“Can you feel what you do to me?” he asks, his voice a harsh whisper. “You drive me fucking crazy.”

“You’re already insane,” I whisper.

His confession sends a thrill through me. I grip his cock, stroking it through his pants. He groans, his fingers digging painfully into my hip.

He laughs, the sound low and wicked. “True. But you make me worse.”

“I doubt it.”

“Trust me, Doc.” He leans down, his breath hot against my ear. “You don’t want to know what I’m capable of. What ‘crazy’ really looks like.”

The words should terrify me. Instead, they send a bolt of heat through me. I’m playing with fire, but maybe that’s what I need.

I tighten my grip, stroking him harder. He groans, his hips rocking against my palm as he buries his face in my neck.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his voice strained.

I can feel him spiraling, giving me control over him. Good.

“Are you going to come for me, Ghost?” I whisper.

He jerks up his head to pin me with his dark gaze. “Only when I fuck you.”

Ghost grabs my hips and spins me around so quickly I stagger before landing against the glass. The second I push away from the wall, he throws his bound hands over my head, the cold chain links of his cuffs now resting just under my chin.

Then his hand is at the back of my head, pushing my cheek against the window. His hold is unyielding, a pressure that I can’t escape. And I don’t want to.

Keeping his gaze locked on mine, he slowly releases me to reach down and grip my pussy. In the reflection of the glass, I can see everything. The heat and desire in his eyes. The way his lips are parted, his breathing ragged.

He’s dangerously beautiful.

“Put your hands on the glass,” he commands.

I comply without hesitation, pressing my palms flat against the smooth, cool surface. The position exposes me, opens me up in a way that’s as frightening as it is exhilarating.

“Keep them there,” he says.

Ghost slides his fingers up and down the seam of my leggings, the fabric dampening more with each pass. “I’m going to make you come. Right here. Right now.”

I can’t speak. I can’t breathe. All I can do is feel.

So, this is what it’s like.

The thought whirls through my mind in tandem with Ghost’s caress as he circles my clit with his thumb. In this illicit, forbidden moment, I am acutely, painfully alive. I’m connected to a visceral truth that I’ve spent a lifetime denying: to feel is the very essence of what it means to be human.

He slips fingers under the waistband of my leggings, dipping into my slit. A moan escapes my lips, and he responds with a dark chuckle.

“So fucking wet,” he murmurs, sliding his fingers up and down.

I can’t help but arch against him, desperate for more. He teases me, his touch never providing enough pressure against my aching clit. Frustration and pleasure combine, growing with each second.

“Ghost,” I whine, hating the neediness in my voice.

He responds by pressing the tip of his finger against my entrance. I gasp as he slowly pushes inside me, the pressure and friction exquisite.

“God, you’re tight,” he groans. “You’ve never been fucked properly.”

He works his finger in and out, each stroke bringing me closer to the edge. Then he adds another digit. And another. Now I’m a quivering mess, unable to form words. Unable to do anything but surrender to the pleasure.

The glass is slick with sweat now, my hands sliding along the surface as he finger fucks me. The friction against my clit is maddening, the pressure building with each thrust of his hand.

I’m so close.

With a groan, I press my ass against him while grinding down on his hand. The movement breaks his rhythm, and he responds with a growl, the sound primal and animalistic.

“Fuck, you’re greedy,” he grits out between clenched teeth.

I can feel him straining against his pants, his cock pressing against my ass. The thought of him coming inside me, filling me up, pushes me toward release.

My orgasm hits me so hard my lips part on a silent scream. He keeps fingering me, prolonging the pleasure.

“That’s it, Geneva. Come for me. Drench my hand.”

His voice is rough, the words barely audible. But I hear them. They’re a command, laced with praise. And male satisfaction. It only makes me come harder.

I bite my lip to stifle the cries that threaten to escape until the sensation lessens to a bearable level. My eyes are closed, my breath coming out in harsh gasps. And I can feel him staring, his fingers twitching inside me.

And when I finally open my eyes, his gaze is bright with lust, the need clear on his face.

He removes his fingers from inside me and brings them to his mouth, licking the wetness from them. The action is both erotic and vulgar, but I can’t look away, captivated by the sight.

“Open,” he says.

I hesitate, unsure if this is a step too far. But the urge to obey him is too strong. Slowly, I bring them to my mouth, the saltiness and tang of my pussy sliding along my tongue.

“That’s it, Geneva.” His voice is rough. “Taste yourself. Taste how much you want me.”

I can’t deny it. I can’t deny anything right now.

I swirl my tongue around his fingers. My reflection stares back at me, watching my cheeks hollow as I suck, my lips wrapping around his fingers, greedy and eager. My eyes are shining with gratification, my breath coming in quick gasps as I struggle to recover. Heat continues to burn on my skin, the remnants of our unexpected intimacy lingering. Smoldering.

I fell apart under Ghost’s skillful touch. Now, I’m nothing more than a visual testament to the unraveling of my composed and controlled exterior. It’s terrifying and yet, I’m fascinated by my complete surrender.

Eventually, I flick my gaze to Ghost. Only to find him already looking at me. The hunger in his eyes is expected. The tenderness isn’t.

His expression softens further before he removes his fingers from my mouth to lean down and press his lips to the side of my neck. Closing his eyes, he prolongs the kiss as though enjoying the taste and feel of me.

His actions are incongruous with the man I’ve come to know in the confines of these walls. Ghost is someone who’s defined by his cunning and control. And this display of affection, gentle and tender, disrupts my understanding of him.

Is this an act designed to manipulate me further? Or is it a genuine glimpse into a part of him that he rarely reveals? A part that maybe he himself struggles to understand and control?

As Ghost pulls back, the cool air of the room brushes against my neck where his lips just were, leaving me bewildered. My physical reaction to the sweet gesture is nothing compared to the emotions stirring inside me. Something I’m not able to handle right now. Or ever.

“Why me?” I whisper. Or maybe I make no sound at all? Because I’m scared to hear the answer. Scared to break our connection. The very thing I’ve been denying since I first felt it.

Ghost tilts his head, considering my question. “Because I wanted you,” he answers simply, as if such a thing should make sense. As if his personal desires haven’t shaken me to the core.

“But why?” Despite my fear, I need to understand, to find a reason that agrees with the logic I’ve always protected myself with.

Ghost reaches up, trailing his fingers along my jaw and down my neck. The handcuffs clink with his movement, a reminder of his status as a prisoner. Something that failed to keep us apart.

“Because, Geneva, even chaos has its moments of clarity, and in you, I found mine.”

The sincerity in his voice is my undoing.

I hug my middle, attempting to fortify myself as I look away. Every touch from him should be a lie, should be something manipulative and dangerous. Yet here I stand in his arms, soaking it in like the first rays of sunshine.