Chapter 59
Ghost's other hand moved to her lower back, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them. The heat of his body seeped into hers. His heart beat steady and strong beneath her palm, a rhythm that grounded her, reminded her she was safe.
She kissed him, slow and deep, pouring everything into it.
He kissed her back with the same intensity. His mouth moved against hers like he was memorizing her taste, the shape of her lips, the small sounds she made when his tongue swept against hers.
When she pulled back, both of them were breathing hard. Her hands slid down his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, the heat of his skin. Lower, until her fingers found the waistband of his sweatpants.
She looked up at him, holding his gaze. "I want all of you."
His expression shifted, hunger mixing with tenderness, need tempered by care. "You have me," he said. "All of me. Always."
His expression shifted, hunger mixing with tenderness, need tempered by care. "You have me," he said. "All of me. Always."
Rachel leaned forward, her lips brushing his jaw, her hands never leaving his skin.
She moaned softly, her breath warm against his cheek as her hands slid down his chest. Every line beneath her palms was firm, real. Her fingertips traced the hard cut of his abdomen, pausing just above the waistband of his sweatpants. She hovered there, teasing.
His hands tightened on her hips, the grip possessive despite the tremor running through his fingers.
She was unraveling the control he wore in the field, that precise composure dissolving under her touch. She felt it in his ragged breathing, in the subtle shake of his hands.
She leaned in close, her lips brushing his, not kissing him fully, just a ghost of contact. Just enough to make him chase it.
A low growl rumbled in his throat, vibrating against her chest where they pressed together.
Rachel smiled.
She kissed the corner of his mouth, then lower, his jaw, the rough stubble lining his throat. Her lips moved down the column of his neck, where his pulse thudded hard and fast beneath her mouth.
His grip flexed on her thighs, rough and sure.
Rachel shifted, settling fully into his lap. The thick press of him met her center, separated only by thin fabric. Heat radiated between them, building with every breath, every small movement.
She rocked against him, her warmth pressing down over the ridge beneath his pants. The barrier between them was thin, but it wasn't enough, not for how badly she needed him.
Rachel's fingers worked the waistband down. He lifted his hips to help her, and then there was nothing between them. Just skin and heat and the promise of connection.
Then he was free, hot and hard against her palm.
Air stuttered in her throat as her hand wrapped around him. The weight of him, the heat, every part of him was ready, trembling with restraint beneath her touch.
His head fell back against the cushion, a low curse dragging from his throat as his hands clutched at her hips. She felt the quake of his control slipping, the battle between holding back and giving in.
Rachel looked up and met his gaze, dark and unraveled, every breath he took strained, his body coiled beneath hers. She leaned in and kissed him again, slow and sweet, her lips brushing his before pulling away. Just enough to keep him wanting.
His palms flexed at her waist, tightening.
But she wasn't ready to give up control yet.
Still holding his gaze, she shifted her hips, lining herself over him with precision.
The head of his cock brushed her slick heat, the barest contact pulling a gasp from her throat.
She held there, letting the tension grow between them, letting him feel what was coming.
His hands shook on her waist. His breathing went shallow.
She watched him battle the urge to take over, to claim.
He stayed motionless through sheer willpower.
"Rachel," he breathed, her name strained on his lips. His control was hanging by a thread.
She held there for a moment, looking into his eyes. Letting him see her. All of her. The fear that still lingered. The trust she was giving him. The need that eclipsed everything else.
Then she sank down onto him.
He groaned, the sound raw and broken. His head fell back, lips parted, hands locked around her hips. He guided her lower, inch by inch, until he was buried inside her.
Rachel gasped, her nails biting into his shoulders as her body stretched to take him. The pressure burned, but it was a welcome ache, one that quickly shifted into fullness, into connection, into exactly what she needed.
She kept going until he was fully seated inside her, until she was sitting in his lap with him buried deep. She stayed there for a moment, adjusting, breathing through the overwhelming sensation of being filled so completely.
His hands moved up her back, slow and soothing, while his body trembled with the effort of staying still beneath her. "You okay, baby?"
Rachel opened her eyes and met his gaze. "Yeah," she whispered. "I'm okay."
