“N-no.”
His voice rasped against her ear. “Eleven years. Over a decade since I wanted anyone, and even then it wasn’t anywhere close to the way I now want you.”
“Owen—”
She choked on his name, and just when she thought she might scream with the frustration of his teasing fingers not giving her enough, he slid two deep inside her. The sudden fullness made her cry out, her head falling back against his shoulder as he began to move them in a slow, methodical rhythm.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “Make noise for me. Let me hear you.”
His thumb found her clit, pressing with just enough pressure to make her gasp. The dual sensation—his fingers curling inside her, his thumb circling that sensitive bundle of nerves—had her climbing rapidly toward release.
“Oh,” she moaned, the sound torn from her throat as he legs shook violently.
“Not yet,” he said, slowing his movements until she wanted to sob with frustration. “Not until I say.”
The command sent a fresh wave of heat through her. She’d never been with someone who took control like this, who seemed to know exactly what her body needed before she did. It was intoxicating.
“First, I need to know how long it’s been for you. When did you last fuck a man?”
“It’s… It’s been a while,” she managed, her voice catching as his fingers slowed to an exquisite torture inside her. “A few years.”
“How many years?” He stopped stroking her, and she whimpered.
“Three.”
“And was he good to you?” Ghost’s voice was deceptively soft against her ear, but she felt the tension in his body, the possessive edge beneath the question.
“No one’s ever touched me like you,” she answered truthfully. “No one’s ever made me feel this way.”
He turned her in his arms and backed her toward the bed, his fingers still buried inside her, his eyes holding hers. When her legs hit the mattress, he withdrew his hand and licked her arousal off each finger.
“On the bed,” he ordered. “On your back.”
She obeyed, scooting back against the pillows, watching as he stripped off his shirt. The sight of his bare torso—all lean muscle and ink over subtle scars—made her mouth water. He was beautiful in a dangerous, predatory way, like something wild that had somehow been contained in human form.
He hooked his fingers in her underwear and dragged them down her legs, tossing them aside. Then he stood at the foot of the bed, his gaze raking over her naked body.
“Spread your legs. Show me how wet you are.” His voice dropped to that register that made her shiver.
She hesitated, not out of reluctance but from the sheer power of his gaze. No man had ever looked at her the way Ghost did—like she was something precious and rare, something to be savored.
“Now, Fury,” he ordered.
She let her knees fall open, exposing herself completely to him. His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening with restraint.
“Perfect,” he murmured, and the approval in his voice sent a thrill through her.
He knelt on the bed between her spread thighs, still wearing his jeans. The denim was rough against her sensitive skin as he leaned over her, bracing himself on one arm. His free hand skimmed up her inner thigh, so light she had to strain toward him to feel it.
“Tell me what you want,” he said again, his fingers hovering just shy of where she needed them.
“Your mouth,” she gasped, beyond embarrassment now. “I want your mouth on me.”
A smile touched his lips. “Good girl.”
He lowered himself down her body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her stomach, her hip bones, the insides of her thighs. Each touch of his lips sent sparks shooting through her, building the anticipation until she was nearly vibrating with need.
When his mouth finally closed over her center, the heat of it almost undid her. His tongue was relentless, circling her clit with precise, knowing strokes. He slid two fingers back inside her, curling them to find that spot that made her see stars.
