Page 32 of Wreck and Ruin
I drift in and out of the warmth of the memory, letting the images play on repeat in my mind. His mouth on my skin, the raw, unrelenting need surging through me. Through us both. Changing us into two feral beings that would make even the most debauched hellion blush.
His lips.
His taste.
The way I could taste myself on him.
I may still be in shock. Yet, I can’t deny that I feel completely awake.
Alive.
For the first time in my life, I feel like I truly know myself. Every thread that makes me who I am has finally tied together, waiting for me to uncover the truth of who I was meant to be.
I am a woman.
I am not a means to an end or whatever else those men or Father Grimsby said I was.
My blood is not repulsive. It shows that I am alive.
Andaliveis how Ezekiel makes me feel.
My beautiful haze starts to fade with thoughts of those monsters as the flickering light show on the stone walls is consumed by darkness.
Here comes the clouds again.
Scanning the space around me, it dawns on me that I didn’t sleep in my cave last night. I look around, and I feel something warm brush against my shoulder. I gaze down at the shackled and chained wrist gently draped over my body. The warmth against my back, the blanket I had felt before,wasEzekiel. It wasn’t just the memory of him.
Hot breath hits my exposed neck, sending a molten rush straight to my core. Every inch of my skin aches for him, because of him, but in the best way.
“Good morning, beautiful,” he says, his voice husky with sleep. Goosebumps prickle my skin as his hand traces my stomach. I roll over onto my back, needing to see his face.
His eyes are astonishingly blue. My new favorite color, I decide, as he brushes his nose against mine.
“Good morning,” I reply before he presses warm, gentle kisses to my lips.
His dark hair is a tangled mess, though. It isn't fair that he looks this good when he wakes up. I don't even want to know what I look like in the mornings. My hair is a nuisance most of the time. Always knotty, always flying around in the wind, flicking my face.
I wish I could cut it all off.
“You stayed with me,” he whispers, placing his hand against my own, palm to palm. His is much bigger than mine. My fingers are thin and pale, whereas his are tan and thick.
Even though he hasn't eaten much since arriving here, I am only just starting to notice a difference in his body. His shoulders are broad, much broader than mine, and there are defined veins on the inside of his forearm that had never occurred to me would be nice to stare at.
“I have to go, Ezekiel. I must return to my cave before somebody realizes I am not there, and I get into trouble.”
“Don't leave. Please. Don't go back out there. Stay here. You could look for a sharp rock orsomething, and I'll try to break these chains. I can get us out of here,” he says, his deep voice low and desperate.
Worry etches his features as dread sinks its claws into my stomach. His intensity pulls at me, and I don’t know how I’ve managed to ignore him whenever he begs me to let him go for this long.
He makes me feel things. Things I never imagined I could feel. Part of that is because I didn’t even know half of these emotionsexistedbefore meeting Ezekiel. He has peeled back so many of my layers, dragging out thoughts and vulnerabilities, but he never leaves me to deal with them by myself. I have been alone ever since my mother was killed, but I never feel alone when I am with him.
I wish he could help me understand these feelings.
Is it happiness?
Is it love?
I will have to think about it.
