Page 9

“Wait—” Mark starts, but he doesn’t get the chance to finish before Ghost’s fist crashes into his jaw with a sickening crack.

Mark stumbles back, his head snapping to the side, a choked sound leaving his throat as he crashes against a nearby table. Someone gasps. A fork clatters to the floor.

I shove Ghost back before he can follow up. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

He doesn’t even acknowledge me. His breathing is heavy, deep, his broad shoulders rising and falling in sharp, controlled movements. He stands there like some silent executioner, fists clenched, his entire body radiating hostility.

Mark wipes the corner of his mouth, wincing as the back of his hand comes away bloody. He looks between us, eyes wide. “What the hell is wrong with you, man?!”

Ghost doesn’t answer. He finally turns to me, his head tilting just slightly, his whole body vibrating with fury. “Oh, you love the attention, don’t you?”

Something about the way he says it—the bite in his tone, the condescension, the way it’s laced with something dark and possessive—sends a slow, unwelcome heat curling through my stomach.

I don’t let him see it.

“God, you’re such a dick,” I snap, shoving past him. I crouch beside Mark, checking his jaw. It’s already bruising, his lower lip split. He flinches when I tilt his chin up. “I’m so sorry. Ghost is just—”

“A fucking lunatic?” Mark is pissed and rightfully so.

“Yeah, that.”

Ghost hasn’t moved. He stands a few feet away, still burning a hole through Mark’s skull. If I don’t de-escalate this, he’s going to end up with actual charges, and I really don’t need this turning into a legal issue.

So, like a true professional idiot, I promise Mark a date if he lets it slide.

Ghost watches me do it.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t lash out. He just turns and walks out of the restaurant, his movements eerily controlled.

Mark agrees, and we exchanged numbers. I make sure he gets some ice to apply to the sore spot before I gather our things into the camera bag and follow Ghost outside. He’s pacing, fists balled at his sides, barely keeping himself in check.

“Seriously, are you clinically insane? What the hell was that?!”

He stops pacing the second he hears me, his head snapping toward me. Then he moves.

I barely have time to react before his finger hooks around the O-ring of my pink leather choker, yanking me forward until I collide with his chest. My breath catches. He’s close—too close, his body radiating heat, his fingers flexing against the leather to grip my throat.

“This little fucking bitch,” he growls, his voice thick with something unhinged, “was staring at what’s mine.”

His other hand curls around my hip, his fingers digging into the thin fabric of my dress—hard enough that tomorrow I’ll have bruises in the shape of his fingertips. The possessiveness in his touch makes my stomach flip… and my thighs clench.

He exhales, slow and deliberate, the heat of it brushing against my ear. “I don’t like being tested, Bunny.” His voice is velvet and razor wire, twirling around my spine. “You know that, don’t you?”

I swallow hard. My skin prickles. My pulse jumps. I should push him away, should tell him he’s out of line, but my body betrays me.

He knows it. He always does.

His hand is suddenly below my skirt cupping my pussy, and oh my God, he can feel how damp my underwear is.

I have to crane my neck to look up at him. All I see is my own doe-eyed reflection in his blank mask.

He tilts his head. “You liked it, though, didn’t you? Me putting him in his place.”

I refuse to give him the satisfaction. “You need therapy.”

Ghost chuckles, squeezing my throat harder. “Admit it. Did you have fun trying to make me jealous, hm?”

“Cut it off! Someone is really going to call the cops on us!” I have no idea what’s gotten into him—he not only assaulted poor Mark a few minutes ago, now he’s trying to get in trouble for this shit.

But he ignores it as his fingers hook under the lace of my panties and pull them aside.

“No,” I yelp quietly, not to cause any alarm in public. “Ugh, don’t do this now.”

But his fingers already gently tracing the slit of my pussy feeling more wetness pooling.

I try to shove his wrist away, but he’s immovable, his hand pressing harder, fingers teasing, rubbing slow, agonizing circles.

My knees threaten to buckle, and I can’t hold back a moan.

