“You’re up early,” I continue, glancing over my shoulder at him, one brow lifting slightly in gentle teasing. “After the long night of research we had, I thought you’d be the last one out of bed for once.”
There is the faintest hint of amusement in his expression, something softer and more relaxed than the careful, calculated version of him I met when I first arrived in this town. The change in him over these past days has been remarkable, like watching someone step out of shadows into sunlight.
“I usually am the first,” he replies, his voice low and roughened by sleep. His thumbs brush lightly against my sides, tracing patterns on wet skin. “Old habits die hard. I’ve been an early riser since I was a kid.”
I huff quietly, a sound of mock exasperation. “Nothing wrong with that. I’m an early riser as well, always have been. Although, you definitely have me beat in the dedication department.”
“Well. . .” he says, a hint of playfulness creeping into his tone as he nuzzles into the curve of my neck, his breath warm against my ear. “You do snore, just a bit.” The words vibrate against my skin as he plants a soft kiss on my pulse point, right where my heartbeat flutters.
“I do not,” I protest, though I’m already inclining my neck to give him easier access, my body responds to his touch with embarrassing eagerness. “I feel like I should be deeply offended by that accusation.”
His mouth curves just slightly, the barest hint of a smile, and the sight fills me with pure elation. Ezra doesn’t smile very often, but when he does, it feels like a gift, like something precious given freely.
“Don’t be,” he says simply, his voice carrying a warmth that makes my chest tight. “It’s cute. Like everything else about you.”
I take him in a moment longer than necessary, taking in the shift in him, the way the careful distance he once maintained has softened into something quieter, something infinitely closer. The barriers are still there, they probably always will be with Ezra, but they’re permeable now, allowing intimacy to seep through.
“Is Maceo still cuddling Lucien like a giant teddy bear?” I ask, deliberately lightening the mood even further as Ezra’s hands begin to roam over every dip and curve of my body with methodical thoroughness. He reaches for the soap from the built-in alcove in the shower wall and washes me with careful attention.
His hands slide a fraction higher, over my breasts and shoulders, the loofah scrubbing my skin in firm, hypnotic strokes. The rhythm is almost meditative, and I find myselfrelaxing into his touch completely. The gentleness of his hands, the way he touches me like I’m something sacred, almost has me missing his next words entirely.
A deep, unmistakably masculine moan erupts from the bedroom, muffled by the closed door but clearly audible. Ezra’s eyes flick briefly toward the sound before returning to mine, a knowing look passing between us.
“They’re doing just fine without me,” he says with a smirk that transforms his entire face, making him look younger, more carefree.
“And without me,” I add, wishing desperately that I had a front-row seat to whatever passionate choreography was happening between my other two men. My other two men. The phrase still sends a thrill through me every time I think it. The reality of this arrangement, this perfect storm of connection and desire, never gets old.
His gaze drops, tracking the line of water as it traces along my collarbone, and the air between us shifts, subtle but unmistakable. The steam seems to thicken, charged with possibility.
“Yes,” he says quietly, his voice dropping to something deeper, more intimate. “They will be just fine.”
My breath catches just slightly as his fingers trace along my ribs with deliberate slowness, the touch both soothing and electric, distracting me from the obvious sounds of pleasure drifting from the bedroom.
“Keisha,” he murmurs, placing the loofah carefully on the shelf behind me. The way he says my name, like a prayer and a promise combined, sends chills racing down my spine despite the heat of the water. In only a few days, it’s become almost a Pavlovian response, the sound of my name on his lips making my clit pulse with anticipation.
I step into him without conscious thought, closing the distance between us until there’s nothing but heated skin and steam. My hands brace against the solid warmth of his chest as his fingers curl possessively at the back of my neck.
When he kisses me, I let go completely. Our tongues tangle and dance, and it’s like an instant caffeine high rushing through my system. I’m alert and ready for anything, every nerve ending sings with awareness.
Breaking the kiss with reluctant necessity, Ezra drops to his knees in front of me.
“Let’s give them a show,” he says, his voice rough with desire as he looks up at me through long black lashes. “Let them hear you moan for me, Marvel.” He leans forward and licks a deliberate path up my inner thigh, his tongue hot against my sensitive skin.
The first swipe of Ezra’s tongue is slow and exploratory, like he’s savoring the taste of me. My fingers tangle in his damp locs as his mouth sends a jolt of ecstasy-laced lightning straight through my core. The shower spray cascades over us, mingling with the slickness between my thighs, the sound of water muffling the wet, obscene noises he makes as he feasts on me. My hips rock forward, chasing the pressure of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth against my clit. A broken gasp escapes me, loud enough that I don’t care if Maceo and Lucien hear. Ezra said to give them a show and I’m obliging. Let them know exactly what Ezra’s doing to me, how easily he unravels me with just his mouth.
His hands grip my thighs, spreading me wider, his thumbs press into the soft flesh as he devours me with a hunger that borders on reverence. The steam curls around us, thick and suffocating, but I don’t care. All I can focus on is the way his tongue flicks, the way his lips suction around my clit, the way hisbreath hitches when I clench around nothing. My knees tremble, but he holds me up, his strength effortless.
“Fuck. . .Ezra—” His name spills from my lips, half prayer, half plea. He hums against me, the vibration sends a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through me. His fingers dig into my skin, possessive, claiming, and I love it. I love the way he marks me, even if it’s just with the imprint of his touch.
When I cum, it’s with a cry that echoes off the tiles, my body shudders against his mouth as he licks me thoroughly through it, like he wants my taste to linger on his tongue for the rest of the day. My legs are jelly by the time he pulls back, his lips glistening, his pupils blown wide with lust and satisfaction.
I don’t give him time to recover. With a smirk, I push him back against the shower wall, my hands slide down his chest, tracing the hard lines of his abdomen before wrapping around his cock. He’s thick, heavy in my grip, and the way his breath hitches when I stroke him is intoxicating. His head thunks back against the tile, his jaw clenched, his fingers flex at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to take control.
“Keisha,” he growls, my name a warning and a plea all at once.
I drop to my knees in front of him, the warm water pooling around me, the tile unforgiving against my skin. “Geez, my knees are too old for this,” I tease, glancing up at him. His cock twitches in my hand, and I lick my lips, eager for a taste. “Guess I’ll just take one for the team.”
His breath stutters as I lean in, my tongue flicks over the head, tasting the salt of his precum. His hands find my shower cap, resting on top of it to hold himself steady. I take him deeper, my lips stretch around his girth, my throat relaxes to accommodate him. The groan he lets out is raw, guttural, and it sends a thrill straight to my pussy.
