Page 15 of Ezekiel
“Will you tell me why you won’t sleep in our bed?” Merciful heaven, I needed to get control of my mouth.
“Will you stop stomping around the house all the time?” he shot back, his lips curled up in a snarl.
“Why won’t you touch me?” He rolled his eyes at that question, only working to further my frustration with him and increase my anger.
“Why won’t you be quiet?” he nearly screamed at me, his hands raising wildly in the air, the art supplies clattering to the floor loudly. “Ahh!” He screamed, covering his ears.
“Why won’t you sleep with me?” I demanded, stomping my foot and refusing to allow his tantrum to be his excuse for evading yet another conversation.
“Why won’t you stop asking questions?” This time, he did scream. And I didn’t care. My pulse pounded in my veins, thundering loudly in my own ears.
“Why did you paint me?” I all but spat back at him, crossing my arms over my torso.
“Why did I even marry you?!” he screamed. I felt the ire and tension start to deplete, expelling itself from my body as his words sunk in bone deep.
“Why did you marry me, Ezekiel?” I asked softly.
“I don’t fucking know,” he snarled, roughly running a hand through his hair. I didn’t know what to say. We just stood there, both of us breathing heavily through our anger and frustration.
“Why were you spying on me?” he asked tersely. Clearly, his anger wasn’t fading as fast as mine.
“Why were you painting me?” I tossed back, and, Lord have mercy on me, I stuck my tongue out at him.
“Stick your tongue out at me again and you’ll be sorry.” His statement was ridiculous.
“I’ll be sorry?! What does that even mean?” And there was that frustration again. He was exasperating. He was infuriating. He was annoying. He was handsome as all get out and why was I feeling so heated? I couldn’t tell if my heart was pounding from my anger, or from the way his eyes narrowed at me, making me think he would stalk over to me, press me against that wall and —
Stop it, Talia. You’re letting lust control you.
“Nothing. Forget it.” He rolled his eyes at me, and I didn’t know what it was. It shot me straight from frustrated to boiling over.
“Stop it! Stop doing that!” I stamped my foot. Literally stamped my foot.
“You first!” he shouted back.
“Just explain yourself, for once, instead of walking off and being all moody and — ugh! Just talk to me!”
“You make me just want to…” he trailed off. Whatever part of me that had begun to snap, fully broke in that moment.
“Want to what?” I taunted. I knew it was the wrong thing to do, but God as my witness, he pulled out the part of me from my childhood. The one that would fight with my brothers.
I had expected him to lash back out, to give another lame excuse.
What I did not expect was for my earlier fantasy to come true.
He rushed at me, but I felt no fear.
“Enough,” he growled, his hand wrapping around the back of my neck as he pushed me into the wall and kissed me. He kissed me in a way that made me hear colors and see smells.
I lost all thought as his lips took mine. His body pressed against me, holding me to that wall, captive to his delicious assault.
“You annoy me,” he groaned against my lips. His hips pressed into mine, his hard length pressing against my lower stomach.
“You confuse me,” I uttered back, leaning forward, desperate for his lips again. “Kiss me,” I whispered.
“Beg for it.” The words were delicious, surprising me, and making a shiver run through my entire body.
“I…” I stammered, unsure of what to say.
