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His hair is undone and loose on his pillow. It’s shaved close on the sides, but long enough down the center to let him bind it back most of the time. Red glints in his short beard, and his lips are slightly parted. My eyes trail down his body, taking in the light dusting of hair on his chest that thickens as it approaches his boxers. His torso is covered in scars, signs of a dangerous life lived. Really dangerous, from the looks of it. And where there aren’t scars, there are colorful tattoos, just like up and down his arms. At least there aren’t any girlfriend names that I can see. Then my eyes drop lower.
My mouth goes dry, and it has nothing to do with not drinking enough water before I fell asleep.
Wow, from the look of the bulge under those shorts, he’s big everywhere.
What if I… No, I can’t. But he’s so still, so deeply asleep.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I inch my fingers closer to his leg. The moment my skin brushes his, he stirs. I quickly pull my hand back, biting my lip as he shifts in bed and sighs. The moment he settles back into sleep, I can’t help it. My hand slides down again, and I trace my fingers lightly across his thigh. I feel him stir, and then, all at once he jackknifes in bed and has me pinned beneath him before I can react, a knife at my throat that came out of nowhere.
I stay completely still, heart pounding like a rabbit caught in a snare. The most terrifying part is that I don't even think he knew he was doing it, because I'm inches from his face and I can see as comprehension fills his eyes and the tension in his body slowly fades. The hand holding the knife relaxes, but the blade stays in his grip. He looks like a feral creature, still ready to strike.
"Fuck!" he snarls, tossing the knife. "God damn, motherfucker! What the hell were you thinking?"
I'm shaking. It was a split-second reaction, but I can't forget the feel of that cold steel pressed against my jugular. "I'm sorry!"
Ghost lets out a long, shaky breath, and his shoulders sag. "Not you. Me. Did I hurt you?"
I shake my head, and then I realize that the heat pressing against me isn't just the weight of him holding me down. He's hard, and that length of his body is pushing into me. The whole thing was terrifying, and I don't understand how it could be so frightening but feel so… good? The sensation of him sliding against me as he moves away draws out a gasp.
He swings his legs off the bed and swallows. "You can't do that. Ever, you hear me? I thought—doesn't fucking matter. This won't happen again, I'll make sure of it. I'd never fucking hurt you on purpose, but if I'm not awake, I'm not myself. Understand?"
"Okay." It comes out as a whisper. The silence feels heavy. "Can I ask you a question?"
He hesitates. "Yeah. Sure."
"What were you going to say?" I inch a little closer, tugging down the edge of the t-shirt he loaned me so I don't give him a show.
"You said you thought something?"
Ghost rubs a hand over the back of his head, his shoulders stiff. "It's been a long time since I had someone stay overnight. I thought I was safe, but I guess fucking not." He gets to his feet and goes to the kitchen, filling a glass with water and draining it in one go.
My eyes go wide. He's hard, and not shy about it. We didn't… No. I'd know, right? This is so awkward. I remember kissing him, and coming back to the club, but the details are fuzzy. "Last night… did we?—"
"Am I that fucking forgettable?"
I flush, getting out of bed and tugging at the bottom of the shirt, which only comes to my mid thighs. "No! It's just that everything is a bit of a blur, and?—"
Ghost smirks. He puts down the glass and comes close again. His fingers tangle in my hair and he kisses me like I'd imagine a lover might. Deep, but soft and gentle in a way that's totally at odds with what happened just a few minutes ago.
I close my eyes and drink him in, reveling in his demanding touch and the heat of his powerful chest pressed against me. I hold onto his bicep, feeling it flex under my fingers. Suddenly, I'm perfectly willing to believe that I might've done anything he wanted to last night. Because I'm ready for him to do it all over again.
When we part, his forehead touches mine. "We didn't, because you were fucking hammered and I'm not going to fuck a girl while she barely knows who the fuck she is, especially not when she’s a virgin."
"I—I'm not!" Even as I deny it, I'm not sure why. I guess it's just that they all seem so cool and sexy and… everything I'm not.
He laughs. "Baby, you'd know if I fucked you last night. You'd still feel me between those pretty thighs." His tongue touches his bottom lip. "And I wouldn't be looking at you standing there in my shirt and thinking about how long until I can jerk off, dreaming of flipping you over and fucking you in my bed."
"Oh." My breath catches, and I squeeze my thighs together at his crude language. It does something funny to me, pulling on a deep heat in my core that I haven't ever felt so keenly before.
"Are you thinking about it?" he asks. "Are we both going to be thinking about it later when we have a little privacy? I fucking will, and I'll be imagining your head thrown back and your fingers busy between those soft thighs as you touch yourself."
My knees are going to buckle. He must see it on me.
"Or maybe you could show me right now. Would you like that?" Ghost steadies me with one arm, and with the other he cups my hand in his and moves it to between my legs, pushing up his long shirt just enough for me to reach. I'm touching myself, but he's the one directing me. "You can do it now, if you want. I know you're wet for me."
Right here? With him watching?
I swallow and take a shaky breath. My fingers curl, putting a little more pressure on my clit, and I sigh, leaning into the feeling. I would never do something like this anywhere else, but it’s like I’m in a whole different world here. Where rules don’t exist and no one will ever know.
