“You’re a fucking mess, aren’t you, Doc?”

I shake my head in what looks like a silent plea for him to stop, but it’s really me unable to form coherent words. And because I’m enjoying what he’s doing to me. I just won’t admit it.

“I love watching you fight me,” he says. “It’s fucking delicious to watch.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re wet.”

He thrusts a finger inside my pussy, and my body tightens at the sensual invasion. When he inserts two more, I can’t hold back the moan that escapes my lips. He uses his thumb to circle my clit, while curling his fingers inside me, and I sag in his embrace, unable to take what he’s doing to me.

And he doesn’t stop.

Ghost keeps fucking me with his fingers, the strokes hard and fast. I bite my lip to keep from crying out. His fingers are relentless, stroking and demanding, driving me higher and higher. I’m getting close.

“Stop,” I say, the lie a mere whisper.

Ghost chuckles. “Your pussy is saying otherwise, Geneva.”

He releases his grip on my throat to slide his hand up to grip my jaw, forcing me to look back at him. “Are you finally ready to stop lying about us? About my feelings for you?”

I shake my head. With a growl he finger fucks me until I’m moving with him, following the punishing rhythm he’s set. He knows exactly how to touch me, how to bring me right to the edge.

Then he stops.

I whimper at the loss, the ache excruciating. He slides his hands away from me and steps back, putting space between us. I sag against the bars, the adrenaline draining away, leaving me weak and shaky. I can’t look at him yet. Not after what just happened.

After gathering my composure, I walk over to the opposite wall, needing to lean on it for support. And trying to put as much distance between us as possible.

“Look at me,” he says. When I shake my head, he growls. “Look. At. Me.”

I lift my head, narrowing my eyes at him. In return, Ghost studies me, his gaze roving over every inch of my body, lingering on the places where his hands had just been.

“I need to know if you’re running or willing,” he says.

I stiffen.

He steps closer, gripping the bars once more. “Are you willing to risk everything to be with me?”

I stare at him, unable to speak, my mind reeling.

“I want a fucking answer, Geneva.”

CHAPTER 47

Geneva stares at me with a bewildered expression, lust making her eyes bright. “Why did you do that to me?”

“Because you needed to be taught a lesson.”

Her expression shifts, anger flashing across her face. “Which is?”

“Actions have consequences, Doc. You think you can lie to me and get away with it?” I shake my head. “I know you have feelings for me. Just fucking say it.”

“You don’t deserve my answer,” she snaps.

“Don’t I? Remember that the next time you make yourself come, knowing it should’ve been me.”

Her eyes narrow to little more than slits. She opens her mouth to respond and clamps it shut. Then something slides across her features, giving her a fierce expression.

She lifts her chin in pure defiance, right before she hikes up her skirt. I watch her, mesmerized, as she reaches down and begins to stroke herself.

“Fuck,” I growl, the word ripped from my throat.

She watches me with those intense eyes, her movements enticing. Then she widens her legs, and I can see her slick pussy, glistening with wetness. My mouth waters. I need to taste her.

“That’s right,” she murmurs, her voice sultry. Lusty. “It’s my hand. Not yours.”

The words are like a blow, hitting me in the chest. She’s going to punish me for denying her an orgasm. But more importantly, for daring her to acknowledge her feelings.

“Geneva,” I whisper, the word a warning.

Her hand moves faster, the rhythm frantic, along with her hips as they seek out her touch. I’m hypnotized, unable to tear my eyes away from the sight of Geneva pleasuring herself.

“Yes,” she moans.

I grip the bars, my knuckles whitening, and grit my teeth. I can’t fucking take it. But I can’t tell her to stop.

“Ghost, I’m coming,” she says, her voice a broken gasp.

“Fuck!”

Her eyes fly open, and she stares at me, her gaze locked on mine. Then she arches her back and her body convulses. I groan when she cries out, her pussy gushing. The sight is enough to push me over the edge.

I grab my dick and squeeze it before I come, refusing to give her more power over me. I release a harsh groan, the sound torn from my chest as pain shoots along my cock. I rest my forehead against the bars, the metal cool against my skin. We’re both breathing heavily, one fulfilled, and one frustrated.

“Don’t ever fuck with my emotions,” she says, her voice soft and deadly.

She pushes off the wall, heading for the door, and I can’t stand the sight of her walking away from me.

“Geneva!” I shout.

She stops, turning to face me, her expression cold. “Go fuck yourself, Ghost.”

“You will admit it. This isn’t over.”

She stares at me for a long moment, her eyes burning with fury. Then she turns and walks out the door.

Hours later, I’m still leaning against the cold bars, my grip so tight my knuckles ache. Geneva’s scent lingers in the air, faint but enough to taunt me. I can’t get her out of my fucking head. Her words replay on a loop, torturing me.

The test wasn’t just about breaking her or seeing how far I could push. It was about loyalty. About feelings.

Hers. And mine.

It’s what fuels my obsession, the one that’s been eating me alive every second she’s not in my sight. I challenged her, forced her to confront what this thing between us really is. Will she give in and admit the truth?

What if she never does?

The thought twists my gut. For all my confidence, doubt creeps in, whispering that I went too far.

“Bullshit,” I mutter under my breath, dragging a hand through my hair.

Geneva isn’t weak. She’s a fighter, just like me. She wouldn’t have stood there, touching herself just to fuck with me if I broke her. I punished her and she retaliated.

Geneva won that round.

Pulling the phone from my pocket, I unlock it with a swipe, my thumb moving on autopilot. I immediately check the camera feed. Geneva’s pacing her apartment, her movements agitated but purposeful. She’s trying to think her way out of whatever emotions I’ve forced her to confront.

God, she’s mesmerizing.

Her hair tumbles over her shoulder as she spins on her heel, her lips moving like she’s talking to herself. Maybe she’s cursing me, calling me every name in the book. I wouldn’t blame her. But even through the screen, I can see the flush on her cheeks, the lingering heat from earlier. She’s trying to fight it, but the pull between us is undeniable.

It always will be.

A notification pops up on my screen, pulling me from my reverie.

Alert: Motion detected on fire escape.

Adrenaline surges, cold and swift, as I open the live feed. Someone’s climbing the fire escape outside her building. The hood obscures his face, but his movements are predatory. Focused.

I zoom in, my fists clenching when I recognize the figure. Skinner. One flight away from Geneva’s bedroom window.

“What the fuck?” I grit out.

How did he find her?

How the fuck did he get out of prison?

My muscles tighten, the sight of him sparking a rage I can barely contain. Skinner doesn’t just kill. He enjoys it. Thrives on it. And now he’s outside her building, his vendetta against me written all over him.