Chapter 10 Ghost
GHOST
I NEED TO FUCK HER.
To be inside her.
To feel her body under mine.
My hunger for Geneva is beyond a carnal urge. It’s a need, a desperation that began the second I saw her lying on the floor with blood dripping down her beautiful face. I can’t get that image out of my head no matter how hard I try.
The only thing left to do is soothe the anguish inside. The emotion brought on at the thought of losing her.
I sweep my gaze over Geneva, taking in every slope and curve of her face. Followed by her body. She’s a temptress, a siren who sings a melody that beckons. Whether or not she’s trying to. I’m drawn to her in a way that defies logic. Even my fucked-up version of it.
I fist the sheets, forcing myself to look away. To think of anything else. But it’s useless. She’s all I see. All I feel. Geneva is a gravity I can’t escape, and every second in her presence pulls me down, closer to hell.
Where I belong.
She’s still healing. And yet here I am, watching her like a predator who’s been starved too long, dying to taste her. To consume her.
I grit my teeth as I glance at her again. She’s lying on the bed, her gaze distant as if lost in thought. The faint morning light casts a soft glow around her head, making her look almost ethereal. Untouchable.
The memory of Geneva on the floor flashes in my mind again. The fear that strangled me when I saw Skinner looming over her. The rage that had consumed me at the mere thought of him violating her.
My hands itch to reach for her, to pull her against me and feel the warmth of her body, the proof that she’s still here. That she’s still mine, even if she doesn’t realize it yet.
But the insane part of me knows it’s more than that. It’s not just about her being alive. It’s about possession. I want Geneva in every way.
Until there’s nothing left of her that doesn’t belong to me.
Unable to help myself, I lift my hand to drag my knuckles down her cheek. She flicks her gaze to me, her soft brown eyes locking onto mine, and something tightens in my chest.
“Ghost?” she asks, her voice hesitant, pulling me back to the present. “Are you okay?”
No, I want to say. I’m fucking losing it. But instead, I nod, forcing my expression into something that won’t scare her. “I’m fine,” I lie.
I’m wound tightly, ready to snap, and she’s lying there like a beautiful, unattainable dream.
Geneva continues watching me with a quiet intensity that’s always intrigued me. The way she sees me, really sees me, like she’s desperate to peel back the layers to get to whatever’s underneath.
It’s dangerous, the way she looks at me. Dangerous because it makes me want to let her in. To be vulnerable.
She reaches up, her hand trembling slightly as she brushes her fingers against my scar, following the length of it to my jaw. Her touch sends a jolt through me, and I can’t stop myself. I grab her wrist, pulling her hand away from my face but not letting go.
“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” I say, my voice strained.
“I know exactly what I’m doing.” Although her response is barely above a whisper, her gaze is unflinching.
I tighten my grip before leaning down, my lips hovering inches from hers. “You don’t know. But you’ll find out if you don’t stop.”
Her eyes stay locked on mine, steady and unyielding, while my body is rigid, my control slipping with every second of silence between us. It’s an agonizing effort, every muscle in my body screaming at me to move closer, to take what I want. What I need.
“Ghost?”
Her voice makes my dick hard. I look away, trying to find something else to focus on. The corner of the room, the window, the walls… anything but her. It doesn’t work. Even with my gaze turned away, I can feel her. Smell her.
I shouldn’t have slept naked.
I glance back at Geneva, and the sight of her undoes me. The blanket is draped over her waist, her shoulders bare, her hair falling in soft waves around her face.
Fuck, I want her.
I want her so badly, it’s a physical ache, sharp and insistent.
“I think you need me.” Her brow furrows. “I think you need me in a way that neither of us understand.”
Her words cut through me, twisting into something I don’t know how to process. She has no idea. No idea how far gone I am for her. How much I need her to survive.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I growl, my voice low and rough. “You’re playing with fire, Geneva.”
“Maybe I like the burn.”
That’s the moment I snap.
I close the distance between us in an instant, pressing the length of my body against hers, my hands gripping the edge of the mattress on either side of her head. She gasps, her eyes wide as she looks up at me, but she doesn’t shrink back.
“You think this is a game?” I say, leaning down until my face is inches from hers. “You think you can handle me?”
