Page 152 of Reckless

That night, Ghost sits at his workstation well past midnight, the glow of the monitor the only light in the room, and I find myself watching him from the doorway before I even decide to walk over. “You installed a visual alert system for Piper?” I ask, settling onto the edge of his desk.

“Yeah.”

“At midnight?”

He shrugs. “Took twenty minutes.”

I shake my head. “Ghost…”

“The front door of the clubhouse, the back door, and the door to her room are all linked now.” He keeps typing as he talks. “If someone knocks, or rings the bell, or one of the brothers needs her, the receiver in her room flashes instead of relying on someone hearing it.”

I blink at him. “You… researched that?”

He finally looks up from his screen, like the answer should be obvious. “She shouldn’t have to wonder if somebody’s standing outside her door.”

My chest does something stupid. “You really thought of everything.”

One shoulder lifts in a small shrug. “Not everything.”

“Ghost…”

“Just the things I could fix.”

I look at him for a long moment, my brain still trying to come up with something witty while the rest of me has apparently decided I’m just going to fall in love with him instead. “Come to bed,” I say. “The file will still be there in the morning.”

He closes the laptop without hesitation and follows me down the hall.

We move to the bedroom, and the bedroom door barely shuts before he’s got me backed against it, one hand braced beside my head, the other gripping my hip like he’s been thinking about doing it all night and finally ran out of patience. “You’ve been sitting on that desk for twenty minutes…” he says, voice low and rough, “… driving me out of my fucking mind.”

“Being this hot for you is hard work,” I say, and he huffs something close to a laugh against my throat before he bites down gently on the curve of my neck, and every smart thing in my head empties at once.

He kisses me hard, one hand sliding into my hair and fisting it just enough to tip my head back the way he likes, before yanking off his club cut and sliding it onto the desk. I grab a handful of his shirt and yank it up over his head because I’m done waiting too. His chest is warm under my palms, and I drag my nails down it, just to hear the low sound he makes in response.

“Careful,” he growls.

“Or what?”

His eyes darken, and he backs me toward the bed without answering, which is answer enough. My knees hit the mattress, and I go down. He follows, caging me in with a hand planted on either side of my head, taking his time now, dragging his mouth from my jaw down the column of my throat, over my collarbone, unhurried in a way that has me arching up into him just to get more contact.

“You’re doing that thing…” I say, breathless already, “… where you make everything take forever.”

“I’m thorough.” He drags his teeth along the swell of my breast, and I feel the smirk against my skin. “You’ve complained about that before.”

“I lied.”

He laughs and finally strips me out of my clothes, quick and certain now, no fumbling, and when I’m naked beneath him, he pauses just long enough to look at me like I’m something he’s still not entirely convinced he’s allowed to have. I reach for his belt, but he catches my wrist and pins it gently to the mattress above my head.

“Not yet.”

“Ghost—”

“Not yet,” he says again, and drags two fingers through my folds, and I curse loud enough that he smirks against my collarbone. “Patience isn’t your strong suit, Objection.” He kisses down my stomach, unhurried, watching me the whole way, and when he settles between my thighs, he doesn’t move straight for it. He presses a kiss to my hip first, and I feel his breath warm against my skin as he drags his mouth lower.

“Ghost.”

“Patience,” he murmurs, and kisses the crease of my thigh instead, close enough that I arch up toward him, and he pulls back just slightly, denying me on purpose.

He does it again. Mouth trailing over to my other hip, teeth grazing gently, and my hands fist in the sheets on either side of me, my entire body strung tight, waiting. Every time I think he’s finally going to give me what I want, he shifts, kisses somewhere else instead—the inside of my knee, the soft skin of my thigh, taking his time like he has all night to spend right here and no intention of rushing a second of it.