JJ | Late-Twenties | She/Her | Please don't follow or interact with me or my work unless you're over 18 | All requests are CLOSED | I do some writing, masterlist found above or search for 'mobile masterlist' | photo not mine
pairing: aaron hotchner x reader
summary: you're angry with aaron for missing an important event, so naturally, he fucks the anger out of you.
warnings | an: UMMMM ok so! p in v sex, fingering & oral (f receiving) spanking, drooling, overstimulation, masturbation, light d/s elements, choking & mirrors (can u tell i have my favs) somnophilia mentioned, errthang consensual, age gap, just filth yalllll
word count: 4.2k… i wrote this when i was ovulating,, my cycle unfortunately decides what content i post LOL
✧ masterlist
You began with his shirts. The infuriatingly pristine, colour-coded, pattern-matched shirts hanging in your closet. The one you once shared. After tonight, however, you’d have ample room for your winter coats.
It felt harsh, thinking that way. And perhaps, once the adrenaline had ebbed, you’d be curled up among those coats, using the sleeves as tissues. But for now, you let the mindset of pure rage, slight dramatics and fury take the lead.
You knew what you were stepping into, a relationship with a man who might as well have been the crown jewel of the FBI, given how seldom he was home. And you bore it with grace. You never demanded much, only ever asked for compromise when it mattered, when it truly mattered.
So one by one, the shirts sailed over the bannister, landing in a crumpled heap by the entryway. Cotton casualties of yet another one of his spectacularly poor decisions.
He’d missed it.
The one thing you’d asked him not to miss. Not a work dinner, not some meaningless social obligation, but your event. The one you’d planned for months, circled on the calendar, reminded him of over and over. The one he looked you dead in the eye and promised he’d be there for.
What did you get instead? A text.
I’m sorry. Something came up.
Something came up, indeed. The collapse of your relationship, for starters.
Okay, maybe that was the dramatics talking. Maybe you didn’t want it to end, but you wanted—no, needed—him to take you seriously. Because how dare he? How dare he treat your life like the flexible one? As if your moments were optional, but his moments, ones that revolved around blood, caution tape, and sirens were the ones that ever mattered.
And the worst part of it all was the fact that despite all your anger, you still missed him in a way that language couldn’t quite capture. He’d been out on a case for two weeks, and even before that, he was barely home, glued to that damn bureaucratic chair in his office like it deserved more of him than you did.
You’d spent the last eight hours convincing yourself you were done. Done making excuses for him. Done watching your life conform to his schedule, his job, him in general. But your body, the ultimate traitor, didn’t seem done with him at all. Not when your hand drifted between your legs in the shower, picturing the way he used to pin you there, palm flat against your sternum.
Not even now, when you were supposed to be standing your ground. You still found yourself wishing he’d walk through that door and press you against it, like he needed it just as badly as you did.
Maybe that’s all this was. Maybe all you needed was a good fucking.
And you knew that was exactly what you would’ve gotten, had he shown up like he promised. He would’ve started in the car, hand gripping your thigh, maybe even slipping under your dress, getting you all worked up before you’d even made it home.
Then he would’ve railed into you, bent you over the piano in the foyer, lights blazing because of course he’d want the neighbours to see exactly how he rewarded your hard work. But no. You went home alone. Worked up, pissed off, with every intent of emptying your wine stash. Which you did.
And now, you stood at the top of the stairs, breath uneven as your pulse pounded in your throat. And that’s when you heard it.
His car in the driveway.
Shoes. Yes. Shoes seemed poetic. Fitting. The perfect thing to hurl at him with all the grace of a woman scorned and denied an earth-shattering orgasm. Actually, orgasms—plural. Because he wouldn’t have stopped at just one. He would’ve teased the first out of you, held you at the edge until you begged, then made up for it with two more. Rewards for being so damn patient.
You turned on your heel and marched back into the closet, snatching the nearest pair of his smug little leather loafers. Polished, arrogant things, much like the man who owned them.
