The sound of his name seemed to break something loose in him. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her through the door, kicking it shut behind them. The fox pendant swung against her throat as he moved, a cool reminder of his promise.
“Tell me if I hurt you,” he said, his voice a low rasp against her ear as he set her down in the bedroom.
“I will,” she promised, but she wasn’t thinking about pain. She was thinking about his hands, how they’d felt on her skin when he’d helped her undress for the shower, clinical and careful. How they might feel now, with no barriers between them.
Ghost’s eyes darkened as he backed her toward the bed. “You sure about this?”
“I’ve never been more sure of anything.” She’d taken to wearing his flannels as nightshirts over the last few days, and she’d slipped into another one tonight—her favorite, soft and faded blue with buttons worn smooth from too many washes. She reached up to undo those buttons, but he caught her wrists, stopping her.
“No,” he said, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that made her stomach flip. “Let me.”
The command in his tone sent heat pooling between her thighs. This was new—this edge of control, of dominance. She’d glimpsed it before, in the truck on Main Street, but now there was nothing to hold him back.
He released her wrists and reached for the top button of the flannel, flicking it open almost painfully slowly. One by one, he exposed her skin to the cool air of the cabin, his gaze following his hands like he was unwrapping something precious.
When the last button came undone, he pushed the shirt from her shoulders, leaving her in nothing but her underwear. The fox pendant glinted between her breasts, catching the light as her chest rose and fell with quickening breaths.
“Look at you,” he murmured, running a finger from her collarbone down the valley between her breasts. “So fucking beautiful.”
She shivered at his touch, at the raw hunger in his eyes. She reached for him, wanting to feel his skin against hers, but he caught her hands again.
“Not yet,” he said. “I want to look at you first.”
He circled her, his gaze traveling over her body with such intensity she could almost feel it like a physical touch. When he stopped behind her, his breath warm against her neck, she closed her eyes, waiting.
His hands skimmed her sides, barely touching, from her hips to just below her breasts.
“I’ve thought about this since that day in the truck,” he said, his lips brushing her ear. “Thought about all the ways I want to touch you.”
She leaned back against him, feeling the solid wall of his chest, still fully clothed while she stood nearly naked. The imbalance should have made her feel vulnerable, but instead, it thrilled her. Ghost in control was a revelation—allthat dangerous power harnessed and focused entirely on her pleasure.
“Tell me,” she whispered.
His hands slid up to cup her breasts, thumbs grazing her nipples, drawing a gasp from her lips as they tightened into hard peaks. “I want to touch every inch of you,” he murmured, his voice a dark promise against her skin. “Want to taste you. Make you come apart in my hands, with my mouth. Want to hear you scream my name.”
The raw need in his voice made her knees weak. His hands moved with deliberate slowness, exploring her body like he was memorizing every curve, every sensitive spot. When one hand dipped lower, fingers skimming the waistband of her underwear, she pressed back against him, silently begging.
“Tell me what you want, Fury,” he commanded, his other hand sliding up to wrap loosely around her throat, thumb stroking over her racing pulse.
“You,” she breathed. “I want you.”
thirty-one
“Not good enough.”His hand stilled at her waistband. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”
Heat flooded her face. She wasn’t shy about sex, but this—the demand for explicit instruction, the control in his voice—was new territory.
“I want your fingers inside me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I want you to make me come.”
“Better.” His hand slipped beneath the fabric, fingers sliding through her folds, finding her already wet for him. “Christ, you’re soaked.” The wonder in his voice made her flush with pride. She had done that to him—broken through that icy control enough to make him sound reverent.
He circled her clit with maddening lightness, not giving her the pressure she craved. “Is this what you want?”
“More,” she gasped, trying to press against his hand, but his other arm locked around her waist, holding her still.
“Patience,” he whispered, nipping at her earlobe. “I’ve waited too long for this to rush it. Do you know how long it’s been since I fucked a woman, Naomi? How long since I even had the urge?”
His fingers continued their torturous exploration, dipping into her entrance then retreating, circling her clit then movingaway, building her need without satisfying it. She was trembling now, her breath coming in short gasps.
