I press my hands against his chest, intending to shove him away, but I hesitate. Then my fingers curl into his shirt instead, betraying me, holding on to him as if letting go isn’t an option.
When his tongue brushes against the seam of my lips, I sigh. He takes advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue conquering mine. As if he’s memorizing the way I taste, the way I respond to him.
It’s too much, too intense, but I can’t stop. My head tilts instinctively, giving him better access, and he takes it, his teeth grazing my lower lip before sucking it into his mouth. The heady contrast of pain and pleasure sends a shiver through me, and I hate how much I want more.
He pulls back, our breath mingling, his lips brushing against mine as he speaks. “You taste like a fucking liar, Geneva.”
Before I can respond, he’s kissing me again, this time slower, deeper, his lips softer but no less demanding. The change in pace is disarming, as if he’s no longer punishing me but seducing me.
He slides his hand from my waist to my lower back, pulling me even closer, until there’s no space between us. His fingers splay across my spine, holding me in place as his lips move with a precision that leaves me breathless. He’s taking from me, stealing my passion to fuel his own.
When he finally breaks the kiss, his breathing is ragged, his forehead resting against mine. “You feel it,” he murmurs, his voice rough and laced with emotion. “I can tell by the way you kiss me. Don’t deny it.”
I close my eyes, my chest heaving and my lips tingling from the bruising force of his kiss. His hands remain on me, grounding me, holding me prisoner. In this moment, all I can feel is the pull, the undeniable connection that terrifies me more than his touch ever could.
“Say it,” he whispers. “Just fucking say it.”
I can’t give him what he wants. Not without exposing myself entirely. Not without becoming so vulnerable that there’s no hope of saving me from destruction. The words are there, but they’re stuck in my throat, lodged behind the fear I’ve always shielded myself with.
I shake my head weakly, my hands trembling as they lie against his chest. His eyes flash with something dangerous, and I jerk back. For the first time, I’m scared he’ll physically hurt me.
So why is my pussy fluttering at the thought?
I try to pull away, but Ghost doesn’t let me. Instead, he lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You think you know what manipulation is, but you don’t,” he says, each word clipped. “After tonight you will. Get on your knees, Dr. Andrews.”
The command is harsh and unyielding. His voice is laced with an emotion I can’t decipher. Something inhumane.
I shake my head. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
He laughs softly. “Psychopath, remember?”
Ghost grabs me by the throat before forcing me to my knees. My dress pools around me, the silk cool and slippery against my heated skin. He stands over me, his shadow casting a darkness that consumes everything in its path. His expression is inscrutable, but his eyes glint with a dangerous light, his intent clear.
This is a punishment. A lesson.
He unfastens his pants and releases his cock, the thick length springing free. My eyes widen, and I tremble with anticipation. Unable to tear my gaze away.
Ghost strokes his cock, the movement slow and measured. I watch, mesmerized, as he pumps himself, his hand sliding up and down the length of it. I shift on my knees, trying to get rid of the ache between my thighs.
With his free hand, he grabs my chin, his grip tight. “Open your mouth.” When I don’t readily obey, he squeezes my jaw.
I comply, my lips parting as he presses the tip of his cock against my tongue. He slides it back and forth, mocking me.
He groans, the sound low and guttural. “Take it.”
I move forward, taking him fully into my mouth. He releases my jaw to slide his hand into my hair, gripping the back of my head. I can feel him pulsing against my tongue, the sensation sending a shiver through me.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Now, suck.”
His cock is heavy and thick in my mouth, the taste of him salty. I hollow my cheeks, sucking harder, and he moans low in his throat, his fingers tightening in my hair.
“God, you’re such a good little cocksucker,” he says, his voice strained.
I moan, the sound vibrating against him, and he shudders, his hips bucking.
“Fuck,” he grits out. “That’s it. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”
I don’t, bobbing my head up and down his length. His hand is still fisted in my hair, guiding me, controlling me. The pressure builds, his cock pulsing, his body tense. My own orgasm looms.