By the time he stepped through the front door, you were already back at your vantage point, arm cocked, waiting until he turned to launch the first shoe.
It missed his head by a fraction and slammed into the doorframe with a satisfying crack.
He froze, jacket slung over one arm, briefcase in hand, tie loosened and all.
“Hi, honey,” you called out, your voice sweet enough to rot teeth. Then came the second loafer which landed just short of his feet. “Figured I’d give you a hand with the packing,” you added, gesturing to the shirts across the entryway. “Consider it a head start. I assumed your schedule wouldn’t allow for sentimentality.”
He set his briefcase down first, then his jacket, but you didn’t stay to watch the performance. You were already halfway down the hall, disappearing into the closet like a woman possessed, and thoroughly, furiously sexually frustrated.
You grabbed as many of his jackets as your arms could carry, yanking them from the rack with such force—hangers still hooked—you were genuinely surprised the bar hadn’t come crashing down with them.
You heard him then, just shy of the dressing room, steps clear as day. You paused in the hallway and dropped the pile right where it met the doorway, letting the expensive fabric fall into a heap like a makeshift barricade.
Then, back into the closet you went. You reached for what was left, another jacket, two more blazers, and his beloved cashmere sweaters. You snatched them from their hangers like they were the ones that were responsible. And with your arms full again you turned, only to find him standing there. So close that you nearly walked right into him.
“Unless you’re here to carry these to the curb, I suggest you get the hell out of my way, Aaron.”
His eyes dropped briefly to the pile in your arms, then back to your face. “I’m not leaving.”
“Like hell you’re not—”
“Just put my things down and we can talk about this,” he said, with that infuriatingly calm voice that made you want to scream, in two very different ways. “I know I made a mistake.”
You scoffed and stepped closer, close enough to breathe him in. Not the crisp, clean scent you were used to in the mornings when he’d leave for work showered, shaven and put together. No, this was him at the end of the day. The faint remnants of cologne clinging to his skin, mixed with something more worn-in, and when he exhaled, you caught the faintest trace of bourbon on his breath. Rossi’s doing, no doubt.
Probably his way of trying to calm him down.
You’d heard Dave refer to you as a ‘fiery one’ more than once, always with a little too much amusement in his voice. He’d even joked, right in front of you, that Aaron wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you. Said he’d fold if you ever gave him real attitude. Clearly, Rossi had sensed what kind of storm Aaron was walking into tonight and had handed him a glass like some kind of offering from the gods.
“So not only are you incapable of being unselfish for one night that doesn’t revolve around you, you also seem to have a stunningly poor ability to follow basic instructions,” you snapped, voice rising in a way that was rare. “Are you absolutely certain you went to FBI school, or did you half-ass that the way you half-ass everything else you claim to care about?”
“Are you done?”
“Not even fucking close. But go ahead, interrupt again. You’re great at that, right?” You shoved the pile of clothes into his chest, hard enough to make him take a step back. “Talking over people, brushing them off, missing everything that actually matters until it’s already too late.”
He stood there for a second, holding the clothes before letting them drop to the floor without a word. You let out a bitter laugh at the sight and moved to shoulder past him, but his hand shot out, catching your wrist.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” you hissed, turning back to face him. “Don’t walk away from the man who didn’t show up? Don’t stop screaming because it’s the only thing that gets through that thick, federal skull of yours?”
“Don’t do this. Not when you want me more than you want me to leave.”
“What? Are you—are you actually insane? Delusional? Is this the sleep deprivation talking? Because if so, you can take that smug little fantasy and get the hell out of my house.”
He let go of your wrist, but only to step behind you. His hands moved to your hips, turning your body to position you in front of the island in the centre of the dressing room.
“You want me gone?” he asked.
You cocked your head slightly to the right, catching his reflection in the mirror ahead as he began to undo his tie.
“Say it,” he murmured, eyes meeting yours in the glass. “Say it while I’m inside you.”
You didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Not because you lacked words, lord knows you had plenty. And he hadn’t even scraped the surface of the venom still burning at the back of your throat. But your body—traitorous, wretched thing—had already betrayed you.
You were supposed to be holding your ground. Not standing there, spine taut, with him behind you, visibly restraining yourself from folding over the island and handing him all your anger, gift-wrapped in a neat little bow that read please, fuck me senseless.
His fingers brushed your waist, and your lungs locked up. Your throat was so dry your heart had taken to skipping two beats at a time, just to remind you to swallow.
“I missed one night,” he continued, his fingertips now trailing up the length of your forearms. “But I haven’t missed this. Not once.”
You let out a flimsy exhale, turning your head to meet his eyes in the mirror once more. “You think this makes it better?” You knew it did. Maybe this wasn’t the kind of answer that made sense in a normal relationship, but nothing about you and Aaron had ever been normal.
“No,” he answered like the gentleman he was pretending to be, knowing exactly what was coming. “But I think you want it anyway.” And then his hands dropped from your arms completely. “So…what’s it going to be?”
Your hands moved before your mind did, bracing yourself against the island, knuckles whitening as your spine arched over the marble.
He hummed in approval, hands moving to your neck, brushing your hair aside. “That’s what I thought.” You felt him press into you, the weight of him flattening you against the surface as his fingers found the zipper of your jeans.
“This doesn’t change anything,” you lied, needing to put up some kind of fight.
He stilled for half a second, then let out a quiet laugh. “No?” he mocked, dragging the denim down your thighs until it was bunched at your knees. “Then why are you shaking?”
“Because I can’t fucking stand you,” you spat, forehead pressing to the marble, breath fogging against it as you tried—really tried—to remember why you decided his wardrobe would look better scattered across the entryway.
You heard him click his tongue behind you.
“Honey,” he drawled, his voice so pleased and full in all the ways that you were seconds away from being.“You’re so wet your underwear’s turned three shades darker.” And just to prove your point, his thumb dragged slowly over the soaked fabric making your body jolt, forehead nearly smacking the marble with the force of the reaction.
“Step out of the jeans for me,” he murmured, tapping your right thigh first, then your left.
You kicked the material off one leg at a time, your balance swaying as you did, hands tightening around the edge of the island for strength because it was the only thing keeping you upright.
His hand slid up the backs of your legs again, brushing that spot where your ass met your thighs. Then, without a word, his fingers slipped underneath the gauzy material of your panties.
You sucked in a breath as his middle finger dragged through your folds.
“Do you remember what had you so pissed off in the first place?” he questioned, like he genuinely expected you to form a coherent sentence right now.
“Yes,” you groaned into the counter, hips bucking shamelessly against his hand.
“So greedy,” he tutted, pulling his finger back just enough to watch your hips chase it. “Want me out of the house. Throwing my things out like some scene from a bad divorce. But one finger and you’re already a whiny little mess?”
A strangled noise tore from your throat, something between a curse and a moan, as your hands gripped the counter tighter.
“How many times did you touch yourself while I was gone, hm?”
“I—fuck, I don’t—”
“You don’t know?” He pushed a thick finger inside you, making you hiss at the stretch. “That’s not a real answer. Try again.”
You bit down on your lower lip hard enough to sting, eyes fluttering shut as your body betrayed you all over again.
“I asked you a question.”
“Three,” you gasped. “Maybe four.”
He let out a low, satisfied noise. “Maybe? You lost count?”
“D-Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh, I don’t need to,” he laughed, adding a second finger. “You’re doing it for me.”
Your right hand curled into a fist, accidentally knocking a bag off the side in the process. “I hate you,” you mewled, the words barely making it past your throat.
“Liar,” he whispered, lips ghosting over your spine as his fingers worked deeper, curling just right. “You don’t hate me. You hate that I know exactly how to make you come before I’ve even unzipped my pants.”
Your mouth was parted against the marble, and when a moan caught in your throat, you managed to drag it back down just barely. Coaxing it into a shaky breath instead, trying to cling to the last scraps of pride you had left. Because he was right. Infuriatingly right.
