Page 73 of Depraved Devotion

“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 makeyoucome. 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’scaress 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’msoclose.

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 pressingagainst 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.