Текст книги "Depraved devotion"
Автор книги: Morgan Bridges
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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 19 страниц)
CHAPTER 42
GENEVA
The applause fades into the ambient hum of conversation as I step off the stage, my chest still tight with adrenaline. Dr. Melanie Corbin is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, her sharp heels clicking against the floor as she strides toward me. Her expression is warm but laced with a touch of urgency that I’ve come to recognize as normal for her.
“Geneva,” she says, her tone brisk but genuine. “That was phenomenal. I don’t think anyone in this room blinked for the last thirty minutes. You had them completely captivated.”
“Thank you, Dr. Corbin,” I reply, letting out a small breath of relief. “I’m glad it resonated. But I couldn’t have done it without the support of this department.”
“Don’t be modest,” she says, waving a hand dismissively. “You earned that ovation.” Her expression darkens as she lowers her voice. “Though I could’ve done without that man interrupting you. Who was that?”
I keep my expression calm, though my pulse quickens at the mention of Ghost. “I was going to ask you the same thing, but I figured he must have been cleared to attend if he’s here.”
Dr. Corbin huffs, crossing her arms briefly. “Well, if he was cleared, he’s got a lot of nerve pulling that kind of stunt in the middle of your keynote. Honestly, it’s insulting. Not just to you but to the event itself.”
“I handled it,” I say, offering her a reassuring smile. “It’s not the first time someone’s tried to make themselves the center of attention during a talk. I doubt it’ll be the last.”
“Still,” she mutters, glancing toward the crowd as if she could spot him among the sea of faces. “I’ll be having a word with security about this. The last thing we need is more disruptions like that. You deserve better.”
“Thank you,” I say, my tone genuine, though my stomach sours at her indignation. The last thing I want is anyone digging into who Ghost is, or why he’s here. “What’s next? I assume there are people I need to meet?”
Her demeanor shifts instantly, irritation giving way to her usual professionalism. “Yes, of course. There are some key benefactors who’ve been dying to meet you. Let’s start with Daniel Cross.” She gestures toward a table near the stage where a group of well-dressed individuals are deep in conversation.
I follow her lead, stepping into the rhythm of handshakes, smiles, and carefully crafted small talk. Daniel Cross is charming and affable, quick to praise my work and the impact of the university. Luna Joya is equally engaging, gushing about the inspiration she felt during my speech.
But even as I move from one introduction to the next, I can’t shake the memory of Ghost’s smirk, his voice cutting through the room with unsettling ease. His presence lingers like a ghost, unseen but impossible to ignore.
“Geneva,” Dr. Corbin says, pulling me back to the present. “There’s one more person I’d like you to meet.”
She gestures toward the bar, where a tall man stands with a glass tumbler in hand. His tailored suit fits perfectly, and his air of authority is unmistakable.
“That is Victor Stanton,” she says, her voice lower. “He’s one of our most influential benefactors. I think you’ll find him interesting.”
I meet Stanton’s gaze as we approach, his dark eyes sharp and appraising. He smiles, extending his hand.
“Dr. Andrews,” he says smoothly. “Your reputation precedes you. That was an impressive speech.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stanton.” I take his hand. His grip is firm, his presence commanding. “Your support makes work like mine possible, and I’m grateful for it.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” he says, his voice rich with a practiced charm. “Your insights into criminal psychology were fascinating. Especially your analysis of Ghost.” He releases my hand with a measured smile. “It’s rare to see someone distill such complexity into something so captivating. You certainly have a way with words.”
“Thank you. The goal is always to make the work accessible while honoring its depth.”
He nods, sipping his drink, his gaze steady but unreadable. Probably due to time spent in board meetings and negotiations. “You’ve certainly succeeded. Your childhood in Africa must’ve been an extraordinary experience.”
“It was.” My smile softens at the memory. “It gave me a broader perspective on the world. Beauty and hardship, progress and struggle. My parents always said it was impossible to leave that place unchanged.”
