Chapter Twenty #2
Before I have the chance to talk myself out of it, my hand finds the front of his shirt, fingers curling into the soft cotton beneath my palm.
I feel the warmth of him through the fabric, solid and real, and the simple fact that he’s standing here, that he’s safe, steals whatever words I thought I had left.
He doesn’t hesitate. The space between us disappears so naturally it almost feels as though we’d both been leaning toward it this entire time.
His mouth finds mine, and every ounce of restraint we’d been clinging to disappears in an instant. There is nothing careful about this kiss, nothing tentative. The kiss is equal parts relief, frustration, and every conversation we’d swallowed instead of having.
My fingers tighten in his shirt as he cups my face, and the second his thumb brushes my cheek, I realize he’s wiping away tears I hadn’t even noticed were still falling.
A broken sound escapes me. Whether it’s a laugh or a sob, I can’t tell you.
Maybe it’s both.
He kisses me again, slower this time, his forehead resting briefly against mine as though he needs the reminder that I’m here, real, and standing in front of him instead of becoming another photograph on somebody else’s damn phone.
His hands slide to my waist, and I kiss him harder. He answers immediately, backing me a few steps to the edge of the table until my hips bump against the timber. The dull thud echoes through the apartment, but neither of us pays it any attention.
His hands hold me with just enough pressure that I can still feel the argument living between us, not in anger anymore, but in the desperate need to make sure the other one is really here.
His mouth leaves mine, trailing across my cheek before finding the curve of my jaw.
The breath I draw in shudders all the way through me.
A low sound vibrates in his chest against my skin, somewhere between my name and a groan, and I close my eyes, my fingers sliding into the hair at the back of his neck. “Say it,” I whisper, my lips brushing his temple. “Whatever you’re still holding onto.”
He goes still for a heartbeat, then he exhales against my skin. “I don’t want to lose you to your own stubbornness.”
A watery laugh escapes me before I can stop it, equal parts relief and disbelief. “You picked a terrible woman to fall for.”
The corner of his mouth brushes my throat. “Tell me about it.”
I smile despite the tears still clinging to my lashes, my forehead falling against his. “So you are falling for me?” I tease.
He pulls back, his eyes searching mine, his fingers still gently caressing the side of my face. “I have been since the first time you obnoxiously sat down at my desk and wouldn’t leave me alone.”
A stifled laugh slips out of me. “It was the jerky, wasn’t it?”
He smiles. This time it lights up his face completely, and it steals the breath right out of me. “Shut up and kiss me, woman.”
I don’t have the chance to answer. His hand slides around the back of my neck, and he’s kissing me before another word can exist between us. Hard and hungry, like every second we’ve spent pretending this wasn’t happening has finally come due.
I kiss him back just as desperately, my fingers curling into his shirt, holding on as everything inside me gives way. The fear, anger, the ache of almost losing whatever this is before we’d even let ourselves admit it.
We stumble back into the coffee table, and he grips my hip to steady me before it can knock into the back of my knees.
“Watch the table,” he mutters against my mouth.
“You watch the table!”
He huffs a laugh and turns us instead, walking me back toward the sofa.
His hands find the hem of my shirt, dragging it up slowly this time despite everything else about him being anything but slow right now.
And when it’s gone, he looks at me for a second, chest rising and falling hard, like he’s reassessing.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” His hand comes up, tracing along my collarbone, down over the curve of my breast, unhurried despite the storm sitting behind his eyes. “Just looking.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Not at all, you’re too fucking beautiful for the likes of me.” His mouth follows where his hand just was, kissing along my collarbone, down over the swell of my breast, taking his time with it now, even though I can feel how hard he is against my hip, how badly he wants to stop taking his time.
I drag my fingers through his hair, and he groans low against my skin.
He backs me down onto the arm of the sofa, and I go, dragging him with me, but the angle is uncomfortable, my elbow catching a throw cushion and sending it clean off onto the floor.
Neither of us stops for it.
His mouth moves lower, over my stomach, until he drops to his knees in front of me. His fingers catch the waistband of my sleep shorts and slowly drag them down, but his eyes never leave mine. The question is right there in his gaze, silent but clear, even though we both already know my answer.
He kisses the inside of my knee first. Then higher, along my thigh, and I feel my body go tight with anticipation, my fingers curling into the sofa cushion beside me.
“Ghost.”
“Mm…” He doesn’t hurry. He presses another kiss higher, closer, and I feel his breath warm against my skin, and just when I think he’s finally going to give me what I want, he pulls back, dragging his mouth along my other thigh instead.
“Stop doing that!”
His head snaps up like I just poured acid on him. “What?”
“You’re taking forever. Stop doing that!”
He chuckles. “I’m just being thorough.” I can hear the smirk in his voice even though I can’t see his face from this angle, as he slides my panties down my legs and then his mouth finally finds where I desperately need him.
That’s when every complaint I had dies somewhere in my throat, turning into a low, broken sound instead. “Oh, fuck, yes!”
His tongue finds my clit, and he works me slow at first, patient, learning exactly what makes my hips jerk, my breath catch, and I fist a hand in his hair, not pulling him away, just holding on because I need something to hold on to.
He doesn’t let up. My back arches off the sofa, my other hand fisting the cushion, his tongue circling relentlessly.
I whimper as goose bumps pebble across my skin.
Heat flushes through my body as I begin to tremble, and just when the pressure builds tight enough that I can feel it winding toward breaking, he pulls back, pressing one last kiss to my hip and stands, dragging his shirt off over his head in one rough motion.
“That’s cruel,” I gasp.
“I have plans.” His voice has lost most of its patience now. He grips my thigh and hauls me forward off the sofa entirely, and we end up on the rug in front of it, knocking one of the sofa cushions down with us.
He shifts back long enough to look at me, just for a moment, something fierce and unguarded on his face. “Say you’re mine,” he growls, pulling off the remainder of his clothes.
“I’m already yours. Took you long enough to catch up.”
“Say it again.”
“I’m yours, Ghost,” I murmur, and drag him back down by the back of his neck.
He lines the tip of his cock up with my pussy, his eyes locking with mine.
For a second, we stare at each other. Months of tension and me sitting patiently at his desk while he ignored me have all been boiling to this moment.
Then, without warning, he thrusts into me in one hard, deep stroke, and my entire body arches up off the rug to meet him.
My nails find his back on instinct, dragging down hard enough that he hisses against my throat, and I feel the sting of it echo something in me, sharp and satisfying.
“Fuck,” he grits out, dropping his forehead against my shoulder, and drives in again, just as hard, punishing this time, no restraint left in it anywhere.
My elbow flails out to brace against the rug and catches the leg of the coffee table instead.
Something on top of it rattles, and a coaster or the remote—I can’t tell which—skitters off the edge and thuds onto the hardwood beside us.
Neither of us so much as glances at it. I’m too busy dragging my nails back up his spine, meeting the next hard drive of his hips with one of my own, and he’s too busy with his mouth at my throat, groaning my name against my skin like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
“Jesus!” His voice is wrecked against my ear.
I laugh breathlessly. “What?”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his forehead still resting against mine. “This would’ve been a hell of a lot easier if you’d just listened to me.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve been flirting with you for months,” he says, thrusting deeper into me.
I actually bark out a laugh. “Ghost…”
His expression never changes. “Apparently I’m terrible at it.”
I cup his face, still laughing. “You brought me flowers.”
“Mm…” He thrusts again, causing me to moan.