He exhales against my throat. “But not yet.”
His lips claim mine, and for a moment, I can’t tell whose otherworldly growl echoes in my ear.
Fuck delayed gratification.
I glare up at him, furious with want. “Then let’s get to work, you fucking vag tease.”
Ezra barks out a laugh and drags me toward his bedroom. The ache between my thighs flares, but the second we step inside, I’m disappointed.
We’re not going to the bed.
We’re going to his goddamn closet.
My stomach dips as he pulls back a row of clothes, uncovering a hidden panel. He enters a passcode without hesitation, and the door clicks open, revealing a secret fucking room.
Because of course Ezra has a secret fucking room.
This is some straight-up Fillory bullshit, the kind of hidden doorway that drops you into a world of talking animals, cryptic quests, and a lifetime of magical trauma.
I hesitate, waiting for a talking badger to appear and hand me a riddle that will ruin my life.
Ezra doesn’t rush me. He just watches with his head tilted, visibly entertained by my indecision.
I open my mouth, then close it again.
Eventually, he grabs my hand and pulls me inside.
The space is long, dark, and silent. A single table and two chairs sit in the center, but I barely register them. Because the walls are lined with thousands of books: some ancient, some delicate, and some bound in “leather” I don’t even want to try to identify.
I slip from Ezra’s grasp, stepping toward the nearest shelf. This must be the collection he mentioned at the bookshop. I scan the titles, my fingers trailing over the spines.
At first, I assume they’re about the underborne and erevald. But no, the writing is a collection of swirling, heavily accented symbols I’ve never seen before. And then it dawns on me … these books weren’t writtenaboutthem. They were writtenbythem.
When I turn back to face Ezra, my heart stops. It’s like every fantasy I’ve ever had just materialized.
He leans against the wooden table, arms and legs crossed, watching me like I’m the most important thing in existence, all while standing in a secret library. My stupid face must give me away because he chuckles while I swallow around the lump in my throat.
“Your face right now is a goddamn masterpiece, Aurora.” Ezra smirks as he pushes off the table and slowly stalks toward me.
“I had a feeling you’d like my little collection. And before you ask, yes, the underborne and erevald write fiction, too. Many of them publish their books through human publishers, so you’ve probably read a few already. I’m not especially interested in collecting those. But if you follow me …”
Ezra grabs my hand and leads me toward the back of the library.
“I have a collection you might be interested in, little lupine. Especially given your … late-night reading habits.”
Ezra stops in front of a shelf stuffed with well-worn paperbacks, looking comically out of place beside the ancient tomes.
I squint at the titles.
The first three words I make out?
Wicked. Seduction. Desire.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Tell me, darling … which one caught your eye first?” Ezra’s shadows curl around my shoulders, pretending to read along, too. I nuzzle against one, letting it brush over my cheek before pressing a kiss to its smooth, inky tendril.
They shudder, reacting instantly. Behind me, Ezra releases a deep, guttural groan of pure pleasure.
