Chapter 32 Ghost
GHOST
I WATCH GENEVA.
The way her chest rises and falls in slow, controlled breaths. The way the blood on her hands glistens under the dim warehouse light. The way she stares down at Carter’s lifeless body, not in horror or regret but in satisfaction.
She was always meant to get here. With a little help from me, of course.
I step closer, tilting my head. “Like you want to do it again?” I repeat.
She turns to me with a nod, and fuck, there it is. That hunger. That realization that she’s crossed the threshold and there’s no going back. Some people kill and break apart, fracture under the weight of it.
Not Geneva.
She’s steady. Cold. Controlled. And it’s beautiful.
I drag my gaze over the trail of blood high on her cheekbone and the bright smear on her fingers. “You did well, Doc.”
Her lips part slightly, like she wants to respond, but she doesn’t. She’s still processing. Still absorbing the shift inside her, the power of knowing she was capable of this all along.
I step into her space and reach out to wipe the blood from her cheek. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans into my touch.
I grin. “And here I was thinking I’d have to ease you into it.”
She exhales, long and slow, and I catch the way her fingers tighten around the knife. She’s still high on the kill. The first one always lingers, always carves its place inside you. But she’s not eroding.
Geneva’s evolving.
I nod toward Carter’s body. “That was a clean kill.” I tap my knuckles lightly under her chin, making her meet my gaze. “With the next one, we’ll take our time.”
She remains quiet while watching me, her eyes dark and endless with a flicker of something dangerous playing at the edges of her lips. And then she nods. My blood heats and my dick hardens.
“Come on, Doc.” My voice drops lower. “We’ve got a Planner to find.”
My brain urges me to get her out of here. It’s not wise to linger at the scene of a crime, no matter how secure I’ve made it. Meanwhile, my dick is on a different wavelength entirely.
Geneva stands in front of me, breathing hard, her fingers still tight around the knife. She hasn’t moved from where she killed Carter. I can see it in the way her pupils are blown wide, in the slow rise and fall of her chest, that she’s still in the moment.
And so am I.
I rake a hand through my hair, forcing myself to take a step back. I should be thinking about the next move, about getting rid of the body, about hunting down André Bisset.
But all I can fucking think about is her.
The blood on her skin. The way her lips part slightly, the way her pulse hammers against her throat. She’s never looked more alive…
Never looked more mine.
I could take her right now. I know she’d let me. Hell, she’d probably beg for it. And fuck, I want to. I want to pin her against the nearest surface, want to feel her gasp my name with that same reckless abandon she had when she drove that knife into Carter’s body.
But I can’t.
Not here.
I flex my fingers, trying to shake off the heat licking at my spine. If I touch her now, I won’t stop. There’s something primal in the way she’s looking at me—like she’s waiting to see what I’ll do next. Like she’s daring me to lose control.
I drag in a slow breath, my voice coming out tight. “We need to go.”
Geneva blinks up at me, her eyes wide, lips parted like she’s about to argue. But she doesn’t. I’m surprised when she swallows hard and nods again.
Taking her acquiescence as a cue, I force myself into motion. First, I gently pry the knife from her fingers. Then I grab the edge of my hoodie and reach for her hand. She lets me, but I feel the shiver that runs through her at the contact.
I bite back a groan. Touching her is a fucking mistake.
I swipe the blood from her palm, watching as it smears across her skin. Jesus Christ, I’m going to lose my mind.
Her breath catches. “Ghost—”
“Not here,” I grit out. “He doesn’t deserve to look at you like that, even in death.”
She exhales, and her gaze flickers with an emotion that’s somewhere between understanding and disappointment. She wants this too. She feels it just as much as I do, but she agrees anyway.
I take one last look at her, burning this image into my brain before I grab her wrist and drag her toward the door. Because if we don’t leave right now, I will fuck her against the nearest wall, Carter’s corpse be damned.
