25. Julia #3
I close the fitting room door behind me and start to strip.
My fingers shake as I undress and start putting on the thong and bra I picked, my back turned toward the mirror.
I don’t want to see anything until I’m fully clothed, but then I snort inwardly because that’s the last thing I’ll be in this.
The doors open at the same time I adjust the bra.
I don’t need to look up to see that it’s him.
His scent hits me first. That maddening cologne that stays in the atmosphere of my house long after he’s gone.
Suddenly the rather sizable fitting room feels small and the air thick enough for me to struggle for a normal breath.
Ghost is standing in front of me, all six-foot-something of him, in his black jeans, black hoodie and same coloured helmet with a tinted visor that prevents me from even seeing his amber eyes.
He fills the tiny space like he belongs in it, like the store and the mirrors and the lock on the door were never going to keep him out.
My heart slams so hard I feel it in my throat.
“You came,” I whisper.
He doesn’t take the helmet off. Just mimics with his gloved finger that I need to be quiet. I can literally feel his eyes raking over my exposed body as he takes me in. And as he does, he takes the glove off his left hand. When he speaks, his voice is low and rough through it.
“Show me.”
I swallow and take a small step back, then turn so that I’m facing the mirror now.
I watch his reaction in the mirror, and even despite the thick material of his hoodie, I can see his chest rise and fall.
Good. Because my own breathing is just as deep and erratic.
And then he steps in close. So close that his torso is touching my back and the contrast of then cotton fabric on my naked skin breaks in gooseflesh.
The gloved hand traces the strap at my shoulder, then lower, over the curve of my breast, like he’s checking if the fit is perfect.
“Good girl.” The muffled words coming through the helmet hit me harder than they should.
I watch his movements in the mirror. I can also see myself flushed and shaking.
The dark shape of him behind me, anonymous, already hard against my ass — the sight literally takes my breath away.
Because even though this time I can’t see his eyes, I know his mind. And didn’t come in here just to look.
My entire body is wound up so tight that, when he finally speaks, it takes all I have not to let out a moan. “Hands on the glass.”
I do. Instantly. Before I have any time to brace myself for what he’ll do next, I feel his fingers pushing between my inner thighs.
He shoves the thin fabric of the thong aside and pushes two fingers into me without warning.
I gasp, forehead dropping toward the mirror at the same time he makes a quiet sound like he’s been waiting all week for this.
“Look at yourself,” he says. “Look how sinfully beautiful and mine you look.”
His fingers start working me fast and deep, his gloved hand at my hip, holding me still while people walk past outside the door like none of this is happening.
I’m already dripping. Already close. Already ruined by the fact that his eyes are constantly on me and deep down I knew he would come here.
Because there is nowhere I can be that he doesn’t have his eyes on me.
A brief flash of Kai’s face flashes before my eyes.
Not the stoic, controlled look, but for some reason, the look on his face from weeks ago when I dissociated after we talked about my mother for the first time.
Then another flash of how slowly he set aside his notepad and how his long, thick fingers gripped the armrest of his chair.
Then the way his jaw ticked and his eyes flashed with worry and I can feel my orgasm curling low in my belly.
“Please…” the sound that leaves my throat resembles a meowl.
“Not yet.” Ghost hisses and pulls his fingers out so fast that I whimper.
I hear the sound of him undoing his jeans, and in the next breath he’s pushing into me in one slow, claiming thrust as if he knew that he’s not the only one in this fucking fitting room right now.
I cry out and he covers my mouth with his hand, wet from me, his body crowding mine against the mirror.
“Quiet, little ember,” he murmurs against the side of my helmet-shadowed face, then shoves his fingers inside my mouth so I can taste myself on them. “You don’t get to be loud until I say.”
And then he fucks me like that. Controlled. Deep. One hand over my mouth, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise.
Every time I try to close my eyes he taps the glass. “No. Watch.”
I do. God help me, I watch myself take him.
I watch the way my mouth opens under his palm and bites on his fingers.
I watch the dark figure behind me use me like he already owns every secret I have.
Because he does. He knows every move I make, every routine of mine.
Kai may know my past, but there’s not a single thing in my present that Ghost is not aware of.
Even my deepest, deprived thoughts because he somehow pulls them out of me every single time he enters my house.
And that kind of intimacy should scare me.
Only it doesn’t. It leaves me wanting more.
Craving more. Yearning to be consumed by him so wholly that no amount of therapy will ever change my way of thinking. Not even Kai.
Another picture of his face appears in the back of my mind and I’m falling right of the edge in the same moment as Ghost growls through his helmet.
“Come. Now.”
I shatter around him, shaking so hard my knees give out, whimpering under his palm. He holds me up through it, still buried inside me, still fully dressed, still faceless. When he finally stills, he pulls out of me, zips back his pants and slaps my ass lightly.
“Leave it on when you go home, little ember,” he says. “I want to see it again tonight.”
For several seconds after the door closes behind him, I remain exactly where he left me with both hands braced against the mirror, trying to get my breathing quiet enough that nobody outside starts wondering whether the fitting rooms require medical assistance.
My reflection looks thoroughly incriminating.
Flushed cheeks, hair no longer sitting the way it did when I came in, black lace covering considerably less of me than anything has a right to at this price point, and an expression I am going to need several minutes to rearrange before facing another human being.
I dress slowly, leaving the lingerie on exactly as he told me to while my work clothes settle back over it with an almost absurd normality.
Nobody looking at me will know what is underneath, which should feel reassuring but instead makes another pulse of anticipation move through me when I remember the last thing he said.
I want to see it again tonight.
I step out of the fitting room, the saleswoman is behind the counter again, arranging tissue paper as though nothing remotely unusual has happened in her store. I carry the empty hangers and tags toward her, reaching for my wallet once I get there.
“I’m keeping these.”
Her eyes flick briefly toward the items before she smiles. “I know.”
Something about the answer makes my hand stop inside my bag.
Okay. Slightly ominous.
Her smile becomes more knowing, though thankfully not knowing enough to suggest she has any idea what happened twenty feet away from her. “You don’t need your card.”
I stare at her. “What?”
“The set has already been paid for.”
My fingers slowly leave my wallet. “I haven’t even told you which one I chose.”
“No, but the gentleman who arranged your visit left instructions that whatever you selected was to be charged to him.”
For a moment, all I can do is stand there while another warm shiver moves slowly down my spine. Of course he did.