“Now.” His hand still cups my cheek, his eyes never leaving mine.
My hand easily glides down the waistband of his sweatpants. I scoot closer, his face frozen in a strict expression.
When my hand wraps around his cock, I’m aware I don’t hide my surprise.
“Y-you have piercings.”
It never once occurred to me the Ghost might have a Jacob’s ladder.
“Is that going to be a problem?”
I shake my head.
“Use your words, baby.”
“No.”
I carefully wrap my hand around his cock, feeling the velvet skin and the metal piercings. He rapidly thickens, my mouth drying.
He’s still holding my cheek, his touch almost tender as he asks, “You think you can handle my cock? I won’t take it slow, Izzy baby. I’ll fuck you raw.”
“I, yes.” My breath comes in shallow waves, but it’s not from fear. Anticipation and hope eat me alive. Shit, this really is the city where dreams come true.
He pushes me back, my calves knocking into the coffee table. My shirt comes off before I can even understand. I’m standing in just my panties.
His eyes narrow with the hunger of a predator.
“Underwear off.” His sweatpants hit the floor, kicking out of them.
I don’t act fast enough for him because he takes a step forward, peeling my panties off. They’re still around my ankles when he turns and bends me over the sofa.
One of my arms braces itself using the back of the sofa; the other sinks into the cushion.
“Legs wide open, baby.” He kicks my feet apart and trails a hand up my thigh, his fingers skimming closely to the exact spot I want him. “Just like that.”
Noise rattles in my throat when he presses a finger inside my cunt.
“You were ready for me.” His thumb traces around my clit, my mouth dropping open. “Goddamn, Isolde.”
He sinks another finger inside, his touch firmer as he teases me. His other finger runs up my ribcage, wrapping around to find my breast. He squeezes, pinching my nipple.
“What was that?” he asks when I make a sound. I don’t need to turn around to know he’s smirking. “Are you trying to ask me for something?”
“Plea—” The word dies on a breathy moan. It’s not cute. It’s not sensual. It’s a desperate breath of air.
“You think you’re ready for my cock?” He digs his erection into my back, the threat a welcome pleasure. “Remember what I said, I’m not going slow.”
To prove his point, he rams inside of me. My head hits the back of the sofa.
His fingers grip my waist, and he thrusts in and out, his piercings rubbing my insides.
A strangled cry dies on my lips when he wrenches my head back, tugging my hair. The blip of pain and fear sails away the moment his lips crash against mine. Even with the awkward angle and his cock stretching me open, I fall into him.
Wanting more and needing more, it all combines. My body is a doll in his hands, positioned and moved by his directions.
He grinds his hips against me, shoving forward, hitting a spot.
I’m mumbling against his lips, which only brings a wicked smirk to them. He knows I can’t do anything.