She does something so small, so innocent, that it shouldn’t undo me. Shouldn’t snap the last fragile thread of my restraint. But it does.
Geneva sighs. Just a tiny breath, wistful and trembling.
That’s it.
That’s all it takes.
Before I can stop myself, I yank her toward me, twisting her around and shoving her back against the nearest wooden crate. The impact knocks a soft gasp from her lips, but she doesn’t protest or push me away.
I cage her in, slamming my palms against the surface on either side of her head, forcing her to stay exactly where I need her. Where I can have her.
“Ghost,” she breathes, her voice barely more than a whisper.
I don’t give her a chance to say anything else. I crash my mouth against hers, swallowing whatever words she might have spoken. She tastes like fire and blood and something so fucking sweet I can’t think straight anymore.
She moans into the kiss, her hands flying up, gripping my shirt, my arms, my shoulders—anything she can hold on to. I reach down, gripping her thigh and yanking it up against my hip. I need her closer. Need her all over me.
The crate groans under our weight as I press into her, hard enough that she’ll feel me. Hard enough that she knows what she does to me.
I break the kiss just long enough to drag my lips down the column of her throat, biting at the skin, sucking hard. I want to leave marks. I want her to look in the mirror and remember this moment. Remember that she’s mine.
Her breath is ragged, her body pliant beneath my touch. She was made for me. I’ve never been more certain of anything.
“Ghost,” she gasps, gripping my hair, tugging just enough to make me lift my head. Her eyes are wild, her lips swollen. She looks fucking wrecked, and I want to ruin her more.
Her breathing is uneven, her chest rising and falling against mine. Her grip tightens in my hair, not pulling me away, but holding me there, like she can’t decide if she wants to stop me or demand more.
I drag my hands down her sides, over the curve of her waist, the swell of her hips, memorizing the way she feels beneath my touch. She’s soft, warm, and perfect.
My fingers slip beneath the hem of her dress, tracing fire along her bare skin. She shudders, sucking in a breath as I splay my palm against her thigh, dragging it higher, pressing her even tighter against me.
“Say it,” I rasp against her throat.
She trembles, her nails biting into my shoulders. “Say what?”
“That you want this.”
Her lips part, hesitation flickering in her expression, but it isn’t fear. It’s awareness. Of how far we’ve already fallen.
She trails her fingers down the side of my face, soft, almost tender. “I want this. I want you.”
I’m done for.
I kiss her again, harder, deeper, pouring everything I have into it.
My hands tremble with anticipation when I grip her waist, lifting her onto the crate and spreading her thighs to make room for me between them.
Her dress rides higher, baring more skin, teasing me with just how easy it would be to take her right here, to sink into her, to finally have what I’ve been craving since the moment she looked at me with blood on her face and hands.
I slide my fingers up her thigh, teasing the edge of her underwear and feeling the heat radiating from her. She’s responsive to me. Ready for me.
“Geneva.” I press my forehead against hers, forcing myself to breathe. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
“Don’t stop.”
I grip her thighs, dragging her closer, grinding against her, letting her feel exactly how much I need her.
She moans, tilting her head back, surrendering to me.
I dip my hand between us, slipping beneath the fabric of her underwear, finding her already slick and hot.
She gasps, her head falling against the crate as I caress her.
“Ghost,” she breathes, her voice breaking, her nails digging into my arms.
I smirk against her skin, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat. “That’s right. Say my name.”
Her moans are breathless, each one carving itself into my fucking soul. I circle my thumb over her clit, savoring the way she shudders beneath me. Her body is a live wire, and I’m holding the current, controlling every spark, every jolt of pleasure that courses through her.
“Please—”
I capture her lips before she can say anything else, swallowing her desperate whimper as I slide two fingers inside her.
She clenches around me, tight and hot. I growl against her mouth, thrusting slowly, letting her adjust to the stretch.
She’s so fucking wet, so ready, and I’m fighting every primal urge I have not to rip away the barrier of fabric and slam her down onto my cock.
