Chapter 37 Geneva
GENEVA
GHOST’S FINGERS TIGHTEN ON MY WAIST AS I SHIFT CLOSER, STRADDLING him in his seat, the hum of the private jet a constant. He slides his hands up my thighs, the heat of his touch burning through the thin material of my dress.
“Geneva,” he murmurs, a beautiful whisper of desperation.
I rock my hips against him, slow, teasing, savoring the way his fingers dig into my flesh, the way his breath comes out brokenly.
I worship him the way he’s worshipped me in the past, dragging my hands down his chest, my nails scraping just enough to make him hiss through his teeth.
He exhales a quiet curse, tipping his head back to look up at me.
I lean in, dragging my tongue across his lips, before lifting a brow. “You said I have you. Prove it.”
His entire body tenses, his fingers flexing against my waist. And then, in one fluid motion, he stands, lifting me effortlessly before abruptly setting me on my feet.
I bite my lip to stop from smiling as he drags me down the narrow aisle of the jet, toward the private cabin in the back. The moment the door clicks shut behind us, he presses me against it, caging me in. My amusement fades at the heated look he gives me.
I tilt my head back so he can see the way I want him, the way I need him. The way I love him.
He grips my throat, lifting my chin higher. His voice is low, deep. “You will always have me, Geneva.”
I rest my hand over his heart, feeling the steady thrum beneath my palm. His eyes are bright and glittering with emotion, almost fevered in the way he looks at me. Like he’s sick and I’m the cure.
Or the reason for his illness.
I brush my lips against his. “Then show me.”
Something flashes in his eyes. A warning. A promise. Then his mouth crashes against mine.
The kiss is not gentle. It’s not patient. It’s manic, a collision of tongues and teeth and hunger that has me leaning into him. He presses me harder against the door, his body flush against mine, and I feel every inch of him. He’s all power, heat, and undeniably Ghost.
I slip my fingers under the hem of his shirt, tracing the ridges of his stomach, my nails scraping lightly, just enough to make his muscles tighten beneath my touch. His breath stutters, his control hanging by a thread, and for once, I don’t want him to lead.
I want to own him the way he owns me.
I break the kiss by yanking my head to the side, my breaths uneven. Then I push against his chest, and he lets me, his brow furrowing slightly as I guide him back a step. He resists for a second before his lips curl into a smile full of intrigue.
“Get on your knees,” I say. My voice is soft, but my tone is unyielding.
Ghost lifts a brow. Something changes in his demeanor as he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip, his expression contemplative.
“I will never get on my knees for anyone. Except you. And if I do, it’ll only be for two reasons. The first is that I’m going to eat your pussy. The second is because I’m going to propose.” He smiles. “Since I don’t have a ring yet…”
My breathing quickens as he drops, his knees hitting the plush carpet soundlessly. He’s quick to palm the backs of my thighs, splaying his long fingers across my skin, his gaze never leaving mine. And then he waits. Watches.
I stare down at him, taking in his arrogant smile, but his eyes—God, his eyes are something else entirely. Devotion. Hunger. A willingness to let me have this power, even though he could so easily take it back.
I cup his jaw, tilting his face up to remind him that I’m the one in control at this moment.
He exhales sharply, the fight bleeding out of him as his lips part under my touch and his pupils contract.
I love witnessing the restraint that’s just for me.
The way he lets me command him, tame him when no one else ever could.
“Then tell me what you want, Geneva. I’ll give you anything.”
“Anything?”
He nods. “And everything.”
I press my thumb against his bottom lip, and he parts for me, his tongue flicking out. The sight of him on his knees before me sends heat pooling between my thighs. And when his hands tighten around the backs of my legs, signaling his waning patience, I almost sigh with pleasure.
I thread my fingers into his hair, pulling just enough to make his breath hitch. “I want your mouth on me.”
A groan rumbles through his chest, his hands leaving my thighs to grip my knees, and in one fluid movement, he yanks them open. His mouth hovers close, so close I can feel the heat of his breath.
He dips his hand beneath my dress, his fingertips brushing the thin lace of my panties. And then he pauses, giving me the illusion of control, when we both know he’s the one dictating the pace now.
Slowly, so slowly it borders on torment, he hooks his fingers beneath the delicate fabric, his knuckles grazing my skin. He draws the lace down my legs inch by agonizing inch, his eyes never leaving mine, as if daring me to say something.
When Ghost reaches my ankles, he lifts each foot with gentle precision, slipping the fabric free, and sets it aside. He reaches for me, starting with my calves, then my inner thighs, spreading me wider until I’m forced to throw out a hand to steady myself.
He drags his mouth over the sensitive skin at the inside of my knee, his lips tasting and teasing. I feel his smirk against my inner thigh before he bites down, just enough to make my muscles jerk. I grip his hair tighter, my breath stuttering.
“Ghost.”
He hums against my skin, the vibration sinking into my bones. He likes this—my impatience, my need, the way my body responds to him so easily.
