Page 41 of Vows & Violence
Ghost kisses me slowly this time. No war drums. No fire. Just him and me, and a night that feels like the first one we’re not bleeding through. His lips brush mine again, deeper now. No urgency. No battlefield between us. Just skin and breath and a thousand things we haven’t said, spoken through touch instead of words.
Ghost’s hand slides to the back of my neck, thumb tracing that spot just under my ear. The one he knows drives me wild. I breathe in sharply, eyes fluttering closed, because even this, his gentleness, is a weapon. One aimed right at the places I’ve armored for too long.
Ghost doesn’t push. Doesn’t take. He just waits, mouth hovering over mine, giving me the space to run. But I’m not running tonight.
I shift in his lap, straddling him, my hands curling in his hair. “Tell me you want this,” I whisper.
Ghost meets my gaze, voice low and wrecked. “I want you, Phoenix. Always you.”
That’s all I need. My mouth crashes into his with a heat that burns straight through my bones. Ghost groans into the kiss, hands gripping my waist, holding me like he doesn’t believe I’m real. I can feel him, hard beneath me, and the ache between my legs goes sharp with need.
Clothes peel away, slow and clumsy in the dim light. His shirt sticks to his chest, half-dried blood and sweat, and I push it off like I’m shedding the last layer between us. My fingers skim the edge of his jaw, the line of his throat, the new bruises blooming over ribs and shoulders. Each one tells a story. Each one reminds me he’s alive.
Ghost palms my breast, thumb brushing over the tight peak, and I suck in a breath, rocking against him. I’m already wet, already desperate, and when his mouth finds the curve of my neck, I swear I could come from that alone.
He lifts me just enough to line us up, and I sink on him slowly, inch by inch, biting my lip to keep from crying out. I’m full, stretching to his length. It feels right.
“Fuck,” Ghost groans, head tipping back. “You feel… Jesus, Phoenix.”
I ride him slowly at first, hands planted on his chest, letting the rhythm build between us. Every thrust hits something deep, something primal, but it’s not just about the heat. It’s about the trust. The way we watch each other. Ghost touches me like I’m not a weapon, but a home.
His fingers lace through mine. Our foreheads press together. Our breaths sync, ragged and rough.
“Look at me,” Ghost says, voice thick with need. “Don’t disappear.”
I don’t. I stay with him. In every roll of my hips. Every moan. Every gasp. I hold his gaze as the tension coils tight inside me, spiraling fast.
And when I come, when the world goes white around the edges and I shatter with his name on my lips, it’s not violent. It’s sacred.
Ghost follows seconds later, pulled under by the way I say his name like a promise. His hands dig into my hips, his breath ragged against my shoulder, and he doesn’t let go even when it’s over.
We stay like this. Skin to skin. Breath to breath. No one is chasing us. No ghosts. No gods. Just him. Just me.
Just us.
I wake to heat. Solid, steady. The kind that holds.
Ghost’s arm is slung across my waist, heavy in a way that tells me he didn’t move all night. His breath warms the back of my neck. And under all of that, the ache in my ribs, the stiff bruises, the dried blood, I feel something terrifying.
Safe.
I lie there for a moment, letting it settle. Letting Ghost settle around me. There’s a pulse at my back, and it isn’t mine, it’s his. Slow and sure, like nothing in the world could make him move unless I did.
I shift slightly. Ghost’s grip tightens reflexively.
“Morning,” Ghost rasps against my skin, voice rough from sleep and smoke.
“Morning,” I say, but it comes out quieter than I expect.
“You sleep?” he asks.
“Don’t know. I feel like I was falling instead of fighting.”
Ghost doesn’t answer right away. He presses a kiss to my shoulder. Then another, just above the curve of the bruised skin. I almost flinch, not from pain, but from how careful he is. Like I’m something he wants to keep.
“I don’t know what happens now,” Ghost says after a while. “Not with the MC. Not with Vale’s war. But I’m not leaving.”
“I didn’t ask you to stay,” I murmur.
