Wrath (Sinful Secrets, #4)

by Ella James

I want to ask who hurt him. Why, and how? And where can I find the motherfucker? But I don’t let myself. Not now.

I wake up with Ezra wrapped around me like some kind of insane starfish. He’s behind me—he’s spooning me now—with one arm around my shoulders, one hand clutching the waistline of my boxer briefs, and one of his warm legs pushed between mine, like he wants to be sure we’re joined from head to toe.

“Look at me, Ez. Look at my face.” He shuts his eyes. “Tell me this much: Who fucked up before me? Who fucked around with you and made you feel like loving you was hard work?”

“Because I’m into you. That’s why. There’s no other why. I just…want you,” I rasp. “I want you near me. I want to see you feeling good. Because I do. When I see this look in your eyes” —I stroke his eyelid softly with my fingertip— “it hurts me. Like, it actually hurts my chest.”

When I was sick, you took care of me. If you’re sick, nothing feels good; you’re in pain. And you’re saying I can make you feel better? I’d do that all damn day. All night, too. I’ll suck your dick ten times a day if you want. If I can cure depression for you with a blow job, sign me the fuck up, baby. You got nightmares but I make them better? I’ll be your drug. You think helping you feel good could ever be a burden to me?”

You can literally tell how broken I was after this highlight because there aren't any more highlights because after this, shit hit the fan.