I felt a rush of heat between my thighs, watching him. They could dress him in Armani, put him on Forbes, crown him Delacroix, but to me, he was still the boy who came out of a Compton trap house with his father with blood on his hands.
And I loved every piece of it.
The meeting went on after they dragged the dead man out, the whole meeting in French.
Later, in the car, the city lights flashing across his face, I leaned against the seat, almost falling asleep.
Finally, he broke the silence. His voice was calm, too calm.
I turned my head toward him, throat dry.
“What happened in there tonight…” he said slowly, eyes still on the road, “that’s what keeps this family breathing. That’s the shit that never makes it to the blogs. And it’s the kind of shit that sticks to you. Some stains don’t wash off.”
His face frowned. His dimples didn’t show this time.
“You’re the only one who’s ever seen me like that. Covered in blood. Pulling triggers. Breaking bones. Taking lives. And you never get scared. You never ask.”
He glanced at me then. “That’s why I keep you close. You know I’ll never be a regular man. That I don’t want to be.”
I swallowed hard, but I didn’t look away.
“You ever want to leave me, Lyric?” he asked, dark. “Say it now. Before I drag you deeper.”
I reached over, fingers sliding over his hand, the same hand he just killed with, and held it tight.
“No,” I said quietly but steadily. “I’m not leaving. I knew who you were before anything. I knew exactly who I was choosing.”
Something in his face shifted, a flicker of relief, or hunger, or both.
“Good,” he murmured. His hand left the wheel, slid up my inner thigh, fingers pressing into me until I gasped.
He pulled into an empty lot. Then he grabbed my throat, kissed me hard and brutally, his breath against my ear.
“Tu es à moi,” he growled in French.(You’re mine.)
And just like that, the car became our confessional, our battlefield, our bed.
“Nobody else sees me like this,” he whispered. “Nobody else gets Ghost. Only you.”
“Only me,” I panted, clinging to him as he fingered me roughly, thumb circling my clit until I shook.
He pulled his hand free, ripped my panties down, and unzipped himself. His dick was thick, heavy, already hard. He yanked me onto his lap, straddling him in the driver’s seat, the leather sticking to my thighs as I sank down on him.
I moaned seductively, the sound muffled by his hand clamping over my mouth.
“Shut up,” he muttered, grinding up into me. “You know I like it when you take me quiet.”
My hips rolled, bouncing on him, the car rocking under us. His grip on my ass bruising, him sucking on my neck, leaving marks like we were teenagers again.
“Say it,” he growled. “Say you’ll never leave me.”
“I’ll never leave you,” I gasped, clinging tighter, nails digging into his shoulders.
“Bonne fille,” he whispered.Good girl.
I came hard, clenching around him, crying out his name as he bit down on my shoulder. His thrusts grew rougher, faster, until he spilled into me with a growl that shook my bones.
We sat there in the dark, my head against his chest, his heartbeat slow and steady like he hadn’t just murdered a man and fucked me raw in the same hour.
