In Love with Ezra (Love Unaccounted Book 2) (14 page)

I shivered when he gently and very casually yanked at my hard nipple. “The same can be said when I release. It’s a direct response to your essence, your yielding, your submission. You’re giving me the power to bring you pleasure in a manner of my choosing. I need that from you, but it starts with you knowing your role in this. Your position in my life.”

I vividly recalled the emotions I experienced after that first vaginal orgasm, feeling like I’d just relinquished a significant portion of my soul to a man I didn’t know, but I’d suddenly trusted in a way I didn’t understand.

“I applied to the job at
RSfALC
,” came out of nowhere on a moan.

I didn’t decide to tell him, but having me this open and exposed made the call for me. After the girls left I decided to do it, and didn’t know how I’d tell him or that he’d really wanted me to apply for a job at the church. His church.

For a long while, Ezra seared me with the most penetrative glare. His nostrils were just as wide as my thighs as he plunged into me. My heart raced just as wildly as my ass smacked the shower wall.

What is he thinking?

I needed to know.

“Mine!” he groaned.

My back arched into him even more at that declaration. And I was helpless to argue against his claim.         

I zoned out at the vanity, taming my hair. This had been a work of labor since I was about eleven. When I was thirteen and my mom had her first stint, that I could recall, in the psyche ward, she used to threaten me with having to do it myself. I thought anything would be better than her heavy hand until I was left to comb out this wild bush alone. It took me two days to do it. That was a full day of getting laughed at in school and two fights that day until I went home and finished the second half. When it was completed back then it wasn’t perfect, but I could manage a ponytail.

Since then, I’d considered getting relaxers on and off. It was hard for the handful of stylists I’d tried over the years to manage, most of whom wanted to relax it, too. I wouldn’t do it because my mom promised me to never put those chemicals in my hair. She said it would mess up my texture. I also remember her crying often at the fact that I was damn-near bald until eleven and got teased a lot coming up. My shortage of hair, lengthy legs and stickly body made me a target for kids who were too young to appreciate my father would kick anyone around the way’s ass for talking shit about his child—when he was home, that is. My mom and I were left to fight those hecklers when he wasn’t.

These were the things that I thought about on occasion when parting, pulling, and detangling my wild hair. Either that or what bills I had coming due.

As I finished combing out the knots from the last quarter of my head, I caught movement from behind in the mirror. Startled, I jolted midway of bringing the blow dryer to my head. Ezra stood behind me with his back planted into the wall and his head cocked to the side as he watched me intently, but relaxed.

I tapped the iPod on the vanity for the time. “It’s after two in the morning. Your wake up time is in two minutes,” I teased wryly. I was damn-it exhausted, and I could hear it in my voice.

“You can pay someone to do that, you know?” his voice just as hoarse as mine, just sexy.

“I have no job, Pastor. You remember?” I replied, trying to tease him with waning energy levels. “Besides, I’m used to it. I’m almost done, if the noise is keeping you up, you can close the door.” I felt bad for keeping him awake with the sounds of the blow dryer.

“I’m awake because my wife’s awake. I don’t sleep until her labor is over.”

“See, when you say things like that, it makes me forget—”

He interjected. “I wouldn’t mind paying for it—” 

“And there ends my belief of your bossiness being, rarely, absent,” I murmured, cutting him off.

“That still doesn’t negate my offer,” he pushed.

“No worries. I’m relaxing it anyway,” I sulked. “Or cutting it.” I raised the dryer.

“Oh, you’ll do nothing of the sort. I love your hair. The length, texture, and mussed personality appeals to me very much,” he rasped, eyes heavy and red. “It’s one of my favorite features of yours.”

I swung around to face him.

“So you’re the natural type? Your preference… You like natural women?” I asked, electrified by the opportunity to learn more about him.

“When I became a man, I began to appreciate the type of woman who aligned her level of confidence with her beauty.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means women attempt styles all the time and miss the key ingredient in pulling it off, which, to me, is confidence. If you sport the look, own it.”

I turned to face the mirror, analyzing myself. My dark skin, brown eyes, and bushy hair.

Confidence…

“Is that what you saw in me?” I asked, crazy curious.

“If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be here, after two in the morning, with me being entertained by the mere sight of you grooming, Alexis.”

“Oh…” I emitted almost inaudibly, mind still racing with unanswered revelations and possibilities.

“Beloved, please hurry. I’d like to fall asleep with you in my arms.” He shifted to move. “Maybe you’ll wake up in the same position,” he teased before leaving the bathroom.

My mouth dropped.

