Page 5 of Tarnished Hands

But as I walked into my apartment alone, loneliness struck me like an arrow, and I thought, what’s the harm? It’s not like I don’t know what he can do for me.

Desire erupts. A needy throb at the juncture of my thighs when the memory of his mouth and his hands pop into my mind—God, he knew exactly how to undo me.

So now here I sit, across from him, in some restaurant he’s dragged me to while I squeeze my thighs together, feeling the wetness of my panties as Ezra cuts into his steak once again and puts the fork to his mouth.

How can a man make such a simple move so seductive?

It’s unfair, really…

The game he plays with me.

The trance he can so easily cast on me.

“Do you plan to watch me eat the entire time?” he asks.

I look down at my steak. “I didn’t come for dinner,” I tell him.

“You ordered.”

“You did,” I correct him.

“We can take it to go if that’s what you prefer.”

I glance back up at him. “I’d prefer,” I reply.

He cuts another piece of steak, forks it into his mouth, and chews. All the while watching me.

“This makes you uncomfortable.” He waves his knife between us, then he proceeds to continue eating his food.

He isn’t wrong. My skin itches with tension, the air too thick to breathe. “Yes.”

“Why?” he pushes.

“You said we’d be fucking. That’s why I’m here.”

The corner of his lips lifts into that smirk. “Oh, we very much will be.” He nods and reaches for his water before lifting the glass to his lips and taking a long drink. I glance at his plate, and his steak is mostly consumed. “But I needed sustenance first.” Ezra waves the waitress over, and when she stops at the end of our table, he asks her for a to-go container for my food. “Will you eat it later?” he asks me. I look down at the food before me as the waitress brings over a container. I thank her, then scrape my meal into the box. Making sure nothing touches. I’m impressed it didn’t arrive at the table touching. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it does, and I can’t bring myself to eat it. That’s not the case tonight, though. Tonight is all about the anticipation of what comes next.

“Possibly. Depends on how much energy I use,” I say. “Though I did eat before I showed up at the shop.” I lie. When I look back at him, he pushes his dark hair, which is usually messy, with short waves out of his face. At the moment, it’s trimmed nicely around the edges, with the top a little longer.

It suits him.

“I knew you would come,” he says so matter-of-factly before standing, pushing in his chair, and stepping over to me. He offers me his hand, but I don’t take it. I rise without his assistance, then turn to face him. He’s tall, possibly six feet five compared to my five feet eight. I don’t consider myself short, but around him, I feel small.

“That’s very cocky of you,” I reply.

Ezra throws money on the table and nods to the waitress. He tipped well, more than I would have, that’s for sure. Ignoring his hand hasn’t phased him. Instead, he settles his palm against my back as he guides me to his car. Subtle. Possessive. Nice.

His car is nice, but it’s older. A classic, maybe, because there’s no air conditioning, so he winds down the window as soon as he opens the car door for me. I watch, fascinated, and quite honestly liking his chivalry as he shuts the door and walks to the driver’s side, doing the same to his before he climbs in.

“Your place or mine?” he asks.

“Yours.”

He nods and then takes off. “Do you not want me to go to yours?” he asks after a moment of silence.

“No, I’d rather you didn’t,” I tell him truthfully.

The weight of his gaze burns the side of my face, but I keep my eyes on the road. “You’re happy for us to just fuck, and then you leave?”

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