Page 37 of Code Name: Ghost

“You feel so good, baby,” he groans, his voice strained. “Just like coming home.”

I feel it too. My hands grip his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as I try to match his rhythm. He grasps my hips in a way that allows him to cup my ass. He holds me steady as I try to move with him.

“No, baby. I do the fucking. You’re the one who gets fucked. You don’t come until I give you permission.”

I writhe beneath him; he’s given me no other choice. He begins to thrust harder and faster. The pleasure builds inside me like a bowstring pulled taut and ready to snap. His face hardens as he begins to pound into me, making me cry out and clutch his biceps as I try to keep from being overwhelmed by everything he makes me feel.

“Come for me,” he commands, his voice hoarse. “Let me feel you around me.”

His words are all it takes to send me over the edge. I cry out, my body convulsing around him, my orgasm ripping through me with an intensity that leaves me breathless. He follows soon after, his body tensing as he empties himself into me, his low growl filling the room.

We lay entangled, our hearts pounding and our bodies glistening with sweat. I turn my head, my eyes meeting his, and see the satisfaction and possessiveness in his gaze.

“Mine,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my temple.

My body is still trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. “Yours,” I agree, my voice soft and satiated. For the first time in years, I let go of everything—my fears, my doubts, my need to be in control—and simply let myself feel. I am free.

Nick rolls from me, pulling me against his chest as he wraps an arm around me. His hand brushes through my hair, his touch soothing, but it doesn’t calm the storm inside me. Because even though my body feels sated, my mind is anything but.

I glance up at him, my heart twisting at the sight of his relaxed expression, his guard down for the first time since we reunited. I should feel safe. I should feel secure knowing that I’ve proven my trust in him. But all I can think about is whether my feelings for him are clouding my judgment, and whether he feels the same. He spoke words of ownership, of possession, but not of feeling.

As I drift off to sleep, his arms still wrapped around me, I question whether or not giving him my trust was the smartest thing I’ve ever done—or the most dangerous.

10

NICK

Cherise is still asleep, her body curled against mine, her breath slow and even. I should move. I should get out of this bed. I have things I should be doing, but I can’t. Not yet.

Her scent lingers on my skin, a mixture of her natural sweetness and the remnants of our night together. My arm is draped over her waist, my hand resting possessively against her belly. She’s warm beneath my touch, her body relaxed in a way I haven’t seen since she walked back into my life.

I hate how right this feels. This is exactly the type of distraction I can’t afford.

My fingers tighten slightly against her skin before I force myself to pull away. I roll out of bed, careful not to wake her, and grab my pants from where they were discarded on the floor. My movements are controlled, efficient, and I’m fully dressed before I allow myself to glance back at her.

She’s asleep. Finally. Her breath is slow and even, the curve of her body curled toward where mine was like she trusts I’ll still be here when she wakes.

That’s what terrifies me.

The room is quiet, but my mind isn’t. I should be scanning intel, finalizing the next steps, reviewing risk variables—but all I can do is stare at her. Memorize the curve of her jaw, the barest furrow in her brow that never quite disappears, even in sleep. Like some part of her never stops bracing for a fight.

I drag a hand down my face and exhale slowly, careful not to wake her. Because if she opens her eyes, I’ll lie. I’ll tell her I’m fine. That she belongs here. That this is a mission like any other.

But it isn’t. She isn’t. And that’s the problem.

She makes me hesitate. Not in the field—not yet—but in my head. I find myself accounting for her in every exit plan, every breach strategy, every goddamn worst-case scenario. I’ve never operated with that kind of variable. I’ve never let anyone be that variable.

It’s not her fault. Hell, she’s stronger than most operatives I’ve worked with. Sharp. Resilient. She knows what we’re up against and hasn’t blinked once.

But I have. Quietly. When she’s not looking.

Because if something happens to her… I won’t be able to compartmentalize it. I won’t be able to lock it in a box and keep moving—that makes her the most dangerous thing in my world.

I whisper it into the dark, like whispering it makes it less real.

"You being here... it changes everything."

She shifts slightly on the bed, lashes fluttering against her cheeks, but she doesn’t wake.

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