Chapter 11 Ghost
Ghost
She’s so tight, a hot, silken fist clenching around my cock, and for a second, I see stars behind my eyelids.
She starts with shallow, tentative thrusts, her body learning the rhythm of mine.
Her panting breaths are the only music in the room, a sweet, desperate symphony.
A fine sheen of sweat glistens on her skin, and I watch, utterly captivated, as a single bead traces a path from her throat down between her breasts.
I can’t resist. I lean in, capturing one pebbled peak with my mouth, sucking her deep, lapping her with my tongue.
She cries out, her back arching, offering herself more fully.
It’s a distraction, a way to drown the sting of this first joining in a wave of pure pleasure, and it works.
I feel her inner walls flutter and then tighten around me, a reflexive, delicious grip.
“God, Eliza… you’re taking me so well,” I grit out, the words ragged. My control is a fraying thread. “Just a little more, take all of me.”
She sucks in a sharp, shuddering breath, her nails digging into my shoulders.
Then, with a final, determined roll of her hips, she sinks the rest of the way down, settling fully onto my lap.
A full-body tremble wracks her, and her walls begin to flutter wildly around me, a frantic pulse pressing against my walls.
I still, letting her adjust, my own body screaming to move.
“We can stop,” I force myself to say, brushing the damp hair from her forehead. “If it’s too much, we stop. The hard part is over now.”
For her, anyway. Now that I’ve discovered what her pussy is like, I’m never going to want to let her off my thighs.
“Give me a little credit.” Pulling back, her eyes pinch close. “I’m stronger than you think.”
Proving herself with another roll of her hips, I’m the one fighting not to come right there. Ready to empty myself with the slightest friction, I can only cling to her hips as she gains momentum.
Her rhythm starts as a shy, rocking motion, a learning of angles and depths. But with each passing second, her confidence grows. Her eyes open, locking with mine, and in their blue depths, I see a reflection of my own awe and desperate need.
She finds a rhythm, rising until I am almost completely out of her, the cool air a shock against my wet skin, before sinking back down in a smooth, glorious slide that steals my breath.
“Fuck,” I rasp, my head falling back as I give her the reins.
Her panting fills the small space between us, quick, soft gasps that sync with the motion of her body.
The sight of her above me is burned into my mind forever—her chin tilted up, her blonde hair cascading down her back, her breasts swaying with her movements.
She is a goddess of pleasure, taking what she needs from me, and I am her willing sacrifice.
I can feel the tension coiling tight in her belly, her movements becoming more frantic, less controlled. I know she’s close. My thumb finds the swollen, sensitive bud of her clit, slick with her own arousal, and circles it with a firm, steady pressure.
Her back arches sharply, a broken cry tearing from her throat. “Oh…”
“That’s it, Eliza,” I grit out, my own control fraying at the edges as I feel her inner walls begin to ripple and clench around me in earnest. “Just a little more. Come for me. Let go.”
Her next climax crashes over her, a powerful, shuddering wave that makes her entire body convulse. Her head falls back, her cries unrestrained as her pussy milks me, the intense, rhythmic squeezing pushing me past my limit.
With a guttural groan, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her down hard onto me, burying myself to the hilt as my own release erupts. I pump my seed deep into her welcoming heat, my thighs twitching and jerking beneath hers.
For a long moment, we stay like that, locked together, our bodies slick with sweat, our breaths sawing in and out in ragged unison.
I can feel the frantic hammering of her heart against my chest, a wild echo of my own.
Slowly, carefully, I roll us onto our sides, never letting her slip from the haven of my arms. I press a kiss to her damp forehead, my lips lingering against her skin.
“Ghost…” Whispering my name, she tilts back to look at me. “Even if we have to stay on this mountain for an eternity, I’d be okay with it if you were there with me.”
Her voice wobbles with the uncertainty of the future. Ripper’s findings must be resting in her thoughts, too, but she has to know that she doesn’t need to be concerned about herself anymore. She has me.
There’s only one thing that comes to mind to help reassure her.
Nuzzling her close, I inhale the distant scent of soap from her hair.
“Marry me, Eliza. Don’t just wear my cut.
Let me put a ring on your finger that’s worthy of the hand that holds mine.
Take my last name. Let it be your shield, your fresh start.
” I hold her tighter. “I don’t care if it’s crazy.
I don’t care if it’s impulsive. Say yes. ”
I am offering her a piece of me I’ve spent years trying to forget, because she is the only one who has ever made me want to remember.
A soft, sharp gasp is muffled against my chest. She tries to wiggle back, to see my face, but I can’t let her go. Not now, when I feel more exposed than I have in years, my soul raw and offered up in my hands.
Her answer is a choked, breathless sound.
“Yes,” she wheezes, giggling when I roll her back on top of me. Needing all the contact I can get, I pull her into the start of an endless amount of kisses to start something new together.
* * *
Epilogue
The usual club ruckus is what wakes us—the thud of a bass guitar being tested downstairs, followed by a roar of laughter and the clatter of a toolbox hitting the concrete floor.
