Ezra’s rhythm falters for a moment, then the hand splayed across my chest hugs me tighter to him, while the one on my dick quickens.
“Ren.” He tests the shape of it as he kisses my racing pulse. “Ren.”
My name in his mouth becomes a claim, a prayer, a spell to bind me to him. Each thrust punctuates the syllable, driving it deeper into both our consciousness until it’s the only truth left in the world.
I surrender to the moment and let the armor of my aliases fall away. Tonight, with Ezra, I’m only Ren. The man beneath it all. The one who trembles under his touch and cries from the pleasure he gives.
The one who never wanted to leave.
7
Light bleeds through a gap in the curtains, illuminating Ezra’s face in a soft, golden glow.
I lie still, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, afraid that any movement might break this moment of quiet between us.
After our encounter in the bathroom, we had cleaned up, and I made a list of everything I would need for the rescue mission tonight. Then Ezra took me to bed, where we’d spent until the early hours of the morning tangled together.
Afterward, I slept like the dead.
I blame it on the butter-soft sheets, which are a luxury I haven’t allowed myself since I ran away from this place.
Ran away from him.
In sleep, Ezra looks every bit his young age, the hard edges he’s cultivated over the past year softened by unconsciousness. His long eyelashes cast delicate shadows across his cheekbones, and the silver streak in his hair catches the light like mercury. The new tattoos sprawling across his chest rise and fall with each breath, intricate designs telling stories I wasn’t present for.
As I memorize this new version of Ezra, an uncomfortable pressure settles in my chest, constricting my lungs. Not regret exactly, but melancholy for the missed opportunities and wasted time.
Last night, with Ezra’s hands on my skin, I gave him a truth I’ve spent years avoiding, confessing my real name to this Alpha I can’t resist. Ren. Three letters I haven’t spoken aloud for so long that they feel foreign on my tongue, a language I once spoke but forgot without practice.
And yet Ezra had taken my name and made it his, had breathed it across my nape, had wrapped it around us both until I couldn’t tell where the lie ended and the truth began.
My fingertips hover above his jaw, not quite touching. I don’t deserve the right to touch him with tenderness instead of hunger. Not after what I did.
When I disappeared from his life without a trace, I told myself it was the right thing to do. Ezra was too young, too idealistic, and too clean to be dragged into my world. Sooner or later, my lies would collapse around us both, and he’d be caught in the debris.
I was twenty-nine, and he had just turned twenty-two. A talented, vibrant Alpha with his whole life ahead of him, heir to an empire. I justified taking the money Aaiden offered as a way to protect us both. If my true identity ever came to light, the fallout would be brutal and tarnish the reputation they’ve spent generations building.
Lies, all of it. The truth is much simpler, much more pathetic. I was a coward. Afraid of what was happening between us. Afraid of how quickly he had pierced through my carefully constructed persona. Afraid of how much I wanted to stay.
The clock sits on the nightstand, next to a drawing pad and pencil. My heart constricts at the sight, remembering all themornings I rose before Ezra and drew to pass the time until he woke.
Tears sting my eyes, and I focus on the time instead. Just after six in the morning. The auction at Halcyon Hall isn’t until tonight, which leaves plenty of time to plan and prepare, to remember how to be someone other than the man who melted under Ezra’s hands last night.
I shift my weight, extracting my leg from where it lies tangled with his. The mattress dips as I roll away, muscles tensed to minimize movement. But my feet don’t touch the floor before Ezra’s arm snakes around my waist, a warm, solid weight anchoring me in place.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Sleep roughens his voice, but it holds no trace of confusion.
He’s been awake, watching me watch him.
My body freezes, caught in the act of escape. “Bathroom.”
Ezra’s laugh slips across my bare hip. “Liar.”
Before I can respond, he pulls me toward him, rolling me onto my back with practiced ease. His body covers mine, his familiar weight settling between my thighs like he belongs there. The sheet slips away, leaving nothing between us but air and hesitation.
He studies me in the morning light, all traces of sleepiness gone, replaced by calculation. “You were going to run again.”
Not a question, but I answer. “Force of habit.”