“They sound like remarkable people. You must have inherited a great deal of their passion for understanding others. How long were you there?”
“We moved when I was two.” The memories flicker to life in my mind: the bright sun, the sprawling landscapes, and the sense of wonder only a child could fully grasp. “We stayed until I was seven, and then we came back to the States.”
Stanton nods, his expression thoughtful. “Five years at such a formative age… That must have left a deep impression on you.”
“It did. It shaped the way I see people, communities, the world. My parents always immersed themselves in their work, and even at that age, I could see the impact they had on those around them.”
He drinks his beverage slowly, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that feels polite but unwavering. “An admirable legacy.”
“Thank you.”
Dr. Corbin steps forward then, her timing impeccable. “Victor, I’m glad you had a chance to speak with Geneva. She’s the best example of what this department can achieve.”
“Undoubtedly,” Stanton says, his gaze flicking to me one last time. “Dr. Andrews, it’s been a pleasure. I look forward to seeing how your work continues to evolve.”
“And I appreciate your support.”
As he turns and disappears into the crowd, I release a breath. Dr. Corbin gives me an encouraging pat on the arm. “He likes you,” she says with a grin. “That’s a good thing for us.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
As we move on to the next introduction, my thoughts return to Ghost. Throughout every handshake and every polite laugh, I can’t help but search for him. My gaze darts to the corners of the room, to the shadows that the light doesn’t quite reach. He’s nowhere to be seen.
Eventually, I hit my limit for socialization. I offer a gracious smile to Dr. Corbin. “If you don’t mind, I need to step out for a moment. Just to catch my breath.”
She waves me off with an understanding nod. “Of course. Take all the time you need. These things can be overwhelming.”
I weave through the crowd, my heels clicking against the marble floor as I slip past clusters of guests. The hotel venue is beautifully decorated, but I don’t appreciate it enough to stop, so I continue heading toward the balcony.
The cool night air washes over me when I step outside, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the enormous ballroom. For a moment, I simply close my eyes and breathe, letting the stress in my shoulders fade.
“Nice speech, Doc.”
CHAPTER 43
GENEVA
I whirl around, my breath caught on a scream that doesn’t come. At first, I almost don’t recognize Ghost, even this close to him. The transformation to his appearance is unnerving, but it’s still him. The intensity in his eyes is unmistakable.
“What are you doing here?” I flick my gaze toward the terrace doors, my pulse spiking. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“And yet, here I am.” He straightens, stepping away from the railing. His tailored suit blends perfectly with the upscale crowd inside, but the cold edge in his smirk is what sets him apart. “You made me a star tonight. It felt rude not to attend.”
“That wasn’t about you,” I snap, my heart racing. “It was simply an opportunity to elevate my career.”
“You’re a pretty little liar.”
I fold my arms and pin him with a glare. “You need to leave.”
He steps closer, invading my space, and the scent of him, underlined by magnolia, envelops me. Why is every facet of this man a mind-fuck?
I try to push past Ghost, but he yanks me into his embrace, closing his arms around me. The contact is heady. The warmth of his body, the strength of his arms, and the way his muscles flex beneath my touch. It’s all too much.
“Don’t,” I whisper, my throat dry. “We shouldn’t be seen together.”
“Let them watch.”
He slowly drags his fingers down my back. The skin-on-skin contact has a shiver running through me before I can stop it. Memories from last night resurface, and it takes every ounce of my self-control to shove them aside. Dealing with Ghost requires absolute concentration.
He presses a kiss to the side of my neck, his lips lingering on my pulse. “That was a great speech, Doc. I especially enjoyed the part about my inability to form attachments of an emotional nature.”
“You’re a psychopath,” I say. “That’s irrefutable.”
“Is it now?”
“You don’t feel things, Ghost. You manipulate. You control. That’s all this is.”
“And yet,” he says, his lips curling into a faint smile, “here I am, holding you, needing you, wanting you in a way that I don’t understand. Explain that, Dr. Andrews.”
