“Ezra, you have lost your god damn mind. We are literally?—”
He cuts me off with a kiss at the corner of my mouth. “What if I said, I want you barefoot, pregnant, and moaning my name every day for the rest of our lives?” Funny how I haven’t even bothered to try and move out from beneath him.
“I would say that is incredibly misogynistic.”
He grinds into me and I find that his cock is already growing hard again.
Jesus literal Christ, he’s actually turned on by this.
The real issue? I think I am too.
We couldn’t be in a worse scenario than the one we’re in for something like this to happen.
I hate him.
I hate myself.
I hate us both.
And it’s probably too fucking late to do anything about it now. It’s not like there’s a Walgreens on the island.
When he starts to move inside me again, I release every ounce of tension in my body and just fucking go with it.
I’m already full of him in every way. It’s not going to make a difference now.
We spend the rest of the afternoon fucking on every surface of the house like we’ve both taken some kind of baby making fueled aphrodisiac, and all I can do is hope like hell I can really trust him to take care of me.
16
I ACTUALLY JUST FORGOT THERE WERE DEAD BODIES
EZRA
The fire isthe only light in the room, its glow flickering over Kruz’s face as she lies against me.
Her head rests on my shoulder, her breath soft and even against my neck. For a moment, I let myself believe that this is normal—that we’re just two people finding comfort in each other.
But we’re not.
“How are you so calm?” she asks, her voice quiet and unsteady. She’s asked me this so many times now. “After finding literal dead bodies washed up on the island, how are you not losing it?”
I don’t answer immediately. What am I supposed to say?
That I’ve seen worse?
That I’vedoneworse?
That I’m not calm—I’m just better at hiding it?
That for a few hours, I actually just forgot there were dead bodies to deal with because her pussy was too good? And now, even though I really need to deal with it, it’s too dark out for me to see what the fuck I’m doing?
My thumb moves in slow circles on her side, grounding myself in her warmth.
“You get used to it,” I say, my voice too quiet. “Or you learn how to fake it.”
She shifts, pulling back to look at me. Her eyes are searching, accusing. “Pretend you’re okay with… dead bodies washing up? Drugs? Whatever the hell this life is?”
My jaw tightens.