It’s barely past noon. I crack an eye open, the sunlight slicing through a gap in the curtains.
Eliza stirs against my chest, her hand fisting in my shirt with a soft, disgruntled murmur.
“The guys are here,” she mumbles into my skin, her voice thick with sleep.
“Sounds like it,” I rasp, my own voice rough. I press a kiss into her hair, the familiar scent of her shampoo—something with vanilla—filling my senses. It’s our sanctuary, this room, but the club is a living, breathing entity that doesn’t respect walls. Especially not today.
Her birthday. Twenty-five years old now.
I slide out from the tangle of sheets and her limbs, the cool air a shock against my skin.
She makes a small sound of protest, burrowing deeper into the warmth I left behind.
I let my gaze linger for a long moment—the spill of blonde hair across my pillow, the smooth line of her shoulder, the way my old t-shirt swims on her frame.
Three years since I brought her here, terrified and defiant, and the sight of her in my space still hits me with the force of a physical blow.
The duffel bag is already half-packed in the closet. I finish the job, folding a barely used swimsuit I know she loves beside my own jeans and a couple of clean shirts. The simple, domestic act of packing for her still feels novel, a privilege I’ll never take for granted.
“Come on, El,” I say, my voice softer now. I sit on the edge of the bed and run a hand down her arm. “Time to get up. We’ve got a reservation.”
She rolls onto her back, blinking blearily up at me. “Reservation? What did you do?”
“A surprise. Now move, or we’ll never get out of here.” Giving her a cocky grin, I jerk my chin to get her going, already offering up her cut with my name patched on.
The moment we step out of our room, the bombardment begins. The hallway is a river of prospects and patch-holders, and Eliza is the sun they all orbit as they each wish her the same happy birthday over and over.
She laughs, waving, her sleepiness replaced by a bright, flustered joy. Stacks intercepts us at the opening of one of the open doors filled with the scent of old paper, a ledger in his hand, and a familiar, focused look in his eyes.
“Ghost, you got a sec? I need you to look into—”
“Can it wait?” I cut him off, my hand finding the small of Eliza’s back. “I’ve got to get my girl to her special place.”
Stacks’s serious expression cracks into a knowing grin. He snaps the ledger shut. “Wouldn’t want to get in the way of that. Go on. Happy Birthday, trouble.” He winks at Eliza, who just shakes her head, smiling.
We push through the double doors into the main bar. It’s a little calmer here; the daytime crowd is a different breed.
Penelope is behind the bar, but she’s not pouring drinks. She’s deep in conversation with Judge, hugging a bottle of whiskey to her chest like a teddy bear instead of serving it. Judge is listening, his usual scowl softened into something resembling patience.
On the other end of the bar, Raven is scowling at Jinx, jabbing a finger into his chest as she scolds him for what looks like a dent in one of the beer taps.
“—and if you think for one second you’re not paying for that, you’ve got another thing coming, you walking disaster!” Raven’s voice carries. “How many times have I told you not to self-serve?”
Jinx just grins, watching her with amusement, just letting her rage on like it’s the best view in the bar, almost like he enjoys causing trouble.
Eliza squeezes my hand, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter. We weave through the tables, more birthday wishes trailing in our wake, until we finally burst out into the cool afternoon air.
Reaching my bike, I unhook her helmet from the handlebars. She turns to me, her eyes full of a light that still, sometimes, feels too good to be meant for me.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going yet?” she asks, her voice hopeful.
“Nope.” I place the helmet on her head, my fingers gently buckling the strap under her chin. I let my thumb stroke her jawline once before pulling my own helmet on, the world narrowing to the familiar, enclosed space.
I kick the bike to life, the engine roaring to life beneath us. She climbs on behind me, her arms immediately wrapping around my waist, her body molding to my back.
We settle onto the road, the wind whipping past as we leave the compound behind. I take the exit toward Lincoln Heights as soon as I hit the main road.
“So, a fancy birthday dinner?” she asks, her voice a vibration against my spine.
I hum, as if in deep consideration. “Even better.”
“Better than dinner?” Her gasp is swallowed up by the wind flowing past us.
“Hotel room for the night. Just us.” Meaning—No usual club noise, no brothers knocking on the door and interrupting us just before I’m about to hit my limit. “Great room service. A pool, too, I’m told.”
Her gasp is sharp and perfect, muffled by my jacket and the helmet, but I feel it—a quick, joyous intake of breath that makes my chest swell. Her arms tighten around me. “Really?”
“Really.”
We merge onto the highway, the engine opening up, the world blurring into a stream of color and sound.
Her hug is a constant, steady pressure, her cheek pressed firmly between my shoulder blades.
The roar of the engine, the vibration of the road, the weight of her trust and her love—it all merges into a single, undeniable truth.
This is it. I’ve hit the lottery with this one, and it sure isn’t anything I’d trade in for the world.