I dig my nails into his scalp, my own patience slipping. I recall the words he said to me the first night we slept together and throw them back at him. “Rub that tongue all over me. Fuck me with it. I want you to show me how you’re going to do the same with your cock. And don’t make me ask again.”
His breathing halts. Then, with a dark chuckle, he drags his mouth higher, his fingers flexing against my skin, holding me steady. Holding me open for him.
And I know he’s about to fucking ruin me.
“Ghost,” I grind out. “Do it. Now.”
He groans like I just gave him everything he’s ever wanted. Then he seals his mouth over me, tongue flicking, lips pressing, consuming me with the same reckless hunger I’ve begun to crave.
A broken gasp rips from my throat, and my head falls back against the door, my vision blurring with pleasure so intense, it borders on pain.
He works me over with ruthless precision, his tongue moving in slow, languid strokes before speeding up and dragging me right to the edge.
Only to pull back again. He’s teasing. Testing my control. My sanity.
I yank his hair. “Don’t you fucking stop.”
He groans against me, the sound vibrating through my pussy. His tongue strokes deeper, firmer, his grip bruising against my thighs as he pulls me closer, like he can’t get enough. Like I’m sustenance and he’ll die if he doesn’t devour me right here, right now.
My legs shake, my back arching against the door as heat coils low in my stomach, every nerve in my body attuned to him. I know he feels it. The way I’m unraveling, the way I’m surrendering to him.
Ghost doesn’t just take. He claims. He possesses.
When I finally orgasm, it’s not just pleasure that crashes through me. It’s overwhelming relief. My body shakes, my pulse racing as he holds me there, letting me ride the aftershocks, his grip supporting me as I come undone.
I sag against the door, breathless, my heart hammering as I blink down at him. Ghost tilts his head, his lips curling in a wicked smirk as he runs a hand up the inside of my damp thigh.
“You feel that?” He rubs his fingers together, his smile widening. “You’re dripping, baby. And it’s all mine. Every fucking drop.”
His words make my cheeks burn. But I can’t look away, can’t breathe, can’t think, not when he’s watching me like this.
Without breaking eye contact, he lowers his head, his mouth brushing the inside of my thigh, tongue flicking out to taste me. Slow. Leisurely. Like he has all the time in the world to savor what’s his.
A soft, involuntary whimper escapes me as he drags his tongue higher, sweeping it over my cum. In response, he groans low in his throat, like he’s starving, like this is his reward for holding back.
“So fucking messy,” he mutters against my skin, voice thick. “I have to clean my pussy. You know it was made just for me, right?”
His hands grip my hips, steadying me as his mouth returns, thorough, unrelenting, like he’s determined to leave no trace behind. But every stroke of his tongue just ruins me more.
When he finally pulls back, his lips glisten, his eyes bright with lust. He rises to his feet, towering over me, his chest rising and falling with deep, measured breaths. And then his fingers are in my hair, his grip firm as he forces my head back, his mouth grazing mine.
“You enjoyed seeing me like that, didn’t you? You dripping on my chin and me on my knees, starving for you?”
“Yes. God, yes.”
“You don’t even know, do you? How fucking perfect you look right now?” He shakes his head. “Fucking wrecked, with both of your lips wet and swollen from my mouth.”
I reach for the waistband of his pants, fingers curling over the belt buckle. I struggle to work it free, my fingers trembling at the tension in his body coiling tighter, his restraint hanging by a thread.
He skims his teeth along my throat, his breath a curse against my skin before his hands are at my waist, tearing at the fabric, leaving nothing between us.
His mouth finds mine again, the kiss hot and frantic, and I know this isn’t just about lust. It never was. It’s about something neither of us thought we could ever have.
Love.
A strangled gasp rips from my throat as he fills me, my nails biting into his shoulders, holding on as pleasure crashes through me, leaving me breathless. But Ghost doesn’t give me time to catch my breath.
His grip tightens, fingers bruising against my thighs as he pulls me deeper onto him, pressing me so hard against the door, I can feel the vibrations from his ragged breath against my skin. His pace is brutal, relentless, every thrust an unspoken declaration, a branding.
All. Fucking. Mine.
“I want you to feel me,” he growls against my skin. “For days. Every fucking time you barely move.”
I whimper, my fingers tangling in his hair, tugging as another wave of pleasure rolls over me.
He shifts, angling deeper, rougher, and I shatter.
My muscles clench as my release crashes through me so violently, I think I might black out.
He follows, his grip turning vicious as he presses me hard against the door, his body shuddering as he loses himself completely.
“Fuck, Geneva.”
For a long moment, neither of us move. We just breathe, bodies tangled, skin damp, his forehead resting against mine.
His heart hammers against my chest as I run my fingers through his hair, brushing it back from his face.
When he finally lifts his gaze to mine, I’m able to see the depth of what just happened. The truth neither of us are saying.
I love him.
And he knows it.