“That’s right,” he mutters, voice thick with amusement. “Moan like the horny little slut you are. Right here, in the middle of the sidewalk.”

His other hand releases my throat, then slides lower, palming my breast, massaging it, rolling my nipple between his fingers until it hardens into a pebble.

I squeeze my thighs together in a desperate attempt to fight back the pleasure, but all it does is trap his fingers exactly where he wants them.

“Please, stop,” I beg, but it’s pathetic—weak.

A lie. Because my body does the opposite and my hips buck against his fingers, searching for more friction.

I’m desperate. I don’t think I’ve ever been this aroused, and we’re barely even doing anything.

But the fact that we’re doing it publicly in broad daylight is what gets me.

The risk of getting caught. His dominant attitude and degrading words… Him .

His fingers glide so easily, like he knows my body better than I do, like he already has me figured out. Maybe he does.

“God, you make my cock so fucking hard, baby.” His voice is all gravel and smoke, all hunger. He eases a finger inside me, groaning softly when he feels how eagerly I take him.

I bite my lip, muffling another sorry moan, but a whimper escapes anyway. It’s all the encouragement he needs to add a second finger.

“Such a perfect, tight little pussy,” he groans, voice reverent, like he’s obsessed. Like he’s worshiping me in his own fucked-up way. “I can’t wait to ruin it.”

“That’s never going to happen,” I manage to whisper, but I know my reactions are telling him a different story.

“Oh yeah?” His fingers stroke deep, slow, making me squirm. “That’s why your cunt is weeping for me?”

He pulls out suddenly, and I shudder at the loss. Then he brings his fingers to my lips, pressing against them, prying them open.

“Taste yourself,” he orders. His voice is lower now, darker. “Taste how fucking bad you want me.”

A flutter in my stomach. A pang between my legs. My tongue flicks out, licking his fingers clean.

He grips my face, hard, running his thumb against my wet lips. I automatically suck it inside my mouth, swirling my tongue around it. That breathy, wrecked ‘fuck’ that slips past his lips makes me smirk.

And then his other hand cuts the air and lands on my ass with a smack, the sting sending a sharp jolt of heat straight to my core. I’m once again reminded we’re in public, where everyone can see.

I glance around frantically, half-expecting someone to be staring at us, but no one seems to notice. Not yet.

“You’re mine, little bunny,” he growls, fingers digging into my flesh. “Every inch of you. And I’ll break you if I have to, just to make sure you never forget it.”

“I sure won’t forget it when we get arrested,” I snap back, trying to regain some semblance of control.

“Don’t try to be smart with me.”

“Or?”

“Or I’ll discipline you right here, right now,” he mutters, but finally lets me go. He wraps an arm around my waist, guiding me down the sidewalk like he hasn’t just had his fingers inside me, like he hasn’t just made me yearn for him in the middle of the main street.

And then I see it.

Oh fuck.

A sheriff’s car is rolling toward us, slow, almost too slow. Checking us out.

My stomach plummets.

I hope Mark didn’t call the cops after all.

Maybe it was someone else from the diner?

I don’t know why I care so much about Ghost if I could go to jail for public sex because of that idiot.

The car stops parallel to us, and the sheriff rolls down the window. “Everything okay here?”

I feel Ghost’s arm tighten around me, the shift in his stance almost imperceptible. Then he pulls up his mask.

“All good, sir,” he says smoothly.

I can’t see his face because I’m behind him, but the sheriff’s eyes widen slightly. A flicker of something passes over his face, and then, just like that, he nods and drives off.

I exhale sharply, my pulse still racing. “Um, what was that?” I’m too flustered to process what the hell just happened.

Ghost turns to me, his mask back in place, unreadable. “What?” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “You just dodged a night in jail. You’re welcome.”

I snort. “And whose fault would that be, huh?”

But I can’t think straight.

Because my legs are still shaking. Because I can still feel his fingers between my thighs, his breath on my skin. Because I don’t know what the fuck he’s doing to me.

And worse…

I want more .