Ezra takes two quick steps forward, closing the distance between us before I can even blink. I go still, every muscle locked as something slams into me, sharp and sweet, like a sensory ambush.
Cinnamon and pine.
That scent.
The one from the bookshop.
From the bar.
The one that slithered under my skin and refused to leave.
There’s no fucking way. He wasn’t there. I know he wasn’t there.
Someone like him? You don’t miss a man like that.
So, why does he smell like the cinnamon-and-pine-soaked haunting that got me off twice last night?
Maybe there’s a local vendor selling the world’s most addictive cologne.
Maybe I’m losing it.
Maybe it’s Maybelline.
No. Focus.
Ezra somehow takes another step closer, backing me against the door. His warm body presses against mine, and—holy fuck. He’s so tall. Like, stupid tall.
I’m frozen in place, barely able to breathe, when I feel a cool hand slide up the back of my neck and tangle in my hair.
The overbearing man gently tilts my head back and drags his nose up my throat, his lips grazing behind, barely brushing that hypersensitive skin.
“Yeshua d’nash,” Ezra mutters, taking a step back.
When our eyes meet, he looks wild. Like he’s trying to leash something crazed living just under his skin.
I should be concerned, but there’s something stupidinside me that trusts he won’t hurt me.
My breath hitches when his fingers lightly run over my neck, and I swear I hear a small growl rumbling in the back of his throat. He presses his body against mine, then leans over until his lips graze the space where my neck meets my shoulder. His mouth and tongue blaze a scorching trail up my throat.
Fuck, his lips are so soft.
He stops at my ear, and for a split second, the world tilts. It’s like the moment before a fall, like the split second a rollercoaster pauses at the top of the first drop, just before it hurls you over the edge.
“Enyém.”
One word, whispered like a spell. Like a promise. Like a goddamn curse.
No clue what it means. Could be “mine.” Could be “kneel.” Either way, my thighs clench like I’ve been waiting my whole life for him to growl against my skin.
Before I can come to my senses, Ezra lifts my hand, brushes a kiss across my knuckles, and murmurs, “I’ll be waiting.”
His skin is cool against mine, and I swear I feel the crackle of something ancient where we touch.
Then our eyes meet, and for a second, I swear he looks at me like I’m the sun after centuries of darkness.
Ezra releases my hand with a smirk and strides off toward the bookshop.
The moment he’s gone, my system reboots with a single, crystal-clear thought—I’m fucking pissed.
