Page 6 of Your Devoted Monster
"Even though you've never seen my face?"
"I've seen your hands." Ezra's eyes dropped to them—those elegant fingers that had wrapped around his throat. "I've felt your weight. Heard your breathing. That’s enough.”
Gabriel was wearing all black—of course. Slacks and a button-down like he was going to a gallery opening instead of a murder. Not a wrinkle anywhere. Not a hair out of place. Like he'd been waiting here for hours in perfect stillness, only the faintest tension in his shoulders suggesting he'd noticed Ezra at all.
But his eyes. Those amber-ringed eyes were locked on Ezra like a predator that had finally cornered its prey after a very, very long hunt.
"You dressed up for this," Ezra said, some of his bravado returning. "Cute. I didn't even shower."
"I noticed. You smell like a locker room exploded on you."
"It's Axe. Keith was classy like that."
Something flickered across Gabriel's face—there and gone so fast Ezra almost missed it. But he'd been chasing Gabriel in his nightmares for three years, and he wasn’t missing anything. The tiniest crack in that perfect composure. A muscle jumping in his jaw.
Finally. Finally a reaction that wasn't planned.
"Jealous of Keith?”
"Don't say his name."
“It doesn’t matter what his name was. They're all the same disappointing dick." Ezra tried for casual, despite being about to die in a murder warehouse. "Though I guess you'd know that, since you've been lurking under my bed like the world's most dedicated stalker."
That got a smile. No Kodak moment, but something around Gabriel’s eyes lifted, lit up. “Dedicated. I like that better than creepy."
“Better thanstalker.”
“It’s only stalking if you tell me no.” Gabriel tilted his head slightly. "Are you going to say no, Ezra?"
Fuck. “It’s a bit late for that." Ezra gestured at himself. “I’m pretty sure I've made my position clear."
"And what position is that?"
“That I’m stupid. Obviously."
Gabriel's eyes darkened. "I don't think you're stupid at all."
For a long moment, Gabriel just looked at him. Still as a statue, those amber-ringed eyes taking in every detail—the bruises, the scars, the way Ezra's chest rose and fell too fast. Ezra felt pinned like a butterfly to cork, couldn't move, couldn't breathe properly. His skin prickled with the weight of that attention. Three years ago, Gabriel had looked at him like something to destroy. Now he looked at him like something to devour.
Then Gabriel moved.
The first step made Ezra's heart stutter. Gabriel had been so still that movement seemed wrong, like a mannequin suddenly animated. He prowled—that was the only word for it—in a slow circle around Ezra, and Ezra's body remembered this dance. The way Gabriel had circled him that night, looking for the best angle to strike. But this was different. That had been clinical, efficient. This was savoring.
Ezra forced himself to stay still, even though every instinct screamed at him to track Gabriel's movement, to not let him get behind him, to protect his throat. His scars ached with sense memory. His cock ached with something else entirely.
"You're shaking," Gabriel observed from behind him, close enough that Ezra could feel his breath on his neck.
"Fuck you, I'm not—" But he was. Fine tremors running through his whole body like an electric current.
"Fear or arousal?"
"Is there a difference anymore?" The words came out more honest than Ezra intended. His wires were so crossed that his body couldn't tell what signals to send—run, fight, fuck, die, all of the above.
His cock was straining against his zipper now, the denim rough and unforgiving. He was leaking enough that he could feel the dampness, adding to the mess already there from earlier. Getting hard from fear. From danger. From the promise of violence in Gabriel's touch.
Gabriel's fingers finally made contact, tracing the bruises on Ezra's throat from tonight's disappointment—the gym bro who'd been so proud of his mediocre technique.
Ezra's whole body seized. Three years. Three years of chasing this feeling in strangers' hands, and nothing—nothing—had come close. Gabriel's touch was deliberate, precise, like he'd mapped every nerve ending that night and remembered exactly where they were. Ezra's breath stuttered out, his cock jumping in his jeans, and he hated how obvious it was. How fucking gone he was from one touch.
