Chapter Twenty #3
I meet his thrusts with my own, my breathing quickening as he works me up. “You learned sign language for my sister.”
“Mm…” he groans, his breathing increasing now too.
“You kept turning up everywhere I was.”
One corner of his mouth finally twitches. “See?”
I shake my head. “I genuinely thought you were just being… well, you.”
“I was,” he grumbles. “Dammit, you feel so fucking good.”
I smile as a wave of pleasure rolls through me. “Ghost, normal people don’t call that flirting.”
He leans in, pressing his lips to mine briefly before pulling back. “Seemed efficient.”
I laugh so hard I have to hide my face against his shoulder.
His hand slides up my back, holding me closer. “So…”
I look back at him. “Did you ever plan on telling me?”
He thrusts inside me again, the pleasure rolling through me, making my head roll back, my eyes closing with the rush coursing through me. “I think this is telling you good enough.”
“Mm,” I mimic him as it is all I can manage, my fingers tugging at his hair.
The rug burns against my back with every hard drive of his hips, and I don’t care, arching up into him instead, meeting him thrust for thrust. “Harder,” I gasp, and he groans as though the word cost him something, but obliging without hesitation.
One hand is braced flat against the floor beside my head, the other locked tight around my hip, his shoulder shoving the coffee table another inch across the rug with the force of it.
“Say my name,” he growls.
“Ghost,” I whimper.
“Again!”
“Gho-ost.” It breaks apart entirely this time, his name dissolving into a moan as everything in me pulls taut…
tighter, tighter, until there’s nowhere left for it to go, and it finally shatters.
My entire body locks around him, my back arching hard off the rug, fingers digging into his shoulders as flashes of white light explode behind my eyes.
My body ignites in a rush of heat, and I can’t control the shakes as they roll through me.
“Holy hell,” I whimper as the climax explodes through my body like a tsunami, each wave more intense than the last, leaving me shaking underneath him.
“Fuck, Sage!” His body jerks, his rhythm stalling as he follows hard on my heels, his hips driving deep one final time before he moans against my throat, then another groan tangled out loud between a half curse and half prayer.
His body goes taut over mine, his forehead dropping as a shudder rolls through him.
His fingers tighten in my hair, and despite everything, I can’t stop the smile tugging at my mouth.
For a long moment neither of us moves. His weight settles heavy and warm over me, both of us breathing hard, chests heaving against each other, and I feel his heart slamming just as fast as mine, both of us caught in that strange, suspended quiet that follows something that intense.
Eventually, he lifts his head just enough to look at me, and whatever he sees on my face makes something in his expression soften, all that raw hunger from a few minutes ago giving way to something gentler.
He brushes a damp strand of hair off my forehead, and I turn my face into his palm without thinking about it.
We stay right here on the living room floor, sweat-slicked and spent, tangled together, the coffee table shoved crooked beside us and a cushion flattened somewhere under my shoulder.
The rug is rough against my back, and somewhere off to the side, the remote is still sitting where it landed, and neither of us cares.
He eventually shifts his weight off me, but only enough to pull me into his side instead, one arm banded around my waist to keep me close.
Neither of us is willing to move even when the ache in my back starts complaining about the hardwood underneath the rug.
His fingers trace slow, absent patterns along my spine, and I listen to his heartbeat gradually settling under my ear, and for a while neither of us says anything at all, because there isn’t anything that needs saying.
The apartment falls quiet. Outside, life keeps moving as if nothing monumental has happened. Inside, I’m lying half on top of the most emotionally constipated man I’ve ever met.
Turns out he talks just fine.
He simply prefers actions over words.
Funny, so do I.
Ghost brushes one last kiss across my forehead before his eyes find mine again, softer now than I’ve ever seen them. “Jesus Christ,” he says softly, the corner of his mouth lifting.
A laugh bubbles out of me, warm and completely unguarded. “He’s not here right now. At least I hope he didn’t just witness that.”
Ghost’s fingers trail lightly up and down my arm as he places another tender kiss to my head. “I’ve wanted to do that for a really long-fucking-time.”
“Kiss my head?”
His smile grows, slow and unmistakably Ghost. “Baby…” He shakes his head. “Not even close.”
Heat blooms across my cheeks knowing he means the complete and utter fucking we just did on my apartment floor, and I pull him back down before he can say another word, laughing as I slam his lips to mine.
And the rest of the world quietly slips away.