I don’t have an answer. But I can’t deny what this conversation is doing to me, how it’s altering my brain chemistry. What is it about a man wanting you with absolute certainty that removes all inhibitions?
At my continued silence, Ghost lifts his head to stare down at me. His gaze darkens when it meets mine, the heat in his eyes undeniable.
So is the fury.
It radiates from him, crackling in the night air, prickling my skin. I’ve seen Ghost angry, but this isn’t the cold, calculated rage I’m used to. This is something volatile and raw, something that’s dangerously close to pain.
I must’ve hurt him with my clinical analysis. My remorse is immediate, but I can’t voice it to him. That’ll only encourage him to stay. It’s one thing to interact with Ghost in the privacy of my apartment, and another to speak to a serial killer with a room full of people only a few feet away.
“You don’t want to believe me,” he says. His voice is a soft, seductive whisper, coiling around me. Weakening me. “Because if you admit that I can feel, that I can want, then you’ll have to admit something too.”
“Nothing you say will change the fact that you’re a psychopath.”
His smirk returns. “You’ve known that from the beginning. Yet you still let me fuck you.”
I stiffen in his embrace, heat flooding my face.
“And you enjoyed it.” His lips brush mine, the contact featherlight. “There was no pretending, no going through the motions. You came so hard for me.”
I swallow hard, unable to speak.
“So, why are you lying to yourself, Geneva?” He uses his thumb to caress my lower lip, the movement slow and tantalizing. “Is it because if I can love, then what does that make me? What does that make us?”
His words shatter what little composure I have left. The fear, the desire, and the impossible truth of what’s between us overwhelms me until the only defense I have left is to lie.
“This isn’t love,” I finally manage, my voice trembling. “It’s obsession.”
His eyes narrow, the smirk fading from his lips. “Is that what you really believe?”
“Yes.” The word comes out too quickly, too defensive.
He shifts his hand from my cheek to the back of my neck, his fingers threading through my hair. He pulls me to him and his lips crash against mine, hard and unrelenting.
For a moment, I can’t breathe. His kiss is punishing, a crude expression of his anger and need. But ultimately, it’s a challenge. Ghost is forcing me to confront every lie I’ve told.
About him.
About myself.
About us.
He tightens his hand at the back of my neck, his fingers tugging painfully on my hair, anchoring me to him, ensuring there’s no escape. The heat of his mouth sears me, his lips moving against mine with a desperation that steals my thoughts and replaces them with nothing but him. He kisses me like he’s trying to consume me.
I press my hands against his chest, intending to shove him away, but I hesitate. Then my fingers curl into his shirt instead, betraying me, holding on to him as if letting go isn’t an option.
When his tongue brushes against the seam of my lips, I sigh. He takes advantage, deepening the kiss, his tongue conquering mine. As if he’s memorizing the way I taste, the way I respond to him.
It’s too much, too intense, but I can’t stop. My head tilts instinctively, giving him better access, and he takes it, his teeth grazing my lower lip before sucking it into his mouth. The heady contrast of pain and pleasure sends a shiver through me, and I hate how much I want more.
He pulls back, our breath mingling, his lips brushing against mine as he speaks. “You taste like a fucking liar, Geneva.”
Before I can respond, he’s kissing me again, this time slower, deeper, his lips softer but no less demanding. The change in pace is disarming, as if he’s no longer punishing me but seducing me.
He slides his hand from my waist to my lower back, pulling me even closer, until there’s no space between us. His fingers splay across my spine, holding me in place as his lips move with a precision that leaves me breathless. He’s taking from me, stealing my passion to fuel his own.
When he finally breaks the kiss, his breathing is ragged, his forehead resting against mine. “You feel it,” he murmurs, his voice rough and laced with emotion. “I can tell by the way you kiss me. Don’t deny it.”
I close my eyes, my chest heaving and my lips tingling from the bruising force of his kiss. His hands remain on me, grounding me, holding me prisoner. In this moment, all I can feel is the pull, the undeniable connection that terrifies me more than his touch ever could.
