His cock.
As rigid and strong as one of the diamonds the Beaufort family is so famous for.
My pulse thunders beneath the pad of his thumb, which has come to rest against my artery. His grip is still firm, but not in a threatening way… in a protective one.
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Slade Beaufort is dead. Spouting lies like that will get you into trouble,” he hisses.
He presses his nose against mine as he delivers his warning, and I can’t help whimpering.
His grip on my neck loosens, like he’s suddenly conscious he could be hurting me. But it’s not fear that’s making my nipples peak against his chest, or my lips part with shallow breaths.
It’s lust.
Unexplainable, illogical lust, fueled by the incandescent glimmer of fear in the disguised eyes of the man in front of me.
The ghost. The shadow.
The only man I’ve ever suspected I could get dangerously addicted to, despite not knowing who he really is.
I shift my hips a little, another tiny sound slipping from my lips as I swallow against his palm.
He frowns, studying me.
“Are you… are you fuckingturned onright now?”
“I…” My chest shudders with a shaky breath as his fingers twitch against my windpipe. “Maybe, I don’t know,” I confess.
Yes. As big as the giant dick poking into my flesh right now is, yes.
His frown deepens, and I remain as still as possible, waiting to see what he does. I’m clearly not the only one who’s affected by us being this close together.
Every cell in my body is tingling in anticipation, hoping he’ll touch me, but at the same time, terrified about what that says about me.
He’s a man who’s supposed to be dead.
Yet here he is, alive and pressing his giant dick into me. Too far away from the group I was with for anyone to hear me call out if I need help.
I could be in danger right now.
Only, every instinct I have tells me I’m safer with him than I ever have been with any other man before—an unsettling realization that I should probably ask my therapist mother about.
“Slade,” I say breathlessly, testing out the name on my tongue.
It suits him. It soundsright.
A choked sound breaks in the back of his throat before he destroys it and pushes his groin into me.
“You don’t know anything. You?—”
“Call me a crazy bitch again and you really will be a dead man.”
He brings our foreheads together, his eyes never wavering from mine.
“Tell a fucking soul and?—”
“I won’t.” I make the promise before my brain can even register what my mouth is doing.
“I’m not saying you’re right.”
