Page 38 of Ghosted (The Ravenwood #1)

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 allow him 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.

He clicks it on, and I immediately snap my legs shut.

I know if he puts that on me, I’ll be done in seconds, and I want this to last. He makes a tsking noise and says, “None of that, love. Flip over for me.” I hesitate for a moment before doing as I’m told, instinctively moving to my knees and arching my back as I press my chest down into the bed.

“Beautiful,” he says, suddenly behind me.

I push my hips back when he doesn’t move.

“Needy thing, aren’t we?” he asks before palming a cheek and squeezing .

I whimper in response. “Yes, I need you,” I say, face half-buried in the mattress.

“Here?” he asks, dipping the tip of the vibrator inside.

“Yes,” I breathe. He withdraws the vibrator and lines himself up, pushing into me slowly.

He leans forward, draping his long body over mine, and reaches around with the vibrator until he finds a spot that makes me see stars.

Heat immediately licks out from my center, and I have to concentrate on the swirling colors and patterns of my bedspread to stop from shattering.

His hips meet the back of my thighs in slow, deep thrusts that nearly bring tears to my eyes.

“You take me so well,” he murmurs in my ear, reaching his free hand forward to lace with mine, the other still between my legs.

I can only moan in response, feeling myself spiral tighter and tighter.

Finally, like a fishing line snapping, I unspool in waves, the vibrator he presses to me heightening the intensity.

His breath hitches, and he says, “I’m going to try to stay here with you, okay? But if I can’t, know that I want to. More than anything.” His muscles tense against me and he presses his forehead to my shoulder.

His thrusts become erratic until I feel him pulse inside me, the vibrator falling to the bed as he loses concentration.

He seats himself deeply, gripping my hips tightly for purchase.

He shudders and allows himself to lie on top of me.

I can tell he’s holding off some of his weight, but it’s still the ultimate cuddle, our bodies pressed closely together.

I smile into my comforter. “You stayed,” I say, half-delirious.

“I stayed,” he affirms, rolling off me and drawing me close, my back to his chest.

“So much for no funny business,” I say with a snort, feeling slap-happy from all the oxytocin bouncing around my brain.

“Yeah, well. You’re relaxed, aren’t you?

” he says, kissing the crown of my still-wet head.

I snuggle deeper into him, holding him close like an oversized teddy bear.

“Sleep, Rae,” he says, caressing my side with his hand.

I comply before I can voice the half-formulated argument brewing on my tongue.