Page 41 of Ghosted
“Take it off,” I breathe, wanting as few barriers between usas possible. He sits back on his knees between my legs, trailing lightning down my thighs in the wake of his fingertips. In a movement indiscernible to my mortal eye, he’s naked except for his merlot-colored boxer briefs. An affectionate laugh bubbles out of me, because of course even his underwear is red. He gives me a rakish smile and leans forward, getting my t-shirt off without my even having to sit up. Being able to defy the laws of physics sure does have its perks.
His pupils blow wide when he realizes I’m not wearing a bra. He looks at my sweatpants, running a finger along the waistband and asks, “Am I going to take these off of you and find that you have nothing underneath here as well?” He sounds almost angry at the thought. I lift my hips involuntarily and rub my lips together, because that is exactly what he’s going to find. Shrugging a coy shoulder, I relax back against the couch, enjoying how flustered he is. For once, he’s the one who’s off-balance.
He focuses on his hand and—in a move I really should have seen coming—passes directly through the fabric of my sweats to press against my tender, aching flesh. His eyes flutter closed, and a faint redness stains his cheeks. He’s slowly trailing two fingers around, exploring me delicately. All the while avoiding the one place I desperately want him to touch. His eyes open, and he makes a tsking sound against his teeth. “You made me sit through a full movie next to you, and you weren’t wearing any underwear?”
I tilt my hips and nod, trying to get him to go where I want. “Ah, ah. Not so fast.” He moves his hand back, running my slickness over the inside of my thigh, making me whimper with want. “Did it turn you on to think about it? These sexy thighs pressed together, knowing I’d do damn near anything to bebetween them? All the while I was right next to you, watching fuckingBeetlejuiceinstead of touching you the way I’ve been dying to since we first met.” His brows are a dark slash over his eyes, so frustrated with me.
Yes.
I was nearly drowning in it during the movie. Knowing my flimsy sweats were the only barrier between him and me. I hardly ever go underwear-less unless it’s out of necessity, or neglecting to do my laundry. I have to say, I’ve never been more thankful for forgetting to throw a load in the wash than I am right now.
A tiny, distant part of me is embarrassed at the thought of Rebecca sensing my desire. She probably thinks I have some weirdBeetlejuicekink. Oh well.
Dean trails his fingers back toward my center, but pauses just before he gets there. “Do you want this, Rae?” he asks huskily, rosy-cheeked and devastating.
“Y-yes,” I hiss, because the moment the word leaves my mouth, he plunges his fingers into me, instantly finding that sensitive spot. I thrust my hips against him, making the heel of his hand put pressure on me where I need it most. The sight of his tattooed forearm flexing while he works his fingers inside of me is downright filthy.
“Fuck, yes. That’s it. Look at you, so needy for me,” he rumbles, looking almost pained.
Oh my god.
I did not know I was a dirty talk person, but wow it’s working for me right now. My eyes close and I focus solely on chasing the pleasure that he’s giving me. The combination of his hand and the slight zing that comes with it makes me climb higher, faster than ever before. A silent “Oh” leaves my mouth,everything in me spiraling tighter, until at last, with one solid thrust of his fingers and press of his palm, I shudder into a rippling pool of satisfaction.
I expect Dean to remove his hand, but he leaves it, gently pumping in time with the aftershocks of my release. Before the last wave can even finish crashing over me, his head is between my thighs, joining his hand. “Oh fuck,” I curse looking down to see him, head half-buried in my sweats. The weird sight of him disappearing into my clothes is oddly a turn-on. I gasp when I feel his tongue, hot and flat against me, fingers picking up the pace again.
I open my legs as wide as they can go to give him even better access. He groans appreciatively, giving a firm suck that makes me lose my breath. His tongue darts out, continuing to ravage me.
He might kill me this way. And I think I’m okay with that,I think dazedly.
And then I can’t think anymore, because all I can focus on is his mouth against me, his fingers working me. Every part of my body clenches again, my back bowing off the couch. I stay balanced on that precipice of shattering, getting wound tighter and tighter, until finally I break apart with his name on my lips. He continues lapping at me until I fully come down, and then he rewards me with a sweet, lingering kiss against my inner thigh. When my muscles stop quaking, he sits up, looking half-crazy with need.
“I can taste you,” he says, eyes bright with a feverish pleasure. “My god, Rae. I cantasteyou. I don’t even care that I’ll never have cake again because I have you, right here. And you’re better than any dessert.” He licks his lips lasciviously, as if savoring me. I bite my lip, wanting to return the favor.
He must see my intent because a slow, wicked smile spreads across his face. “You want to be on your knees for me, baby?” I nod eagerly and reach for him. He stops me with his hand, holding my wrist firmly but gently. “Tell me. Tell me how much you want me.” I search his face, finding a surprising amount of doubt there among the lust. It makes me want to be vulnerable too, even though it scares me.
Sex has always been a quiet activity for me, so this whole talking thing is new. I’ve never been vocal in bed before, always too shy to say what I wanted—but Dean makes me feel different. More confident. “I want to feel you everywhere. In my mouth, between my legs. I want to make you feel as good as you just made me feel,” I say, pushing past my shyness.
He snaps his fingers, and his boxers are gone. I laugh at his theatrics, and he wiggles his brows at me. “Very convenient, isn’t it?” he says, kneeling before me like some kind of spirit of Adonis.
I reach out and grasp the thick length of him, pumping my hand a few times until his eyes shut and his mouth opens on a broken groan. I spend time running my hand over him, learning every vein and ridge. Learning what makes him gasp and sigh. I lean forward and take him into my mouth, the crackling sensation a bit like holding a sip of carbonated soda on my tongue. “Oh, shit. Rae, I’m going to—” he breaks off, stuttering in and out of existence a few times. The bulb in my side table lamp pops, plunging the room into darkness.
I open my eyes to find that I’m alone again. I squint into the late-night gloom. I want to both laugh and cry that he felt so much pleasure, he lost his grip on this plane. I bury my face into the couch pillow and sigh, hoping he’ll be back soon.
TWENTY-FIVE
I slowly cometo with the early morning light streaming in through my curtains. I pull my comforter over my shoulders, snuggling deeper into my bed, not wanting to face the day quite yet.
“I miss sleep,” Dean murmurs from behind me.
I yawn and roll over to find him lounging with his back against the headboard, long legs crossed at the ankles. He’s in comfy-looking plaid pajama pants and a black V-neck t-shirt. “How long have you been watching me sleep?”
“I’ve only been here an hour or so, I think. It’s peaceful. You snore like a little mouse. Adorable.”
I reach out and smack him on the thigh, earning myself a static-like shock to the palm. “For someone who’s never seenTwilight,this is very Edward Cullen of you,” I grumble.
“At least I’m not hundreds of years old and you’re not a teenager,” he retorts, sounding suspiciously like someone whohasseenTwilight.
I tilt my head in acknowledgement, another yawn cracking my jaw. I scrounge around for my phone and light up the screen to see it’s just after seven.
