“Come shower with me.” He pulls me into the bathroom and strips out of his soiled garments, tossing them into the trash can instead of the hamper. With careful fingers, he strips me out of the clothes I’ve just put on, then he guides me into the shower and turns the water on.
“I’m clean,” I protest as Ezra steps in behind me.
“I’m not.”
Ezra turns us both so he’s under the spray and tilts his head back. Water runs through the dark strands of his hair, taking leaves and dirt with it down the drain. I rest my hands on Ezra’s waist while he washes his hair. He feels real, but the absence of him in my mind feels real, too.
“Are you going to answer me?” I ask after Ezra is rinsed and clean.
“I will,” he says, turning the water off and getting towels for us both. Ezra dries me and re-dresses me in the sweats and shirt I’d had on, then pads back into the bedroom naked and damp.
He slips into bed and straightens the blankets, holding them up in invitation. I climb back into bed, this time beside him, and he settles the bedding around us both. The silence stretches between us, a gaping divide that I didn’t ask for and don’t want. I want, no, Ineedthe strong self-assured man who had bitten me and owned me. I need my mate. My Ezra.
“Ezra,” I whisper.
“I did it so you wouldn’t feel it,” Ezra mutters, contorting his mouth and looking away from my eyes.
“What?”
“I knew he was going to kill me. I didn’t want the way it felt for me to be one of your memories.”
“But he didn’t,” I sniff. “And now there’s just…”
I push my fingers into my chest and squeeze my eyes closed.
“There’s nothing,” I admit.
“I know.” He pulls my hands away and twists our fingers together.
“I want it back,” I plead. “Please, let me have it back.”
Ezra blinks back tears and closes the space between us, dragging his lips over my parched mouth. Ezra kisses me and melts against me like warm honey. We kiss, our lips moving as slowly as our tongues, exploring each other like we’re new lovers and, in a way, that’s how it feels.
“How do you feel?” Ezra asks, skating his hand down my ribs.
“I’m fine.” That is mostly the truth. My wrist hurts from where I’d been shackled, and my cock aches, partially from want and partially from the things Franklin did to me. But I’m alive, and Ezra is here, so I really am fine.
“Did he…” Ezra trails off, but he dances his fingers around to my ass.
“No.”
“Can I?” Ezra presses the pad of a finger against my hole.
“You’ve never asked before.”
Ezra stretches over and pulls the lube out of the nightstand. He drizzles some into his palm and strokes himself until he’s hard, then he lines up with my ass and eases himself inside.
It stretches and burns, and I love it. I missed it, and when Ezra buries himself so deep that his balls nestle against my ass, I sigh happily and settle into the sheets, my line of questioning temporarily forgotten.
My cock hardens, and the scars inside my urethra pull as I lengthen and thicken. I can’t stop myself from groaning.
“Am I hurting you?” Ezra stills.
“No,” I answer honestly. “I hurt, but you make it better.”
Thankfully, he starts to move, fucking me with long and slow thrusts that leave me yearning for the Ezra from before, the Ezra who took and used and fucked with wanton abandon. I dig my fingers into Ezra’s ass and try to get him to move faster, but he fights against me.
“I don’t want this,” I rasp. I drag my hands up Ezra’s body and pull him close. “I want you to fuck me the way you did before.”
