Page 52 of Ghosted
Dean presses a hand to my spine, forcing me to bend over and catch myself on the vanity, baring myself to him fully. “Hey, Rae?”
“Yeah?” I croak.
“I lied,” Dean says simply. Before I can ask what he lied about, his hands slide to either side of my hips, pulling me open just that much more for him. I suck in a gasp when he leans in and tastes me. The gasp turns to a groan when his tongue starts to work along my center. With the angle, I can just make out his kneeling form behind me in the reflection. I’ve never been more happy that I can see ghosts in the mirror than I am right now.
Suddenly, he stands up, and I nearly sag into him in disappointment. “Why’d you stop?” I whine.
He gives me a knowing smirk in the mirror. “That was just the beginning. Come on, let me take care of you.”
He guides me to the shower, and we both step inside under the stream of water. I sigh contentedly as the hot water runs over my body, despite the ache between my legs. I tip my head back and allow my hair to get saturated. “Turn around,” Dean says, pumping a handful of my shampoo into his palm.
I comply and feel a totally different type of ecstasy as he works his blunt fingers over my scalp, massaging the product into my hair. I allow him to guide me back under the spray as he carefully rinses out the suds. He uses his fingers to comb through my hair, adding my sweet-smelling conditioner to it. “Is this the soap you use?” he asks in a low tone, picking up my lavender-scented goat milk bar soap.
I nod, and he sweeps my hair over my shoulder, exposing my back. He rubs the bar in efficient circles around my back and down my arms. He runs the soap over my legs before circling me and starting on my front. He’s somehow managed to avoid every spot aching for his touch so far. I don’t mind. Mostly. I’m enjoying the slow ascent, the way he draws out every step. Worshipping my body with touches that aren’t exactly sexual, but make my heart race all the same.
He guides me under the spray of the shower, running his hands over me and wringing out my hair to rinse everything off. If I weren’t so turned on, I’d be ready to fall asleep for the next nine hours. Someone playing with my hair is like a sedative for me. I’ve been known to doze off at the hair salon.
Dean shuts off the water, snags my towel from the rack, and wraps me up like a horny little burrito. The ache between my thighs is almost painful, but I don’t want to push him to go anyfaster. I’m savoring this moment with him. It’s so rare for someone else to take care of me that I’m inclined to let him. I wrap my hair in a towel and tilt my head at him. I love that we don’t even have to talk. It’s like we’ve done this a million times.
He leads me out of the bathroom and toward my bed, pushing me lightly onto my back, making the towel flop open on either side. He turns from me and evaluates my dresser. I’m about to ask him what he’s looking for when his gaze catches on a bottle of my almond-scented body oil. “So this is why you smelled like a cookie,” he says, retrieving it from its place among my other body care products. He smiles lazily at me, though his eyes betray his less-than-pure thoughts; they’re nearly black with lust.
“What are you doing?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I know.
“Taking care of you,” he says, drizzling the oil over my chest and middle. He glides his hands over my still-damp skin, rubbing the oil into it with all the care of a masseuse. Although a masseuse has never touched me quite like this. Or at all, if I’m being honest. Massages are a luxury I’ve never been able to bring myself to splurge on.
He continues to rub the oil onto my arms and legs, giving me a brief but decadent foot massage, before making his way up and cupping my breasts. His slick palms glide over them in circles until I’m practically delirious with how turned on I am. “What do you want now, Rae?” he asks from his kneeled position between my legs on the bed.
I reach forward, wrapping my hand around him and pump once. He pulls away, making me pout. “Use your words,” he orders.
I falter, which feels silly considering I’m oiled up and splayed out in front of him. “I want you,” I say quietly.
The corner of his mouth ticks up as he runs his hands over my breasts. He cocks his head to the side. “You want me to what?” he gravels.
I sigh in frustration. He knows what I want, but he’s just being difficult. “I want you inside me,” I finally burst out, unable to take the maddening emptiness between my legs anymore.
“You want me to fuck you, Rae?” he asks, wrapping a hand around himself and stroking a few times as though he can’t resist. I nod vigorously in agreement. “Say it,” he practically growls, though his eyes are still playful, letting me know that I’m as much in control as he is.
“Fuck me, please,” I beg. The crude words fall from my mouth before I can second-guess myself.
Apparently, that’s all he needed. “Gladly,” he says, leaning down to kiss me while simultaneously coaxing my legs wider so he can press himself between them.
When he pushes inside, fully seating himself in a single slow thrust, I’m immediately overwhelmed in the best way. The faint prickle of electricity he gives off mixed with the heat and pressure of him is almost too much. I am aware of every square inch of skin he’s touching, practically branded with him.
“Deep breaths,” he coaches in my ear. I do as he says and slowly start to relax around him, allowing him the freedom to roll his hips into mine.
We both gasp at the sensation, and when he pauses to check on me, I reach up my hand to cup his jaw and make him look me in the eye. “Again,” I demand, canting my hips to allowhim a deeper angle. He obliges, easily finding a rhythm that has us both sighing with pleasure, gazes locked in a way that’s almost more intimate than what’s happening with our bodies.
I close my eyes, unable to take the way Dean is baring himself to me and the soft way he’s looking at me. Unable to take the way it makes me want to do the same. I draw his face closer so I can kiss him, disguising my need to sever the connection between us before it gets too real.
I don’t know what’s happening to me. Maybe it’s the way he took care of me multiple times, but I’ve never been someone who viewed sex as this be-all and end-all for a relationship. But now, as cheesy as it sounds, it feels cosmic. Like a key fitting into a lock. Utter rightness. And I’m terrified of it. What it means. How much I’ll have to lose.
“You with me, love?” Dean asks after pulling his lips from mine, hips slowing until he’s just barely rocking into me.
“Yes,” I say, meeting his eye again.
“Good,” he replies, before pulling out of me.
“Wha—” I start to ask. But then my jaw clicks shut because he’s digging through my bedside drawer and pulling out my favorite vibrator. “How did you know?” I ask, my throat dry. And then I remember that he said he watches me.
