Page 17 of Your Devoted Monster
"You really think," Ezra said, voice wrecked but steady, so fucking steady, "I haven't practiced breaking zip ties every fucking day for three years?"
The knife pressed harder. Gabriel felt a bead of blood well up where the edge bit into his skin.
And his cock, still buried inside Ezra, throbbed hard.
Oh,Gabriel thought, something like joy flooding through him.Oh, you magnificent creature. I knew you were perfect.
7
It worked.
Holy shit, it actually worked.
Ezra's heart was hammering so hard he could feel it in his throat, in his fingertips, in the hand gripping the knife. The kiss—theirfirstkiss, and he'd used it as a fucking distraction—had done exactly what he'd needed. The rush of freedom, ofgot him, sang through Ezra's veins.
He could still feel the ghost of it on his lips. Gabriel had gone so still when Ezra kissed him, just for a heartbeat, like he hadn't expected it. Like it mattered more than all the violence that had come before. His mouth had been hot, demanding, tasting like copper and want. For half a second Gabriel had melted into it, his grip loosening, his control wavering?—
And that was all the time Ezra needed.
Now Ezra had a blade to Gabriel’s throat.
The look on Gabriel's face—shock bleeding into delight bleeding into pride—was worth every hour Ezra had spent practicing withzip ties in his shitty apartment. His pupils were blown so wide the amber ring around them had nearly disappeared, swallowed by black. His lips were parted, kiss-bruised and swollen from Ezra's mouth. A flush was creeping up his throat, staining that perfect pale skin pink.
Ezra had never seen him look anything but composed, controlled, predatory.
This was something else entirely.
Ezra pressed the knife harder against Gabriel's perfect throat, right where the pulse hammered wild and desperate, and felt Gabriel's cock throb inside him in response. Still hard. Still wanting. Still connected.
Good.
He could see his reflection in Gabriel's dilated pupils—face a mess of blood and tears and spit, neck covered in bite marks, completely debauched. But holding a knife. In control.
For the first time in three years, Ezra was the dangerous one.
"My clever boy," Gabriel breathed, and somehow made it sound like worship despite having a knife to his throat. Despite being at Ezra's mercy. "My perfect survivor."
Gabriel's voice was rougher than Ezra had ever heard it—that careful, cultured tone shredded into something raw. His throat worked around the words, Adam's apple bobbing against the blade.
The words shouldn't have made Ezra's chest tight. Shouldn't have mattered. But they did.
Ezra stared at him, at the knife pressed to that pale throat. One inch forward. That's all it would take. Just a little pressure and Gabriel's blood would paint the concrete, hot and arterial. He could watch the light fade from those amber-ringed eyes. Could finally, finally be free.
Three years of hunting, of being hunted, of this sick twisted thing between them. He could end it right now. Should end it. Should press down and finish what he started in that warehouse three years ago when he stabbed Gabriel and ran.
But his hand wouldn't move.
Because Gabriel was looking at him like Ezra had hung the fucking moon. Like this—being helpless, being at Ezra's mercy, having a knife to his throat—was exactly where he wanted to be. His eyes were soft in a way Ezra had never seen, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with the blade and everything to do with Ezra.
It was more intimate than any of the violence that had come before.
"You're thinking about it," Gabriel said, voice rough with something that might have been hope or fear or arousal—probably all three. "How easy it would be."
"So easy," Ezra agreed. He let the knife bite just a little, watching a bead of blood well up dark and perfect against pale skin.
The blood was warm when it rolled down Gabriel's throat. Ezra wanted to lick it off. Wanted to press harder. Wanted to pull away. Wanted everything and nothing all at once.
Gabriel's hips jerked involuntarily, pushing deeper, and Ezra could feel how close he was to losing control. That perfectserial killer composure cracking because Ezra held his life in his hands. Gabriel's pulse was racing where they were connected—Ezra could feel it through Gabriel's cock, each heartbeat a throb of arousal, getting impossibly harder at the threat of death.
