Chapter 31
thirty-one
“Not good enough.” His hand stilled at her waistband. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”
Heat flooded her face. She wasn’t shy about sex, but this—the demand for explicit instruction, the control in his voice—was new territory.
“I want your fingers inside me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want you to make me come.”
“Better.” His hand slipped beneath the fabric, fingers sliding through her folds, finding her already wet for him. “Christ, you’re soaked.” The wonder in his voice made her flush with pride. She had done that to him—broken through that icy control enough to make him sound reverent.
He circled her clit with maddening lightness, not giving her the pressure she craved. “Is this what you want?”
“More,” she gasped, trying to press against his hand, but his other arm locked around her waist, holding her still.
“Patience,” he whispered, nipping at her earlobe. “I’ve waited too long for this to rush it. Do you know how long it’s been since I fucked a woman, Naomi? How long since I even had the urge?”
His fingers continued their torturous exploration, dipping into her entrance then retreating, circling her clit then moving away, building her need without satisfying it. She was trembling now, her breath coming in short gasps.
“N-no.”
His voice rasped against her ear. “Eleven years. Over a decade since I wanted anyone, and even then it wasn’t anywhere close to the way I now want you.”
“Owen—”
She choked on his name, and just when she thought she might scream with the frustration of his teasing fingers not giving her enough, he slid two deep inside her. The sudden fullness made her cry out, her head falling back against his shoulder as he began to move them in a slow, methodical rhythm.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Make noise for me. Let me hear you.”
His thumb found her clit, pressing with just enough pressure to make her gasp. The dual sensation—his fingers curling inside her, his thumb circling that sensitive bundle of nerves—had her climbing rapidly toward release.
“Oh,” she moaned, the sound torn from her throat as he legs shook violently.
“Not yet,” he said, slowing his movements until she wanted to sob with frustration. “Not until I say.”
The command sent a fresh wave of heat through her. She’d never been with someone who took control like this, who seemed to know exactly what her body needed before she did. It was intoxicating.
“First, I need to know how long it’s been for you. When did you last fuck a man?”
“It’s… It’s been a while,” she managed, her voice catching as his fingers slowed to an exquisite torture inside her. “A few years.”
“How many years?” He stopped stroking her, and she whimpered.
“Three.”
“And was he good to you?” Ghost’s voice was deceptively soft against her ear, but she felt the tension in his body, the possessive edge beneath the question.
“No one’s ever touched me like you,” she answered truthfully. “No one’s ever made me feel this way.”
He turned her in his arms and backed her toward the bed, his fingers still buried inside her, his eyes holding hers. When her legs hit the mattress, he withdrew his hand and licked her arousal off each finger.
“On the bed,” he ordered. “On your back.”
She obeyed, scooting back against the pillows, watching as he stripped off his shirt. The sight of his bare torso—all lean muscle and ink over subtle scars—made her mouth water. He was beautiful in a dangerous, predatory way, like something wild that had somehow been contained in human form.
He hooked his fingers in her underwear and dragged them down her legs, tossing them aside. Then he stood at the foot of the bed, his gaze raking over her naked body.
“Spread your legs. Show me how wet you are.” His voice dropped to that register that made her shiver.
She hesitated, not out of reluctance but from the sheer power of his gaze. No man had ever looked at her the way Ghost did—like she was something precious and rare, something to be savored.
“Now, Fury,” he ordered.
She let her knees fall open, exposing herself completely to him. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening with restraint.
“Perfect,” he murmured, and the approval in his voice sent a thrill through her.
He knelt on the bed between her spread thighs, still wearing his jeans. The denim was rough against her sensitive skin as he leaned over her, bracing himself on one arm. His free hand skimmed up her inner thigh, so light she had to strain toward him to feel it.
“Tell me what you want,” he said again, his fingers hovering just shy of where she needed them.
“Your mouth,” she gasped, beyond embarrassment now. “I want your mouth on me.”
A smile touched his lips. “Good girl.”
He lowered himself down her body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her stomach, her hip bones, the insides of her thighs. Each touch of his lips sent sparks shooting through her, building the anticipation until she was nearly vibrating with need.
When his mouth finally closed over her center, the heat of it almost undid her. His tongue was relentless, circling her clit with precise, knowing strokes. He slid two fingers back inside her, curling them to find that spot that made her see stars.
“Oh God,” she moaned, her hands fisting in the sheets. “Owen, please—”
He lifted his head just enough to say, “Not until I tell you,” before returning to his task with renewed focus.