Her lips part, her breath warm against my skin. “I think you’re the one who’s scared,” she says softly, her voice steady despite the tension crackling between us.
For a moment, I don’t know what to say. She’s right. I am scared. Scared of losing control. Scared of what I might do if I give in.
But fear isn’t enough to stop me.
My hand moves on its own, brushing against her cheek, trailing down to her jaw. “Geneva,” I say, my voice rough, almost pleading. “Tell me to stop.”
She doesn’t. Instead, she tilts her chin up, her lips brushing against mine as she whispers, “I won’t.”
She’s giving me permission, daring me to let go, to take control over her. To use her.
I close my eyes for a moment, trying to steady my breathing, but the scent of her only stokes the lust already raging inside me. When I open my eyes again, her face is still so close, her lips parted, her gaze unwavering. She’s not afraid.
She should be, but she’s not.
“You don’t understand what you’re asking for,” I grit out. “What I want from you… it won’t be gentle.”
Her breath catches, but her eyes stay locked on mine. “Do it.”
The words hit me like a bullet to the chest, and something inside me fractures. My restraint, my logic, my mind—all of it shatters under the weight of her defiance.
I grip the back of her neck, my fingers tangling in her hair as I tilt her head back, forcing her to look at me fully. I slam my lips against hers, hard and desperate, pouring all my frustration, all my need, all my hunger into the kiss.
She gasps against my mouth, her fingers clutching at my shoulders, tugging me closer. That’s all the encouragement I need. I grip her waist with my free hand, then pull her against me, the heat of her body driving me further into madness.
She kisses me back with equal fervor, her movements just as desperate, just as consuming. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Only heat. Only fire. Only us.
I dig my fingers into her skin just enough to leave an impression, a temporary mark despite the forever I want to have. She lets out a soft whimper, and it sends a jolt through me, making me want more. Everything she has to give.
I’m not sure either of us will survive it.
I break the kiss to trail my mouth lower, leaving a hot, wet path across her skin. When I reach her breast, I close my mouth over her nipple, sucking and swirling my tongue. Then, I do the same to the other one.
She reaches up to slide her fingers in my hair before yanking hard, urging me on. A rush of satisfaction fills me. I love the effect I have on her, the way her body responds to my touch, the way she craves more.
I remove her underwear and bring the crotch to my mouth, licking the already damp material. “Care to explain why this is wet, Doc?”
She bites her bottom lip, her eyes sparkling with lust. And a hint of mischief. “No.”
With a grin, I toss her underwear and lean down to thrust a finger inside her, finding her pussy drenched. She arches her back against the mattress, her hips grinding against my hand.
“Look at this greedy cunt,” I whisper in her ear. “This is what you need, right, baby?”
Before she can answer, I thrust two fingers inside her and curl them, hitting the right spot. She cries out, her body clenching around me. When I add another finger, she groans even as her wetness drips down my hand.
I continue pleasuring her, her cries becoming louder, her body shaking. She grips my hair, tugging hard as she rides my hand.
“Please.”
That single word, uttered so softly, unleashes something in me.
A dark, twisted hunger that can only be satisfied by her.
I increase the pace, driving her higher and higher.
Right before she reaches her peak, I slide my fingers from her pussy and wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her close, and lining up my cock.
“Fuck, I hope you’re ready because I can’t wait anymore.”
I drive into her, fast and hard. And so fucking deep. Her eyes fly open, a soft gasp escaping her lips. I can’t take it slow enough to let her adjust to my size. But I’d be a liar if I didn’t say I’m savoring the tight heat of her cunt. Her small grunt of pain because my dick is so big.
I bury my face in the crook of her neck, inhaling her scent as I continue pumping my hips, stretching her. Fucking her. Claiming her.
“Fuck, you feel good,” I rasp, my control fraying. “I’ll never get enough. Never.”
“Ghost,” she moans, the sound half pleasure, half pain. “I can’t take—I can’t—”
“Yes, you can. You’re going to take it all. And you’re going to look at me when you do.”
She watches me as I fuck her harder, faster, our bodies slick with sweat. Her breathing becomes labored, her muscles clenching around me, her cunt milking my cock. She throws her head back, her body tensing as she cries out, her orgasm crashing into her.