“Well?” you hissed, breath catching. “Are you going to unzip your pants, or are we still pretending your fingers are doing anything I didn’t handle on my own while you were gone?”
Your heard an unbothered chuckle from him first and then felt the sharp sting of his palm landing against your ass, second. The impact was muffled by the fabric of your underwear, but the message landed all the same.
“That’s sweet, dear. But I don’t remember hearing you make these kinds of noises the last time you decided to take care of yourself…right next to me.”
You jaw clenched.
It had only happened once. You thought he was asleep—clearly, he wasn’t. He’d gotten in late from work, and you hadn’t wanted to bother him, so you took matters into your own hands… literally.
In hindsight, it explained the sudden burst of sex drive the next morning. You’d woken up to his mouth between your legs like he was trying to make a point that he could always make you come harder.
His free hand fisted in your hair, tugging your head to the side as he angled your face toward the mirror. “This isn’t how you sounded then, is it?” he taunted, fingers slipping out of you just to circle your swollen clit instead.
You gasped, body jerking at the sudden change in pressure.
“And just for that—” his hand stilled, the contact vanishing altogether, “—you can wait.”
You took the chance to catch your breath, heart pounding as you clenched around nothing, blinking back the tears gathering in your waterline like they’d scheduled a meeting.
Glancing at the mirror you saw his hands work his belt free and you were tempted. So incredibly tempted to prove him wrong, to reach down between your legs and finish what he so cruelly started. Just a few strokes, that’s all it would take. But before you could even move—
“Don’t.”
You stilled. Every muscle locked.
“Put one hand between your legs,” he continued, the sound of his belt sliding from the last loop sharp in your ears, “and I’ll bind both behind your back. You won’t come tonight. Or tomorrow.”
Your chest rose and fell rapidly, barely managing to pull air in. The fabric of your top clung to your skin, sticky with sweat and a rage that seemed to be dissipating by the second. All that remained in its place was a desperate, aching hunger for him.
You pressed your thighs together without thinking, chasing some kind of friction, some kind of relief, but Aaron’s hands were already on your hips. His fingers slipped beneath the elastic of your underwear, tugging them down your legs.
You knew it was his favourite part, especially when he had you bent over nearly every surface in the house. He loved watching the strings of your wetness peel away with the fabric, loved when it dripped down your thigh.
Once you were free of the only barrier between the two of you, you braced yourself flat against the counter, arching your back just enough to let him swipe his thumb through your pussy, allowing him relish in your wetness like a ritual he never dared to skip.
“Still want me to go?” he asked, though his voice carried a gentler note.
You turned your head, eyes back on the mirror. “Just fuck me,” you whispered—no, begged. “Please.”
He leaned in, bending over you to press a kiss to the inside of your forearm. Then another, trailing lazily up the length of your arm to your shoulder. Behind you, you felt his hand move between your bodies, hearing the rustle of fabric as he pushed his boxers down.
He aligned himself with you, dragging the thick length of his cock between your thighs, letting you feel everything. Every vein, every throbbing inch, the obscene heat of him paired with the wet slip of precum he spread over you.
You keened out a moan, barely managing to keep yourself upright even with the counter beneath you, legs beginning to shake with the effort it took to stay still.
“I’m sorry I missed it,” he murmured, voice rasping just below your ear. “I wanted to be there. More than anything.”
“I know,” you breathed just as he guided your hips, braced his feet, and buried himself inside you in one devastating thrust. The stretch sent you spiralling, tears spilling freely down your cheeks as your forehead found comfort in the marble once more.
He didn’t give you time to adjust. He pulled out just enough to make you clench around the absence, and then slammed back in harder.
One hand slipped under your shirt, calloused fingers grazing your nipple while the other found its way back to your slick clit. All that came from your mouth were broken, pathetic sounds. Half-moans, half-sobs, every syllable caught between nonsense and pleading.
