Chapter Seventy-One

Ghost

I stroked her pulse point and fucking inhaled. "I want to take you somewhere."

I didn't want to take her anywhere.

I wanted to sink inside her and fuck her until she forgot every goddamn minute of the last eight years. Then I wanted to fuck her into next year, and every year after that she was willing to give me. But I wasn't going to get a contented minute from her, let alone a lifetime, without giving her what she needed first.

My hayatim looked up at me with a softness I hadn't earned. "Okay."

I shut off the shower and picked her up.

"Grayson!"

"Safiya." I strode into the house.

"You have stitches, and I weigh too much. Please, put me down."

Anger hit, and I stopped cold at the threshold of the main bedroom. Looking down at her, I gave her one warning. "You will never disparage your body or weight again. You hear me?" She was fucking perfect.

Her face flamed, and she dropped her gaze. "I did not mean that you are not strong, that you are not—"

"Stop." Fuck no . "This has nothing to do with me." Curved hips, full breasts, soft thighs, perfect ass, my wife was more stunning than any woman I'd ever fucking seen. She was also killing me. Naked, responsive, dripping wet, that moan when I'd touched her— Jesus . If she only knew the beast in me she was inadvertently feeding, the level of fucking restraint it was taking not to unleash, she'd never breathe another second of insecurity again.

"I am sorry. I did not mean…." She stopped midsentence and crossed an arm over her breasts. "I know I do not look like American women." Her voice went too goddamn quiet. "I know I do not look like those women."

Fuck this .

Setting her down, grabbing her wrist, I put her hand over my hard-as-fuck cock. "You feel that?"

She sucked in a sharp breath.

I gripped the side of her face and tipped her head up. "You're right, you don't look like those women. Know why?"

Still covering her breasts with one arm, now biting her bottom lip, she shook her head.

"You're fucking stunning, Safiya Savas." Torturing myself, I used her hand to rub the length of my cock. "This is what you do to me every time I lay eyes on you." I pulled her hand away and dropped her wrist before grabbing her other arm to peel it away from her breasts. "Don't ever feed me that bullshit again, and do not hide from me." Stroking my thumb across her bottom lip, I pulled it free. "Are we clear?"

Submissive, innocent, looking at me like I was the damn apotheosis of a hero, she nodded.

"Good. Wait."

Striding into the closet before I lost all control, drove my cock into that virgin cunt and fucked my plan all to hell, I grabbed one of the sundresses I'd bought her. Full length, thin straps that left her neck and shoulders bare, material that was transparent in direct sunlight, and cut loose enough to easily slide up her thighs. I'd picked it for a reason because there was nothing altruistic about me.

Purposely bypassing underwear or a bra, I walked back out.

Standing exactly where I'd left her, arms still at her sides, nipples tight, hair wet, skin damp, cunt bare—she stole my fucking breath.

Taking my fill of every inch of her, wanting my mouth on that responsive cunt and those lush breasts, I handed her the dress instead of putting it on her because, in that moment, I didn't trust myself. "Get dressed, no underwear, leave your hair down, and meet me in the entryway."

"Okay."

Whispered, quiet, her response hit the same as when she'd mentioned hearing me praise number eleven. I already knew my hayatim had a praise kink. I'd seen it and had to force myself to ignore it every damn time she'd fed me or made me tea. Then, I'd kept my responses to thank-yous.

Now, we were here.

Palming her throat, I leaned down to her. "Five minutes. Yes?"

"Yes," she barely breathed.

I lowered my voice. "Good girl." Stroking her pulse point, I brushed my lips against her forehead, then I released her and walked out.

A minute later, I'd grabbed clothes from my go bag in the Mercedes G63 4x4 Squared, and was in the kitchen, cutting out my stitches. Two minutes after that, I was in dry jeans, had my boots on, and was pulling a shirt over my head.

When she came down the hall, the dress floating around her curves, her nipples erect, her hair loose, I was fucking hard all over again.

Ignoring my cock and the urge to scrap this entire day, I held her shy gaze. "Ready?"

"Almost." She slipped into a pair of sandals she kept by the door, then looked back up at me for approval. "Is this…?" Her throat moved with a swallow and shyness hit her voice and cheeks. "Am I all right?"

My cock pulsed at her submission and pure fucking beauty. "Yes. Perfect." I palmed the small of her back. "Let's go." Leading her to the matte black SUV, I helped her up and buckled her in.

She watched my hands, my arms, but didn't comment. When I got behind the wheel, she was looking around the cabin.

I turned the engine over. "You good?"

She nodded. "I have never seen a red interior in a vehicle before. This is a very nice car."

I got it. I'd never shown up in the same vehicle twice, and they were usually stolen or rentals I didn't give a shit about dumping if I had to. "Glad you like it."

"It smells like you."

I glanced at her as I drove down the driveway. Curious what I smelled like to an exotic beauty who used tropical-scented soap and cooked with spices I'd never heard of before her, I asked. "What do I smell like?"

