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“Oh, yes.” He draws me in close, turning my face up with two blunt fingers under my jaw, his mouth mere whispers away from mine. Though he turns, running his nose along my neck, letting out a deep, famished groan. “With your feet bound above your head.”
I whine at the thought, clenching my thighs together and nodding a little too eagerly. “You can tie me up whenever you want,” I say with a sigh.
He groans, taking my hands in both of his and bringing them above my head, high enough it brings me up on my tiptoes. “I plan on it.”
He lets me down and spins me again, stopping me by my shoulders so I face away from him this time.
“Tonight, though,” a whip of fabric sounds by my ear, a thick string of velvet hovering in front of my face, “this will have to do.”
Knowing his intentions, I guide the fabric over my eyes and hold it in place while he ties a bow at the back of my head. He combs his fingers through my hair and brushes it out of the way, over my shoulder, to press a kiss against my neck.
“Perfect,” he rumbles in my ear, his scruff tickling my jaw again and nearly setting me on fire. “That’s my good girl.”
That will never get old. Ever. He could run me over with a truck and I’d forgive it if he just whispered that in my ear afterwards.
The key clicks in the lock, and he guides me forward with a hand on my lower back. He locks back up behind us and puts my hand on his arm, walking us through the front. He turns us right, away from the elevators, and I blindly scramble to hold his arm with my free hand.
“What is it?”
“Trying not to fall on my face,” I say. “Would be kind of embarrassing.”
He stops walking, and somehow, I know he’s snapped upright like he did in the fitting room. “Lucy.”
“I trust you,” I say, before he can ask. “And,andI’m not insulting myself. Not even a bit. I am just saying, I don’t want to be responsible for breaking my face.”
He coughs, but it sounds like he’s covering a laugh. His mouth is on mine in the next heartbeat, in a slow, deep kiss that steals my breath. My knees quiver at the intensity, and I grab his shoulders to keep from fainting.
“Come,” he says, hooking his arm around my waist and walking us forward again.
“Any time, Sir.”
His chuckle is dark now, almost malicious. He spins me out, my back connecting with a set of double doors harder than I expect, and I gasp in surprise.
“Keep it up,” he says, “and we’ll never leave the loft again.”
“I don’t mind that idea.”
He shudders, squeezing my ass over the dress, before physically pushing himself off me and turning me back around. My head spins a bit, and I can’t tell if it’s from all the twirling, or just being with Ghost.
Belonging to Ghost.
And, in turn, him, belonging to me.
The doors swing open in front of me, a burst of sweet smelling cool air blowing back at us. Ghost nudges me forward, his hand wrapped around my waist to guide me down a small incline, and once again, he swings the doors shut behind us.
He huffs through his nose, then steadies himself again. “Ready?”
I nod, too anxious to speak.
He slips the blindfold off my eyes, and both hands fly to my mouth to cover my gasp. The venue, what had been roped off with velvet, is lit from top to bottom. Crushed, green velvet carpet is scattered with white rose petals leading up to the open stage, void of all props save for one lonely microphone. The curtains and chairs are tucked in and away, with a small table set out near the opera pit.
Green, white, and gold streamers are twisted and hung from the ceiling in a swooping design, leading down to the center stage. Even the seats are dusted gold, with dark green ropes blocking off every seat, save for one in the front row.
Mayhem and Murder are waiting for us, with Eustice bustling the emerald tablecloth like her very life depends on it. She finally settles, folding her hands behind her back and straightening like a soldier readying for review.
Everything is so exquisite and elegant, it makes the gaudy, crinkled Happy Birthday banner stick out like a neon sign. One of the P’s is smashed on backwards, and the second Y is hanging on by a thread. Chaotic by design, no one could convince me otherwise.
Mayhem looks far too happy about it.