I drag my lips along her jaw, down her throat, biting at her pulse. “You feel that?” I whisper against her skin, pushing another finger inside her, filling her more. “That’s how bad you need me.”
She lets out a strangled sound, her nails raking down my back, her body tightening as I curl my fingers just right. “Oh, fuck—”
I smirk, sucking a mark into the delicate skin of her throat. “That’s it, Geneva. Let me hear you.”
Her breath is coming faster now, her thighs trembling against my hips as I keep my rhythm steady, relentless. She rocks into me, chasing her own pleasure, so desperate, so fucking stunning like this with her body completely under my control.
I press my forehead against hers, watching her fall apart. “Come for me,” I murmur. “Come on, baby. Let me feel you.”
She gasps, her whole body going taut before shattering around me. I feel it, the way she tightens, the way her pleasure takes over, her moan breaking as she collapses against me.
Fucking beautiful.
I keep my fingers moving, slow and teasing, coaxing every last tremor from her. She twitches against me, breathless, but I don’t give her time to recover. I can’t. Not when she’s still trembling, still breathing hard, still gripping me like she never wants to let go.
I pull my fingers from her, dragging them against her clit just to hear her sharp inhale. Then I yank her hips forward. Her thighs spread for me instinctively, and I groan at the sight of her. She’s flushed, shattered, and still dripping from the orgasm I just gave her.
My control is hanging on by a thread. A thin, frayed fucking thread.
I grip the damp crotch of her underwear and rip them clean off, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the warehouse. Then I shove them in my pocket.
Rule four: Never leave evidence.
She reaches for me, dragging my zipper down, shoving at my jeans with shaking hands. I let her. Let her feel how fucking hard she’s made me. Let her wrap her fingers around me, stroking once, twice, before I snatch her wrist and pin it behind her back.
She gasps, her body arching into me, and I lean in, pressing my mouth to her ear.
“I’m not coming in your hand,” I rasp. “You want me? You’re going to fucking take me.”
I line myself up and thrust into her, burying myself in one stroke. She cries out, her nails digging into my skin. Fuck, she’s so tight, so hot, her body clenching down around me like she was made for this.
For me.
I brace a hand on the crate beside her, my other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. “You can take it,” I growl, pulling back just to slam into her again. “I know you can.”
Her legs wrap around my waist, locking me in, dragging me closer. “Don’t—” she gasps, eyes blazing. “Don’t hold back.”
I grab the back of her neck and crash my mouth to hers, swallowing every sound she makes as I start fucking her like I need to.
Rough.
Hard.
Savage.
She moans into my mouth, nails raking down my back, her body matching my pace, meeting every thrust. The crate creaks beneath us, the sound of skin on skin filling the empty warehouse, mixing with the ragged gasps and lusty, broken groans spilling from her lips.
I reach between us, my fingers finding her clit, rubbing tight, precise circles that make her shudder against me. “Come for me again,” I demand against her lips, my thrusts turning erratic. “There better be a puddle underneath this swollen pussy when I’m done.”
Her body clenches around me, her moan breaking into something desperate and unhinged as she tumbles over the edge.
I grunt, feeling her squeeze around me, her pleasure pulling me under, dragging me into the abyss with her.
I bury my face in her neck, my body locking up as I let go, emptying myself into her with a low moan.
For a moment, all I can hear is our breathing. The world outside this warehouse doesn’t exist. Nothing does except her.
Geneva kisses my jaw, soft and lazy. “Well,” she breathes, voice weak. “That’s one way to celebrate a kill.”
I laugh, dragging my fingers down her thigh before gripping it tight. “Careful, Doc. If you keep saying shit like that, I might make this a tradition.”
I ease back just enough to look at her, my fingers tracing over the fresh bruises I left on her throat. She doesn’t flinch. She grins.
And that’s when I realize she’s not afraid of what we just did. She enjoyed it.
And that? That’s worth killing for.