Page 46 of Code Name: Ghost

Without warning, he grabs my hips, pulling me onto his lap in a fluid, controlled movement that steals the air from my lungs as he fists my hair and brings my face down to his. Nick’s mouth crashes over mine.

It’s not a kiss. It’s a war.

Teeth. Tongue. Heat.

I whimper against him, my fingers diving into his hair as he grips my ass—squeezing my cheeks—and dragging me against him so I feel every inch of how what he did to me affected him tonight.

“Be careful what you ask for,” he growls against my lips. “You might not survive it.”

I bite his bottom lip in response, dragging my nails down his chest. “What if I don’t want to survive?”

He starts to say something, stops and then groans, his hands sliding beneath the fabric of my dress, hiking it up until my lace-covered center is pressed directly against the hard ridge of his cock. He grasps the delicate panties and yanks them off, bringing them to his nose as he inhales deeply. The rough feel of the metal zipper on his fly drags against my aching core, making me gasp.

Nick grips my jaw, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“This changes nothing,” he says, his voice rough.

I arch against him. “Then stop.”

His fingers tighten. “I can’t.”

His lips crush mine again, his hands leaving bruising trails of possession over my skin. The mission might be over. But whatever this is between us is only just beginning.

12

NICK

The windows of the Range Rover are tinted, and it’s dark, but they start fogging up fast. The streetlight glow filters in through the windshield, just enough to catch the glint of sweat on her collarbone, the red bloom of her flushed skin, the need in her eyes...

She’s in my lap, straddling me, bare and wild and furious. Her panties lie torn on the floorboard, shredded in a moment that wasn’t about patience or grace. This isn’t soft. It’s not tender. It’s battle lines being drawn, and I never liked losing.

Her nails dig into my shoulders—a bite, not a touch—and I know she’s still angry. Good. She should be. But she’s also soaked, her hips grinding against me like she’s trying to punish us both with pleasure. She’s still wrecked from earlier—from the scene in the private playroom, where I made her come in front of a man who was never allowed to touch her. I can feel the aftershocks in the way she trembles, the way she clings.

And still, she’s fighting me.

“You’re still mad,” I murmur, my voice low, rough with satisfaction. My hand skims up her thigh, brushing the slick skin there. Her breath catches. Her body always tells the truth, even when her mouth lies. “But you can’t deny what you want, can you?”

She snarls, her eyes sharp and wet with frustration. “You think you can just do whatever you want to me? Slap a ball gag in my mouth and make me come in front of that guy, like I’m your...”

“My what, Cherise? Submissive?” I finish, voice cold, even. “Like we were on an op, and I needed you to play your part?”

My fingers tighten around her thigh, locking her in place as I lean in. My lips brush the shell of her ear, deliberate. Dominant. Dangerous.

“You loved it, Cherise. You loved how I pushed you. How I made you feel. You loved the way he watched you fall apart for me.”

Her breath shudders, body betraying her with a small, involuntary thrust of her hips. I feel the war happening inside her, but she’ll never win—not when it comes to this. She may not yet want to admit it, but she is submissive... and I’m her fucking Dom.

I drag my palm up her torso, under the edge of her dress, until it cups her breast through the lacy material. Her nipple is already tight, aching for attention. “Admit it,” I growl. “You want more. You want me to do it again. You want me to take you, fuck you, dominate you—not just for the job. Not just for show. For real.”

Her hand flies—a slap across my cheek that cracks through the Range Rover like a whip—but I don’t flinch. I don’t stop. Because her head falls back, her lips part, and a moan escapes her.

Yeah. That’s what I thought—she's fighting herself and losing.

I grab the back of her neck and pull her down into a kiss—hard, hungry, with a clash of tongue and teeth. My hand snakes between us, fingers sliding through her slick heat. She gasps, biting my lip, and I groan as I feel how ready she is.

“Say it,” I rasp against her mouth. “Say that you want me to fuck you, right here, right now. Say that you want me to take you. Own you. Make you mine.”

Her eyes blaze, half anger, half need. Her hips rock harder against my cock, rubbing, seeking, desperate.

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