“Say it,” he whispers. “Just fucking say it.”
I can’t give him what he wants. Not without exposing myself entirely. Not without becoming so vulnerable that there’s no hope of saving me from destruction. The words are there, but they’re stuck in my throat, lodged behind the fear I’ve always shielded myself with.
I shake my head weakly, my hands trembling as they lie against his chest. His eyes flash with something dangerous, and I jerk back. For the first time, I’m scared he’ll physically hurt me.
So why is my pussy fluttering at the thought?
I try to pull away, but Ghost doesn’t let me. Instead, he lifts my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You think you know what manipulation is, but you don’t,” he says, each word clipped. “After tonight you will. Get on your knees, Dr. Andrews.”
The command is harsh and unyielding. His voice is laced with an emotion I can’t decipher. Something inhumane.
I shake my head. “You’re out of your fucking mind.”
He laughs softly. “Psychopath, remember?”
Ghost grabs me by the throat before forcing me to my knees. My dress pools around me, the silk cool and slippery against my heated skin. He stands over me, his shadow casting a darkness that consumes everything in its path. His expression is inscrutable, but his eyes glint with a dangerous light, his intent clear.
This is a punishment. A lesson.
He unfastens his pants and releases his cock, the thick length springing free. My eyes widen, and I tremble with anticipation. Unable to tear my gaze away.
Ghost strokes his cock, the movement slow and measured. I watch, mesmerized, as he pumps himself, his hand sliding up and down the length of it. I shift on my knees, trying to get rid of the ache between my thighs.
With his free hand, he grabs my chin, his grip tight. “Open your mouth.” When I don’t readily obey, he squeezes my jaw.
I comply, my lips parting as he presses the tip of his cock against my tongue. He slides it back and forth, mocking me.
He groans, the sound low and guttural. “Take it.”
I move forward, taking him fully into my mouth. He releases my jaw to slide his hand into my hair, gripping the back of my head. I can feel him pulsing against my tongue, the sensation sending a shiver through me.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Now, suck.”
His cock is heavy and thick in my mouth, the taste of him salty. I hollow my cheeks, sucking harder, and he moans low in his throat, his fingers tightening in my hair.
“God, you’re such a good little cocksucker,” he says, his voice strained.
I moan, the sound vibrating against him, and he shudders, his hips bucking.
“Fuck,” he grits out. “That’s it. Don’t you dare fucking stop.”
I don’t, bobbing my head up and down his length. His hand is still fisted in my hair, guiding me, controlling me. The pressure builds, his cock pulsing, his body tense. My own orgasm looms.
And Ghost isn’t even touching me.
“Look at me,” he says, his voice a harsh whisper. Our eyes lock, and the heat in his gaze leaves me trembling. “I’m going to wash the lies from that pretty mouth of yours with my cum. Then you’re going to admit the truth.”
Ghost’s grip tightens, his fingers digging into my scalp, and the pain only heightens the pleasure building inside me. He throws his head back, a guttural sound escaping his throat.
“Fuck, yes.”
His hips jerk, and he spills into my mouth, his cock throbbing with each release. I swallow him down, taking everything he has to give. His breathing is ragged, his pulse pounding, his face contorted with pleasure.
He is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
The sight of him, completely lost in ecstasy, triggers my release. My body jerks, and I dig my nails into my thighs to keep from grabbing Ghost and admitting I need him to fuck me.
When I finally catch my breath, I flick my eyes upward. Ghost is staring down at me, his gaze inscrutable. My cheeks flush. Does he know that I orgasmed while sucking him off?
He pulls his cock from my mouth, the action punctuated with a harsh groan. His hand slips from the back of my head, and I lean against his thigh, spent and dazed, as he zips up his pants.
He cups my cheek, his thumb caressing my heated skin. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice a dark purr. “A mess, and I haven’t even fucked you. This is why I’ve been obsessed with you since that day in the cemetery. This is why I’m feeling things that shouldn’t be possible.”