“Fuck,” I grit out. “You’re going to kill me.”
The sound of her coming and the feel of her body send me over the edge. I slam into her, filling her, a deep growl rumbling in my chest. My release hits me hard, making my vision blur.
After a few moments, I collapse, my body pressed against hers. I wrap my arms around Geneva, pulling her closer, our bodies still entwined. Our mingled breathing, the only sound in the room.
I bury my face in her neck, inhaling the scent of her skin—sweat, warmth, and something uniquely her.
My body is still trembling, the aftermath of her pulling me under like a riptide.
For a second, I feel weightless, untethered from the chaos that defines me.
There’s no blood on my hands here, no death, no darkness.
Just her.
I tighten my grip around Geneva’s waist, instinctively holding her closer, like she might vanish if I let go. She’s soft beneath me, her body pliant, satiated. But I can feel her heartbeat pounding against my chest, erratic and alive. So alive.
That’s when it hits me. This feeling isn’t just lust or possession. It’s something more. It’s daunting and enigmatic, like staring into an abyss.
I don’t know what love is supposed to feel like. I don’t know if I’m even capable of it. But this? This is the closest I’ve ever been. And will ever be.
“You are mine,” I murmur.
The words are not a promise. They’re a statement, an unshakable truth I’ve never felt more certain of.
She slides her hands up my back, her nails tracing over the ridges of my muscles. Her touch is soothing, and I press my lips against her neck, savoring the warmth of her.
“Do you know what you do to me?” I whisper against her skin. “What you make me feel?”
“Tell me.”
I lift my head, meeting her gaze, and for a moment, the words catch in my throat. How can I explain this to her? How can I make her understand that this quiet she’s given me, this peace, is something I’ve never known? That it terrifies me as much as it consumes me?
“You make me feel… human,” I say finally, the words foreign on my tongue. “And I don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.”
Her lips curve into a faint smile, and she reaches up, brushing her fingers against my jaw. “It’s a good thing, Ghost.”
I want to believe her. God, I want to believe her. But part of me knows better. The part of me that’s been shaped by violence and survival, by the knowledge that softness is a liability. And yet here I am, clinging to her like I’ll die without her.
“I’ve never…” My voice falters, and I shake my head, frustration gathering under the surface. “I’ve never felt this way before. And I need you to know that. To accept it.”
Her smile fades, replaced by something I can’t decipher. “It goes against everything I’ve seen and learned,” she says, her voice gentle, “but for you, I’ll try.”
Geneva’s response slightly eases the constriction around my heart.
I scrutinize her face, each subtle shift in expression revealing layers of unspoken depth.
There’s a haunting promise in the openness of her eyes, a vow to delve into the dark chasm of what I’m feeling.
Our relationship is a fragile dance, a delicate entanglement where violence has met the softness of love. At least on my end.
And that’s the problem. Geneva doesn’t love me. Yet.
But she will… even if it takes me the rest of our lives to make her.
Meanwhile, the very thought of losing Geneva, of seeing her hurt again, is unbearable. But the possibility of her walking away? Of her choosing a life without me? That would destroy me in ways I can’t even begin to fathom.
Which is why I’ll never allow her to leave.
As if sensing my inner turmoil, Geneva trails her fingers over my cheek, her touch soft, her eyes searching mine. “Ghost,” she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. “Everything will be okay.”
“You don’t understand. You’re the one person I can’t lose.”
She doesn’t respond right away, and the silence stretches between us. But then she reaches up, cupping my face in her hands, forcing me to look at her. “You won’t lose me,” she says firmly, her gaze unwavering. “And you won’t break me.”
I’ve seen strength before, but Geneva’s is different. It’s quiet and unyielding, the kind that doesn’t demand attention but refuses to be ignored.
I press my forehead against hers, my breathing still uneven, and close my eyes. I’m still inside her, filling her, yet I can’t shake the hold she has over me.
“You’re going to ruin me,” I whisper.
“Maybe,” she murmurs, “but maybe I’ll save you too.”
I don’t respond. Because as much as I want to believe her, as much as I want to hold on to the peace she gives me, I know what I am. And psychopaths like me can’t be saved.
But as I hold Geneva in my arms, her body warm and soft against mine, I let myself believe it.
Just for a moment.