The dual assault of his mouth and fingers had her hovering on the edge within minutes. Her thighs trembled, her back arching off the bed as she fought against the impending release.
“Please,” she begged, her voice breaking. “I need to come. Please.”
He pulled back, his eyes meeting hers over the plane of her stomach. His mouth was wet with her arousal, his eyes dark with hunger. “Not yet,” he said, and the denial was both torture and the sweetest agony. “You’re not coming again until I’m buried inside you.”
He rose from the bed and shed his jeans and boxers in one fluid motion. His cock sprang free, hard and thick, the head already glistening with pre-come.
Naomi’s mouth went dry at the sight of him.
“You want that?” he asked, wrapping his hand around himself and stroking once, twice. “My cock so deep inside you that you feel me in your throat?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “God, yes.”
She watched, transfixed, as he reached for his jeans and pulled out a condom, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. The sight of him rolling it on, his eyes never leaving hers, was the most erotic thing she’d ever seen.
He climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself between her thighs. The blunt head of his cock pressed against her entrance, not pushing in, just resting there.
“We do this, you’re mine,” he said, his voice like gravel. “I will brand myself into your skin. You understand that?”
The possessiveness in his tone should have bothered her.
She wasn’t anyone’s possession, had never belonged to anyone but herself.
But no one had ever wanted her like this, with such raw intensity.
The fox pendant lay cool against her throat, a reminder of his promise to protect her, to come for her no matter what.
“I’m yours,” she whispered, and meant it.
He pushed into her then, one long, slow thrust that filled her completely. The stretch burned in the most delicious way, her body adjusting to his size. When he was fully seated, he paused, giving her time to acclimate.
“You okay?” he asked, a flicker of concern breaking through his dominant facade.
She nodded, unable to form words. He felt perfect inside her, like he was made to fit her body.
He began to move, setting a deliberate pace that had her gasping with each thrust. His strokes were deep and measured, hitting spots inside her that made her vision blur.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, his control slipping. “So tight, so wet for me.”
The praise washed over her, heightening her pleasure. She wrapped her legs around his waist, changing the angle so he drove even deeper.
“Harder,” she demanded, digging her heels into his lower back.
His eyes flashed, and for a moment she thought he might deny her again, might maintain that iron control. Instead, he growled low in his throat and complied, his hips snapping forward, pinning her to the mattresses.
The new pace was relentless, every thrust winding her tighter, the pressure at her core gathering and gathering, the promise of release pulled taut as wire.
“Owen,” she gasped, her nails raking down his back. “I’m close.”
He reached between them, his thumb finding her clit with unerring precision. “Come for me, Fury,” he commanded, circling that sensitive bundle of nerves as he continued to thrust. “Now.”
The permission, combined with the dual stimulation, sent her hurtling over the edge. She came with a cry, her body clenching around him in pulsing waves of pleasure. Stars burst behind her eyelids as the orgasm rolled through her, more intense than anything she’d ever experienced.
He didn’t slow, didn’t stop, driving her through the peak and into a second climax that crashed over her before the first had fully subsided. This time she screamed his name, her body arching off the bed as the pleasure bordered on pain.
Only then did he let go, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release. With a guttural groan, he buried himself deep inside her and came, his body shuddering against hers.
For long moments afterward, they lay tangled together, sweat cooling on their skin, breath gradually slowing. His weight pressed her into the mattress, but she welcomed it, wanted to keep him close, inside her, for as long as possible.
Finally, he shifted, careful not to crush her, and rolled to his side to deal with the condom.
When he returned, his arm immediately snaked around her waist, pulling her against him.
The fox pendant had twisted during their lovemaking, and he reached out to straighten it, his fingers lingering on the silver charm.
“You are extraordinary,” he murmured, his voice soft with something that sounded dangerously close to tenderness.
“That was...” She searched for the right word. Incredible? Mind-blowing? Nothing seemed adequate.
“Not enough,” he finished, his lips brushing her forehead. “Not nearly enough.”
She turned in his arms to face him, studying his face in the dim light.
His usual mask of control had slipped, leaving him open, vulnerable in a way she’d never seen before.
She traced the line of his stubbled jaw with her fingertips, marveling at this man who could be so commanding in bed yet so gentle afterward.
“Owen.” She whispered his name just because she liked the way it felt on her lips.
It was so much better than Ghost, because he wasn’t a ghost. Not when he was holding her like this, warm and solid. He was the most real thing she’d ever touched.
He shuddered and squeezed his eyes closed. “I love my name on your lips.”
She made a vow right then that she would always use it from now on.
He wasn’t Ghost anymore.
She refused to let him be.