His Voice Alone

Chapter 12

Leia’s POV

I told myself it was the last time, but I lied. I wasn’t supposed to play it again. I knew exactly what would happen the moment I saw that file still sitting there, untitled, but carved into me like it was part of my blood.

Ezra’s voice, raspy, low, raw, like gravel scraping. He whispered my name like it belonged to him. I didn’t get halfway before I lost control, coming hard and fast.

My hand slipped between my legs while I bit my wrist to quiet the cry, my other hand was slick with moisture as the sheets stuck to my skin.

When it was over, I lay there shaking, breathless and ruined, filled with shame. I whispered never again.

So when someone mentioned a party the next day, I said yes. I needed noise, laughter, lights, anything to distract me. I needed distance from the part of me that kept opening that file.

It was an upperclassman’s house, crowded, loud, and stupid. Beer spilled on the floor while lights pulsed around the room.

The music slammed into my chest hard enough to knock my thoughts loose. I drank the first cup too fast, the second even faster. Someone pressed against my back, but I didn’t care who.

I laughed too loudly and let a stranger brush his fingers down my hip. I flirted like I meant it. Maybe if I acted like a girl he didn’t own, Ezra would stop haunting me.

But past midnight, I wandered down the wrong hallway. My heels clacked too loudly against the tile. The air was cooler back there, quieter. My head was floating, my skin buzzing.

And then, a hand, slamming over my mouth. A hard body, pinning mine against the wall. And for a moment, pure panic. Until I breathed in. Cedar, heat, salt, and him.

Ezra.

The sound I made was a whimper. My body went rigid as his chest pinned me to the wall, steady. His breath burned against my cheek.

Then his other hand shoved up my skirt, panties yanked aside like they didn’t matter. No hesitation, no question, no warning, just fingers, inside me. I gasped into his palm.

He growled at my ear, low and lethal. “You let them see you like this?” I shook my head, frantic.

No. I didn’t want them. I didn’t mean to. But my hips were already grinding down onto his hand, shamelessly soaked.

His breath turned vicious. “Fucking dripping,” he snarled. “You liked it. Letting them look. Pretending you weren’t already mine.”

His fingers thrust deeper, and harder. The wet, messy slap of it echoing off the walls. My body jerked, and I moaned, raw and trapped and so fucking close.

A couple passed the hallway, laughing.

I didn’t stop, I couldn’t. His thumb found my clit. I bucked against him, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from screaming. My thighs shook, and my eyes rolled.

“You wanted this,” Ezra hissed. “You wanted me to catch you. To remind you.”

His voice went molten in my ear. “This little cunt only knows one name.”

Then he stopped. His fingers slid out slowly, coated in my slick, trailing it down the inside of my thigh. I whimpered into his palm, soaked, aching, desperate.

He let go, grabbed my chin, and turned my face toward the mirror on the wall. The sight hit like a slap: eyes glazed, lips swollen, panties ruined, legs shaking. I looked wrecked… owned.

His voice was razor-sharp behind me. “Say it.”

My mouth opened, voice barely there. “Y-you.”

He crashed his mouth against mine, bruising, wet, and relentless. Tongue claiming, teeth scraping. A kiss that tasted like punishment.

And just like that, he was gone.

I was left slumped against the wall, panties clinging, skin flushed, pulse thundering in my ears. I stared at my own ruined reflection, and I should’ve cried.

But all I could think of is that I want more.