And she was. In this moment, with him inside her and his arms around her and his eyes looking at her like she was the most precious thing in the world, she was okay.
She leaned in, her voice a whisper against his lips. "I need you."
His hands flexed on her hips, thumbs brushing gentle circles against her skin. "Then take what you need."
The permission settled her. She lifted slowly, feeling him slide almost all the way out, then sank back down. The friction pulled a gasp from her throat, pleasure sparking through her nerves.
She did it again. Slower this time. Testing. Finding her rhythm. Every movement was hers to control, hers to choose. Her body responded, heat building with each roll of her hips.
His breath came harder, hands tightening on her waist. But he didn't take over. Didn't rush her. He let her set the pace, let her take what she needed.
Rachel's confidence grew with each movement. The pleasure built, pushing out the fear, replacing it with want. With need. With the raw, primal connection between them.
She took control of the rhythm, moving faster now. His fingers dug into her hips, his breathing ragged against her neck.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered. "You feel fucking perfect."
Her nails raked down his chest, dragging across muscle and scar. He shuddered beneath her. She moved again, teasing him with every grind, every shift of her weight, keeping him right at the edge.
His head fell back, breath uneven. When his eyes snapped open, they locked onto hers, wild and hungry and raw.
"Faster," he ordered.
Rachel obeyed.
Her rhythm quickened, each motion sharper, more urgent. The friction tore through her in waves. Her thighs trembled with every movement, the heat between them building into desperation.
His hands slid down to her ass, gripping her firmly, guiding her movements now. His hips began to meet her rhythm, rising to meet each downward stroke. The angle shifted, deepening, and Rachel felt it everywhere, the friction, the stretch, the fullness.
"Fuck, baby," he rasped. "You feel so good."
She gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders. The pressure was building inside her, coiling tighter with each movement. But she wasn't there yet. Not close enough.
She changed her angle, grinding down against him on each stroke, seeking more friction where she needed it most. The new movement pulled a moan from deep in her chest.
His breathing grew ragged, his chest rising and falling hard beneath her hands. "That's it," he muttered. "Take what you need, baby."
Rachel's thighs began to burn from the effort, muscles trembling. Sweat slicked their skin where their bodies met. The afternoon air felt cool against her back, a stark contrast to the heat building between them.
She could feel him pulsing inside her, could feel his restraint in the tension of his body, the way his fingers dug into her hips like he was holding on by a thread.
He was close. She could tell by the way his breath came in short, harsh bursts against her neck, by the tremor running through his muscles.
But he was waiting. Holding back. For her.
"Logan," she breathed, her rhythm faltering as the pleasure intensified. "I need—"
"I know, baby." His hand moved from her hip, sliding up her side, her ribs, until his thumb found her breast. He circled her nipple with maddening patience, the touch light, teasing.
Rachel arched into it, a whimper escaping her lips. The dual sensations, him inside her, his hand on her breast, sent sparks through her nervous system. The pressure built higher, tighter, but still not enough.
"Please," she whispered, not even sure what she was asking for.
He understood anyway. His mouth found her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. His hand tightened on her breast, thumb and finger pinching gently. The pleasure-pain pulled a gasp from her throat.
"Keep going," he urged. "Don't stop."
Rachel found her rhythm again, moving faster now, chasing the release building inside her. Her nails scraped over his shoulders, down his chest, leaving red marks across his skin. He shuddered beneath her, a groan rumbling in his chest.
"Just like that," he rasped. "You're gonna make me lose my mind."
The words sent a thrill through her. The knowledge that she was affecting him this much, that he was barely holding on, it was intoxicating. Empowering. She moved with more confidence, more purpose, grinding down hard with each stroke.
His jaw locked, muscles standing out in his neck as he fought for control. "Rachel—fuck—baby, I'm close."
"Not yet," she breathed, even though she was climbing toward that edge herself, the pressure building to an almost unbearable peak.
She slowed her movements, rolling her hips in a torturously slow grind that pulled gasps from both of them. Drew it out. Made him feel every inch. Made herself feel it.
"Jesus Christ," he bit out, his whole body trembling beneath her. "You're killing me."