CHAPTER 44
GENEVA
I blink up at Ghost. “Cemetery?”
His lips curl into a predatory smile, but his eyes burn with something deeper. “You think I don’t know what happened a year ago?” He brushes his thumb over my cheek again, and his touch is both soothing and maddening. “You think I wasn’t there, watching you lose your fucking mind in the most magnificent way I’ve ever seen?”
My breath catches, my chest tightening as his words sink in. “You… you saw that?”
He chuckles softly. “Saw it? Geneva, I felt it.” His gaze intensifies, the heat in his eyes singeing me. “You were chaos incarnate, swinging that bat like you were trying to destroy the world. And for a moment, I thought you might succeed.”
I shake my head, the memory rushing back. The shattered glass, the splintered wood, the raw, unfiltered rage that had consumed me that day. “I was grieving,” I whisper. “I wasn’t myself.”
“Oh, you were exactly yourself. You weren’t hiding behind a mask. You weren’t the composed Dr. Andrews, the one with all the answers. You were real. And it was the most fucking beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Perfection in human form.”
I try to pull away, but his grip on my face tightens just enough to keep me still. “Why were you there?” I ask, my voice trembling.
His smile fades. “You’re not the only one who has grieved.” He exhales sharply, as if the admission costs him something. “That night, I wasn’t expecting anyone else. Then I saw you.”
“I didn’t know anyone was there.”
“You wouldn’t,” he says. “You were too caught up in the grief and anger. I couldn’t look away.”
“Why? Did you get off on my pain?” I snap. “Or was it for some other fucked up reason?”
He reaches down and grips my upper arms, forcing me to stand. With our gazes level, he says, “Because you were everything I didn’t know I needed to see. Watching you that night… It was like looking into a mirror and seeing myself in someone else. It was as if you had a piece of my soul inside you.”
My heart flutters. “And that made you… obsessed?”
“It made me connected,” he corrects, his voice firm. “To you. To something in you that matches the parts of me I thought no one else could ever comprehend.” Ghost lifts his hand to trail his fingers down my neck, leaving a line of heat in their wake. “This is why you can’t lie to me. I need to know you understand me. That you feel something for me.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, the memory of that night colliding with the weight of his confession. “I don’t know anything anymore,” I say, my voice cracking. “Don’t do this to me.”
“Do what? Force you to see the truth?” he asks.
My breathing turns shallow as I try to fight the compulsion to surrender. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” I whisper. “You don’t know how to feel—”
“Don’t fucking tell me what I can or can’t feel. I’ve spent my whole life thinking I was incapable of connection, of… this.” He gestures between us. “But then I saw you, Geneva. I saw you, and it was like something inside me came alive. Something I didn’t even know was there.”
“Don’t make me responsible for whatever this is.”
“You’re not responsible for it,” he says, his voice softening. “But you are a part of it. A part of me. And you feel it too. All I want is for you to admit it.”
I shake my head, my tears blurring the sight of him. “You don’t understand what you’re asking of me.”
“Yes, I do,” he says. “I’m asking you to stop running. To stop lying. To stop pretending that you don’t feel this connection just as much as I do.”
I shake my head again, the movement frantic, as if sheer denial can unravel the truth between us. “I don’t feel anything for you,” I say, my voice trembling, betraying me. “Whatever you think this is, it’s not real. It’s manipulation.”
His jaw tightens, and I catch the hurt flashing in his eyes before it morphs into something harder, and more dangerous. He drags his hands through his hair, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.
“Manipulation?” he repeats, his voice rising with incredulity. “You think that I allowed myself to be incarcerated, and researched your parents’ murderers, just to mess with your head?” His hands drop to his sides, fists clenching as he glares at me, the strength of his fury bearing down on me. “If that’s what you really believe, then you’re fucking delusional, Geneva.”
