Page 44 of Ghost Business (Boneyard Key #2)

“How soon?” He stepped closer, kicking his discarded clothing to the side. He still made no move to undress her.

“Real soon,” she promised. She let herself look at him, really look.

She hadn’t realized until this moment, right as her dry spell was coming to an end, just how long it had been.

There was a nice little stockpile of toys in her nightstand, and they were great.

But compared to warm skin and muscle and trembles and sighs…

Sophie wasn’t one for wicked smiles, but this one felt good. “I need to taste you first.” Everything about him looked delicious, and she couldn’t wait another minute to get her mouth on him.

“Oh, God. ” His head dropped back. “You may actually kill me.”

She clucked her tongue. “Don’t be a baby.” Then she used her tongue for better things.

She started slow, settling her mouth at his throat, tasting the vulnerable skin there. He sighed, those sighs turning deeper and breathier as she worked her way down his chest, her hands wandering across his skin in the wake of the path her mouth was taking.

“No,” he said as she sank to her knees. “Absolutely not.” He tugged at her arm weakly while she looked up with innocent eyes.

“You said anything I want.” He’d grown even harder while she’d touched him, and now his cock pulsed in her hand, almost impossibly hot.

“I know.” His breath came faster, almost labored in his chest—a man who was holding on by a single, unraveling thread. “But you do that and it’s over in five seconds, I swear to God.”

“We have all night,” Sophie said. “It’s gonna be raining for a while.” She took off her glasses, leaning up to set them on the edge of her bed. She wasn’t going to need to see anything far away for a while; right now everything was happening up close. Very close.

“Okay…” The word trailed off into a moan as she stroked him, her palm gathering his wetness and spreading it. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Noted.” Her heart pounded in her ears as she bent toward him. All bravado aside, she hadn’t done this in a long time. She had no idea if she was even any good at it. She leaned forward, planting a tiny kiss on the very tip of him, and his body jerked in response. That was a good start.

She bent to him in earnest, working him with her mouth and gentle swirls of her tongue.

He twitched and trembled in her mouth, and she gave a long, slow suck.

He was large but not massive—less “oh God how is this even going to fit” and more “he’s going to fit just right.

” Sophie had just established a gentle, rocking rhythm when Tristan gave a cry, and strong hands hauled her to her feet.

“Nope.” His hands were iron bands around her upper arms, and his breath shuddered in his chest. He looked absolutely wrecked—hair mussed, mouth open, eyes glazed. She’d done that. She’d finally made him snap. Something inside her glowed at that knowledge.

He turned them, holding her at arm’s length, and walked her backwards until she was perched on the edge of her bed.

He picked up her glasses and moved them to the relative safety of her nightstand, then bent once more to get something out of the pocket of his shorts, tossing it to the nightstand next to her glasses.

Then he finally, finally , stepped into her personal space, and her knees fell apart to welcome him as he bunched the skirt of her sundress in his hands, hauling the fabric upward.

She stood to help him pull it off over her head.

Sophie’s sudden insecurity was like a dash of cold water. “Sorry,” she said almost immediately. “I’ve been told I have the body of a twelve-year-old boy.”

He was incredulous, his expression snapping from ravished to livid.

“What idiot said that?” He regained focus fast, obviously getting rid of the thought with a shake of his head.

When Tristan stepped closer, Sophie sank to sit on the bed again.

Then he was closer still, his mouth on her neck as he settled onto her, his knee between her thighs, nudging them apart.

She barely had time to enjoy the full force of his weight before he rolled them, draping her across his body.

“The thing is…” he said as he made quick work of her bra clasps, “I’ve been a twelve-year-old boy.

” He drew her bra down her arms and tossed it over his shoulder.

“If I’d looked like this, I never would have left the house.

” Her underwear followed soon after, both undergarments thrown into the darkness. She wasn’t going to need them.

A surprised giggle burst out of her, and his eyes practically disappeared as he grinned to match her. He lifted his head up to catch her mouth with his, their smiles mingling together.

Tristan anchored her to him, a hand flat on her back, as he tilted them both to one side, his other arm stretching out toward the nightstand. Sophie rested her chin on her folded hands and watched him get a condom out of his wallet.

“You want any help with that?”

“Absolutely not,” he said for the second time that night. He didn’t even look at her as he tossed his wallet to the side, concentrating all his attention on the foil packet in his hands, tearing it open. “I’m on a hair trigger as it is. You touch me right now, and it’s all premature fireworks.”

“I like fireworks…”

“That’s good news for me.” And they were moving again, Tristan rolling her under him, and Sophie realized this was really happening.

That business-casual guy she’d met over oysters at The Haunt all those months ago, the guy she’d screamed at in the street all those weeks ago, was now in her bed.

He was running his hands up the insides of her thighs, parting them, settling between them.

He was tilting her hips, lining himself up, pushing inside.

And she was reaching for him, sliding her hands over his warm skin, hooking her heels around his hips, pulling him in so close that she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began.

As he’d warned her, it didn’t take long before his thrusts began to stutter, and he slid a hand between them, searching, finding, circling, stroking.

“Come on,” he panted in her ear. “You can go again.”

And she could.

Outside her boarded-up windows, the wind and rain continued to pummel Boneyard Key. But inside, Sophie was warm and safe, with the least likely man—the most perfect man—to make her feel that way.