“A-Aaron, oh my f—god—oh—” Your voice wavered as he hit that spot again, and again, and again, until you were shaking with every thrust.
Drool slipped past your lips, a thick string trailing down to the countertop, followed by more, clinging to your chin, catching in the strands of your hair as you trembled under the weight of his body.
You felt Aaron release your nipple before his hand moved to your neck, his palm firm against your throat, holding you in place just as another string of spit slipped past your lips, landing on his hand.
“Look at you,” he grunted, tightening his hold as his hips lurched forward again. “Dripping from both ends.”
“Please don’t stop—I’m—I’m—”
“You’re close,” he chuntered, breath hot against your skin. “I can feel it, baby. You’re squeezing me so fucking tight, I don’t think I can last much longer.”
Your whole body locked, spine arching violently off the counter, eyes rolling back as the coil deep in your belly finally snapped. Your mouth opened in a silent scream, nothing coming out but air, tears, and barely intelligible sounds that might’ve been his name.
But Aaron didn’t stop.
Not even when your legs gave out beneath you, not when you slumped forward against the marble, sobbing through the aftershocks that tore right through you. He held you up, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other sliding up your back, fucking you through it, slow and deep now, like he needed to feel every last twitch and tremble your body offered him.
You could feel his rhythm start to falter, each thrust getting sloppier, his hips stuttering against you. Then, with a muffled moan into your shoulder, he pushed into you one final time and stilled, cock pulsing as he came. His grip eased, but his whole body shuddered against yours like he’d been hanging on just long enough to make sure you came first.
He made sure you were completely filled before he pulled out slowly, causing you to whimper at the emptiness. You barely managed to brush the damp hair from your face, to wipe away at the trail of drool on your chin, before his arms were around you again, this time gently guiding you down to the floor of the dressing room.
“Aaron,” you panted, landing on a pile of clothes you’d thrown there earlier. Soft cotton, rumpled cashmere, the ghost of his cologne clinging to it all. “What…what are you doing?”
“Shh, honey.” He knelt between your legs, his knees cracking on the way down.
“Sure this is good for your old man frame?”
He spread your legs open, fingers moving to push his come back inside you. “If I throw my back out eating your pussy, I’ll die a happy man.”
Your breath caught, hips jerking instinctively at the contact. “Jesus—Aaron—”
He lowered his head, mouth hot and wet as it latched onto your cunt, tongue dragging through the mess he’d just pushed back into you like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted.
Your hands shot to his head, fingers tangling in his hair, undecided if you were pulling him closer or trying to push him away. “I don’t think I can go again, baby,” you gasped, your thighs twitching from the overstimulation.
You heard a sloppy, muffled, “You can,” just as he sucked your clit into his mouth, hard enough to make your vision white out for a second.
“Motherfuc—” Your legs locked around his head with such force that it had to be uncomfortable for him, maybe even a little painful. But when you opened your eyes and looked down, he didn’t look bothered in the slightest.
You caught the way his hips were grinding slowly into the rug beneath him, telling you this might not even be for your pleasure anymore but for his.
“I really, really don’t think I can come again,” you cried out, hips lifting into his mouth. “Please, Aar—”
Your voice broke off as he groaned against your pussy, loud and filthy. The vibration of it paired with the way he lapped at you, coaxed that familiar feeling, winding tight in your abdomen.
You shook your head, back arching, mouth open but no sound escaping as he sucked your clit into his mouth and circled it with his tongue over, and over and over again.
“Aaron, I—fuck—I’m gonna—”
The words dissolved into a sob as the pressure inside you reached its peak, crashing over you with a dizzying force. You came again, harder this time, legs spasming, hands clawing at the rug and his hair, tears slipping down your temples as your body convulsed under him.
You felt his mouth finally ease up, the warmth of him pulling away only for a moment until he was crawling up your body, bracing himself on his elbows as he hovered over you.
He scanned your face, watching the way your chest heaved, the way your eyes were still screwed shut as you tried to come down from the high he’d dragged out of you. He didn’t say anything, just let you come back to him on your own terms because he was generous like that.