My chest heaves, my breaths uneven, but I refuse to back down. “You’re delusional if you think I’m going to stand here and admit to something that isn’t true,” I say, my voice shaking. “You don’t love me, Ghost. You can’t. And I—”
“Don’t,” he growls, cutting me off, stepping forward with such forceful energy that my knees weaken. “Don’t you fucking dare finish that sentence.”
The charged tension in the air between us feels like it could explode at any moment. I take a step back, my heart pounding, but he follows, closing the distance until I’m pressed against the wall, his towering frame caging me in.
“You can keep lying to yourself,” he says, his voice smooth, each word like a knife slicing through my defenses. “You can keep denying what’s right in front of you. But don’t you fucking stand there and tell me I don’t know how I feel about you.”
My lips part, but no sound comes out. I’m trembling now, tears streaming down my face as his words hammer into me, relentless and unyielding.
“You’re scared,” he says, his voice softening just enough to make the anger in his eyes even more unnerving. “You’re scared because you know I’m right. Because you feel it too, and it’s killing you to admit it.”
“I don’t,” I whisper brokenly. But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie. A weak, hollow lie.
He slams his hand against the wall beside my head, the sound echoing in the silence. I jump, but I can’t look away from him.
“You don’t?” he asks, his voice trembling with fury and something raw, agonizing.
The tears stream down my face even faster now, and I wish he wasn’t here to see them. That he wasn’t here to witness me falling apart. Because of him.
“I fucking hate this,” he mutters, stepping back, dragging a hand over his face as if trying to compose himself. “I hate what you do to me. How you make me feel like I’m losing control, like I’ll fucking die without you.”
I watch, frozen and shaking uncontrollably, as he turns and walks away, leaving me pressed against the wall, shattered and alone.
“Dominic Carter,” he says over his shoulder, his gait never faltering. “That’s the third and final man responsible for your parents’ murders. Now, there’s no reason to fuck with you anymore.”
The silence after Ghost leaves is crushing. I remain pressed against the wall, my body trembling, tears still streaming down my face. My mind races to process everything that he just said, but the storm he left in his wake refuses to settle.
Dominic Carter.
It takes me a moment to fully grasp the weight of what Ghost has done. He gave me the name, the final clue to solving my parents’ murders. It’s the final thread tying me to him. And by giving me the name, Ghost has severed it.
“Now, there’s no reason to fuck with you anymore.”
My stomach churns as the implications sink in. This was more than a declaration, it was termination. Ghost handed me the only leverage he had left because he’s done with me. For the first time since I met him, he’s the one who walked away.
I slide down the wall, my legs giving out beneath me, my body curling in on itself as a fresh wave of grief slams into me. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? For him to let me go? To take his chaos and obsession and leave me with my carefully constructed life intact?
So why does it feel like I’ve been gutted?
I press my palms to my face, trying to steady my breathing. His pain was undeniable, his fury almost tangible, but it was more than that. It wasn’t just anger. It was anguish.
Due to my rejection of him.
The realization steals the breath from my lungs. I’ve spent so long fighting him, denying him, refusing to give in to whatever this is between us. But then he called my bluff. And now he’s gone.
Not because he doesn’t care, but because I refused to admit that I do.
I wrap my arms around my knees, trying to hold together the pieces of me he’s broken apart. My mind replays his words, his confessions, and the way he’s looked at me like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to the world. But now, he’s untethered himself from me.
And from what’s left of his humanity.
My thoughts spin faster, spiraling down into places I don’t want to go. As a psychologist, I know what this means. For someone like Ghost, who thrives on control, who’s built his identity on power and manipulation, this kind of rejection isn’t something he can simply let go of. It’s not something he can recover from.
If Ghost descends further into whatever dark place he’s already inhabiting, the consequences won’t just be personal. He’ll explode, taking everything and everyone in his path down with him. Because when people like Ghost lose control, it’s never quiet and it’s never contained.
It’s catastrophic.
And I won’t be able to pretend I’m not partially responsible for it.