Teasing spikes from down below stirred me from my sleep. I inhaled, simultaneously sighing contently, and allowed the undulation in my groin to roll off of me. More warming prickles in my flesh had me arching my back and stretching my arms as I yielded to it. Then I felt a quickening in my core. I smelled a familiar spice engulfing me. Arousing me. My eyes remained closed because I didn’t want to wake from this heated dream. My pelvis thrust in the air, chasing a slithering rolling pattern against my sex. And—

“Ohhh!” I cried as my body rocked from an implosion. A familiar one that caused my eyes to fly open.

I glanced down and saw a head full of shiny waves, his big hands gripping my crotch to his face. I hadn’t been dreaming. I’d been awakened by an orgasm. Ezra was blowing against my sensitive flesh, and my body continued to quake in the aftermath.

Once I was done, he rose from the mattress to his knees. When I saw his hands go for the waist of his boxer briefs I knew one of my favorite visuals was about to occur. His thick, veiny dick jutted out, already dripping at the head. My eyes flew to his face and saw his chin in the air, his thick body carved at every member.

“Look at me,” he rasped, voice strained from lust. “Do not take your eyes from my face.”

How could I when his full beard glistened, saturated with my juices? I wanted to taste his lips so bad. When he stretched out over me, laying plank on his hands and knees, I reached for his face, desperate to taste me on him. Ezra yanked his head back, eyes piercing into me as he licked his lips. The bastard knew what I craved, understood what got me off.

Then he seared into me. Blunt pressure hitting my pussy when he plunged without warning. Ezra took me hard and fast with no preamble. It was not his usual handling, but a method I’d seen of him a time or two. One that I was sickly fond of. There was no coaxing of his girth, only an imprint from his ramming. This was what I called beating the pussy. I wanted to so badly look down into the space that was still between our beating chests and rolling bellies, but he made an order and I wouldn’t dare defy him. 

I lifted my pelvis to invite him into even more of me, if that were possible. I felt greedy, wanting the throbbing from his presence well after we were through. When he took me like this, I was part terrified and wholly thrilled. He was rough with his balls-smacking. Loud was the sound of my slickness against his powerful drives. Immediately, I was lost in his pounding.

“Look at me!” he growled, eyebrows tightly knitted.

Shit!

I must have closed my eyes to allow the sensations to consume me. His arms roped from under my back until his hands clasped my shoulders and he pulled me into his unforgiving drives to the point of pain. He wanted me to throb after, too. Then his lips parted under his beard. Ezra’s thick brows loosened into a straight line. I felt him growing inside of me, his drives turning frenzied. When his eyes fluttered closed he moaned from his belly as he came inside of me.

I was lost in pleasure—and not from my own orgasm, but from the unadulterated bliss of having him so defenseless and so close, releasing his hot virility
inside
of me. Ezra howled a new octave, springing a cry I’d never heard from him until now. He rocked slowly into me with no particular rhythm, hips bucking into my core until the last of him was dispersed.

My heart beat out of my chest and jaw collapsed at the beautiful sight of his exposure to me. He whimpered for seconds after his movements. My shaking arms rose and enclosed on his wide dewy back, my hands roving over the goose bumps that encased his thick frame. He pushed his face into my neck, needy. The more I rubbed with light pressure, the more he’d shiver under my movements. This was a different Ezra. It wasn’t the beast—at least not post-orgasm. He was bare. To me.

When Ezra’s head rolled up slowly, I was afraid of what I would see. My hand motions slowed. His face appeared and his eyes were slanted as though he were intoxicated. His lips were still parted as he blinked softly. Why was I so anxious? I felt guilty for prying or witnessing his private undoing. My whole body tensed, thighs locked around his wide wings.

Then he slowly pushed up, wincing as he pulled from me. I fought against the groan shooting from my belly at his width’s departure. Ezra moved off the bed, turned and sauntered off toward the bathroom, leaving me dazed and immobile. 

“So you
do
have experience in emergency housing and child placement?” Ms. Bethea’s eyes grew, expressively impressed. “And you’re aware of the channels for them?”

I fought crinkling my brow. “Yes. Much of what we did at the rec was emergency service placements. I still have my contacts with those grant holders and CPS. We tend to form back-door relationships for when the protocol takes too long.”

“And supervisory skills,” she mumbled to herself.

This woman couldn’t contain her excitement, though she tried. The phone rang into what was called the
Grace Room
at
Redeeming Souls for Abundant Living in Christ
. As she took the call, I tried to relax. So far the process was going well. I was there with Ann Bethea, who was their general human resource person and hiring manager for
Christ Cares
. After interviewing with her for about thirty minutes she made two calls. One was for Kim Baker, a newly hired social worker to come in and join the interview. I thought that was unusual, but went with the flow. Ms. Baker hadn’t spoken much at this point; just observed my exchange with Ms. Bethea. The second call was to invite another party that was made clear, from what I could gather from her response, would take a while.