After a couple more tries, I get the last bit of him in. I feel stretched beyond anything I can handle. My breathing is labored, and I’m sweating. He runs his hand up and down my side, the touch soothing.
“You’re such a good girl.”
I’m so full, it’s hard to breathe, but I manage. Then Ghost reaches down to touch the area where our bodies are joined, and my breath leaves my lungs completely. He gently traces my pussy with his fingers, his eyes never leaving that place of intimate connection, his expression one of awe and intense desire.
“Perfect… just perfect,” he whispers.
The reverence in his gaze deepens, the corners of his lips lifting in a satisfied smile. He leans closer, his breath warm against my skin.
“Look at you, taking all of me.” Ghost swivels his hips just a little, but it forces a moan from me. “Now, ride me.”
I don’t move, overwhelmed with the knowledge of what’s coming next. Ghost doesn’t give me a choice. He drops the knife and grips my hips, guiding me. I rise, then sink back down. I repeat the motion, slowly, finding a rhythm that has us both groaning.
“Fuck,” Ghost rasps. “So fucking tight. Don’t stop.”
I keep moving, grinding my hips, chasing release. My muscles tremble from the strain, but I don’t falter, wanting to stay in control.
Eventually, Ghost takes over as his desperation outdoes mine. He thrusts his hips up, burying himself deeper inside me. I gasp, the pleasure and pain blurring together, making it impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.
“It’s too much. I can’t…” I whimper.
“You can take it. You already are. Look at you,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Taking me so well. God, I love the way you fuck me.”
He groans, his hands gripping me tighter as he takes complete control, lifting me, meeting each roll of my hips with a dominating thrust. The pleasure builds, sharp and relentless, coiling low in my stomach. He continues slamming into me, fucking me hard and deep, his grip bruising.
“Eyes on me,” he snaps. “Look at me when you come.”
I flick my gaze to his. The raw emotion I find in his eyes sends me over the edge. I scream as the orgasm tears through me, my body spasming around his cock. Milking him, forcing him to come.
“Geneva,” he groans.
His hips jerk as he comes, his cock twitching inside me. Ghost continues fucking me, riding out the last waves of his ecstasy. By the time he stops, I’m shaking, barely able to hold myself up. I collapse against him, and he wraps his arms around me, stroking my hair.
“Shh,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
He holds me close, our bodies slick with sweat, our hearts thrashing in our chests. I press my face against his skin, inhaling his scent. He runs his hands along my back, up and down, tracing the curve of my spine.
Ghost doesn’t speak. He just holds me, weaving his fingers through my hair, his breath warm against my temple. His touch is comforting, but I feel too raw. Too exposed.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fortify myself, but the vulnerability keeps creeping in, sinking into my bones. It’s just sex. It’s a biological need, a primal urge that both of us are fulfilling. Nothing more.
So, how can something purely physical leave such deep imprints on my soul?
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs into my hair.
I remain silent, not trusting my voice. I’m not sure what I’d even say. Then Ghost lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes, normally so unreadable, so filled with sharp edges and danger, hold something else. Something that makes my chest ache.
He drags his thumb along my jaw. “Talk to me.”
I shake my head.
Ghost studies me for a long moment, his gaze searching. His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “You think I don’t feel it too?”
I stiffen. He grabs the back of my neck, keeping me still. His lips brush against my temple, lingering.
“It’s not just sex, Geneva.”
I should say something. I should push him away before this goes any deeper, before it becomes something I can’t survive.
