax,” he orders, delving deeper with his tongue in the next stroke. I suck in a deep breath and close my eyes, letting him guide the motions of my body. I nestle one hand in his hair and replay the sounds of him moaning as I tasted him. Short, desperate gasps and pleas for mercy, his deep voice cracking into something completely unfamiliar and uninhibited.

He sucks at my clit and my thighs tighten around his head. The cold shock of his cartilage piercing sends a shiver up my spine. Each flick of tongue walks me closer to an edge I didn’t think I could hit so fast.

“Ezra,” I pant. “Oh my god.”

I’m overwhelmed by a flood of euphoria quickly spooling in the pit of my stomach. I’m rising higher and higher toward a climax, ready to take the leap into the deep end. Ezra mutters some affection against my skin as he takes a breath, but I don’t hear him.

I just see bright, explosive color and pleasure.

As I come, he holds me down, kissing his way back up to my mouth. He pauses, letting me get out the last of my moans and cries. My legs are jelly, immobile even if I tried, but my hands get to work undoing his pants and working his boxer briefs down his legs. I’m not waiting anymore.

He reaches for the condom and carefully tears it open with shaky hands; I help him sheathe it over himself.

“Are you good?” he asks, one final time.

I nod. “Yeah.”

“Promise?”

I realize then he’s not asking just for me. He’s asking if he’s wanted. For that, I make sure he knows he is. This is about us, not one or the other—us. Ezra doesn’t always understand where I’m coming from or why I feel the way I do, but he gets me. Two sides of the same coin.

Twin flames.

Ezra nudges my legs apart, guiding himself into me so slowly, I want to beg him to go faster. A crooked smile spreads across his face as he watches me lean my head against the blanket, dig my fingernails into his skin as the stretch sends my body into shock. A gasp slips out of me, and Ezra curses my name.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel so fucking good, Rory.”

He studies me like a hidden history or lost treasure, something he can’t believe he got his hands on. Ezra presses his lips to mine, hard, hungry, and a little unhinged as we find a rhythm together. The floor creaks under each careful thrust and shift our bodies make together.

I let my eyes flutter shut as he kisses my neck, flicks a thumb over one of my nipples, and bites into the skin of my throat. His makeup smudges along my chest, leaving black smears of eyeliner, some gray stage makeup, and he shocks me with the chill of his earring on my neck.

Ezra pushes deeper into me, sliding his hands beneath me to adjust our angle. I feel like I’m falling, so I grab on to his hair for safety. His moan only makes it worse, slow, yearning, and suffering in the best way. His voice cracks, shattering me and any composure I had left.

My nails scratch into the tattoo on Ezra’s shoulder—a Roman bust, broken and weathered from time but still beautiful and still standing—and leave a mark, but it only makes him smile and kiss me harder.

I ride a cresting wave as he thrusts deeper. Toes curling, skin tingling, and breath snatching. Ezra watches me, tracing my bottom lip, and then nipping it with his teeth a second later.

I hit a peak with a sharp cry, digging nails into his back. I see stars again, full of light and a sensation that has me desperately unmoored. Everything looks bright and hopeful like the Sun, the Wheel of Fortune—something going cosmically right for the first time.

Ezra finishes moments later, pupils blown out, mouth agape, and cheeks flushed with heat and ecstasy. There’s nothing to say as he rolls onto his back and lets his lush eyelashes flutter closed. His eyeliner’s smudged, and there are faint marks showing on his neck from where I’ve had my way with him, but the most overwhelming part is the unending sense of calm that fills the room, even after we’ve both come down from our highs.

After cleaning up, I return to Ezra, who lies breathlessly sprawled on the blanket with his eyes shut. I sidle up next to him and rest my head on his shoulder, painting over the cathedral window on his chest with my finger.

“And we even beat my mom back,” I tell him.

“Why don’t you want your mom to know we’re together?” he asks, laughing. “You ashamed you’re hot for teacher or something?”

I shake my head. “No, because she would never let me live it down that she was right about us.”

“How so?”

“She always thought there was something here—if we gave each other a chance.”

“I thought you said your mom wasn’t psychic.”

“She’s not,” I confirm. “Some things you don’t have to be a psychic to see.”

“Oh no, little witch,” he gasps, tracing a finger up the curve of my spine. “Be careful. They might run you out of business.”

“Duh. Why do you think I’m keeping you a secret? For now, at least.” I sit up, reach for his coin necklace, and pull him in for a kiss. I examine the tattoo on his rib cage. “Now, tell me about all of these.”

He picks his head up and glimpses at it. “Okay…well, that’s the Vitruvian Man.”

“I see that,” I say. “Did it hurt?”

He laughs, uninhibited and free. “Oh, there’s a reason the other side is empty. I will not be doing that again.”