"Vetiver, musk, cool rain, fresh linens, crisp citrus. It is always the same scent, but it is unique." She looked out the window. "At least to me."

I didn't tell her it was a custom scent I'd had made after my first deployment. I'd come home on leave, checked on Raine, then gone to see Feralyn. Unfortunately, my piece-of-shit sperm donor had been there. He'd taken one look at me and said it didn't matter what I'd done downrange. If I didn't learn not to dress like shit and smell like dollar-store cologne, no one would ever take me seriously. A week later, I had a new wardrobe, a custom scent, and another level of hate for the asshole who'd knocked up my mother.

Pulling out of the beach house's gated entry, I didn't comment on my cologne. "I own the SUV."

She glanced at me.

I winked. "Want one?"

She hesitated. "I cannot tell if you are being serious."

"I'm always serious."

"No, thank you. The expensive car you gave me is more than enough."

She had a ten-year-old BMW 7 series. It fit with the geo location of the beach house without standing out, but it wasn't worth a fraction of the Mercedes. "Let me know if you change your mind."

She nodded and was silent until I pulled onto the highway. Then she asked, "Where are we going?"

The only place where she'd get a front-row seat to my past. "Trust me?"

This time she didn't hesitate. "Yes."

I took her hand and placed it on my thigh. "Good."

She shook her head, but her tone was light. "That is not an answer."

For once, I didn't brush her off. "You deserve a lot of answers from me. Some I can give, some I won't." I glanced at her. "You ready to hear them?"

She shifted in her seat, but her hand stayed put. "All right."

I started with the most important. "I didn't let you come at me on the yacht for the same reason I didn't let you touch me in the shower." I eased into the full truth. "We're not there yet. The yacht would've been a mistake. The shower would've been rough. Both times I was on the edge, and I don't do lack of control." I grasped her chin and turned her head so I could see her eyes when I glanced at her. "I'm sexually dominant, Safiya."

She shivered. "You are always dominant."

"I'm more so in the bedroom," I warned. "You need to be ready for that."

Her voice pitched to just above a whisper. "And if I am not?"

I aimed for clarification, but I also gave her one more chance to back the fuck out. "Now or ever?"

"Now." Full whisper, but no hesitation.

I gave her my hard limit. "There won't be any half measures between us, Safiya."

"I… do not understand."

I spelled it out. "I want us, Safiya. I have since I first laid eyes on you." And I was done fucking denying us. "The circumstances back then weren't appropriate. Now, they're different. I'm all in. If you want me, I'll expect the same in return."

She drew in a shaky breath, pulled her hand back, and gave me her sticking point. "I saw you with all those other women." She turned toward the window. "You were… familiar with them."

"Yes, I was. But what you saw was the extent of it. I told you I wasn't going to hide from you, and I didn't."

Turning back, she volleyed an accusation I knew was rooted in emotional hurt. "You hid your entire existence from me."

I took the blame. "Yes, I did. Who I was, what I was, the mission, the women, the other parties involved—it was all on lockdown for safety measures. I won't apologize for that. But moving forward, I'm not aiming to withhold intel about who or what I am. As far as some of your other sticking points, that yacht belongs to the wife of a SEAL I served with. I kept your dress because I didn't want to take it away from you. Yes, I have two stepbrothers. No, we're not close. Yes, they're both highly trained former military. Yes, they helped with your extraction. No, I won't talk about what they do now."

"Then what is Paragon?"

Not what, who. And that was intel I would never risk her life with. "As far as it relates to you, Paragon was a critical stop-loss in the event that I failed or was killed. Ares didn't know it was your code word, nor was he read in on my mission." Not until the last minute, and even then, both he and Helios were need to know. "Everything was compartmentalized to mitigate risk, but Ares would've provided assistance if needed. It's who he is. I'm also assuming it's why he stopped by the house." I gave her the rest, but Feralyn's trauma wasn't mine to tell. "We have a sister. You're not dissimilar. I'm sure Ares picked up on that."

"Your sister," she quietly stated.

"Half sister, technically. Ares and Helios's stepsister." I exited the highway.

"Ares mentioned her."

That didn't surprise me. "Her name is Feralyn. Our bio father married Helios and Ares's mother. I'm not close with my half sister either." I turned down the familiar street.

"Thank you for sharing all of that."

Not accepting gratitude for the hell I'd put her through, I parked but didn't cut the engine.

Facing my hayatim , I slid my hand to the side of her neck. "I was not rejecting you on that yacht. I was rejecting the situation. I never meant to humiliate you. Every visit, gift, and glance—you were right. They were something. Eight years ago, when I had you sign those documents, you legally became my wife. Was it underhanded? Yes. Will I apologize for it? Never. You became mine that day, and I took those vows to heart, Safiya." I'd been fucking faithful ever since.

Shocked silent, she stared.

I knew she needed to process, and we needed to talk more, but now wasn't the time. "I'm not going to hold you to a definitive answer about us right now." I stroked her cheek. "But I will soon."

Releasing her, I cut the engine, then issued an order as I opened my door. "Wait."