Page 107 of Depraved Devotion

“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 butpurposeful. 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?