Your fingers slowly loosened their grip on the rug, the tension bleeding from your limbs. Finally, you blinked up at him, dazed and thoroughly fucked-out.
“Think I went to heaven.”
He huffed a laugh, forehead dropping to yours. “Yeah?” he murmured. “Were they impressed?”
You let out a weak laugh, your hands dragging up from the rug to rest on his shoulders. “I’m still mad at you. Just… now I can do it with a clear head rather than a—”
“Horny one?” he supplied, earning a nod from you.
“Mhm. Was this your idea of an apology?”
“I mean…” He looked down at you, then at the mess around the closet. “It stopped you from throwing any more of my clothes, didn’t it?”
You snorted. “Temporarily.”
“I’ll take it.” He leaned down to press a lazy, unhurried kiss to your cheek. “Now, come on, let’s get you cleaned up. Then you can go back to yelling at me properly.”
pairing: aaron hotchner x reader (was supposed to be nanny!reader but lit rally no mentions of her being a nanny LOL)
summary: one question you refuse to answer gives you the best sex of your life.
warnings | an: p in v sex, choking, one bite, fingering, oral (f receiving), praise kink?? hotch profiling reader and its so sexy i want to kith him on the mouth, there is aftercare i just didn’t write it, oopsies, established relationship
word count: 2.9k
✧ masterlist
In all fairness, you hadn't actually read the rules of the game before suggesting it tonight. But maybe Penelope had – and maybe that's exactly why she'd wrapped it in floral paper with a gingham ribbon, like it was some sweet little gift and not a trap in disguise.
Because now here you were, cheeks warm, pulse ticking too fast, staring down a question that made your soul want to leave your body.
Okay, maybe it wasn't that bad.
You liked being manhandled. Liked a little choking – nothing too wild, just enough to feel it. Worst things have happened. Honestly, it wasn't even that big a deal.
Until you looked up... and saw Aaron’s eyes on you.
You swallowed, looking back down at the card again just as a breathless little laugh slipped out.
Name a turn-on your partner doesn’t know about but should.
“Pretty sure we’ve already had this one,” you said, maybe a little too brightly, as you tucked the card neatly under the deck like it was nothing. “Next!”
You barely brushed the edge of a new card before Aaron’s hand closed over the stack, pulling it right out of reach.
“Oh, are we done playing?” you asked innocently, sitting up a little straighter as your hands slid to your thighs. “Good idea.” You were on your feet now. “Pretty sure there’s a pile of laundry upstairs with my name on it –”
“Sit.”
Your hands hovered for a second before landing on your hips, a half-formed protest catching in your throat, but you obeyed, lowering yourself back down onto the couch, trying to act unbothered. Trying to ignore the way your heart had picked up speed.
“We haven’t been playing this game long enough to get the same card twice,” he said calmly, a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.
“Really? Huh. Could’ve sworn we already had that one.”
He arched a brow. “What was it?”
“Aaron come on,” you deflected, waving a hand like it didn’t matter. “It was something silly.”
He didn’t say anything, just flipped the deck over in his hand, eyes scanning the top card.
“Name a turn-on your partner doesn’t know about but should,” he read aloud. “Hm. Definitely don’t recall hearing your answer to this.”
“You don’t?” you said weakly.
“Just because you keep repeating everything I say doesn’t mean you’re going to get out of answering.”
You opened your mouth, then closed it again.
“You begged to play this game,” he continued calmly. “And now you’re skipping cards?” He gave you a dry look. “That hardly seems fair.”
You let out a quiet huff and leaned back into the couch, suddenly very interested in the ceiling. Your heart was beating faster than it should’ve been. Not because you didn’t trust him – you did. Completely. You knew he’d never shame you or make you feel small for wanting something.
But he’d also seen the worst of humanity. He’d spent his career staring into the darkest corners of people’s minds. You weren’t sure how he’d feel knowing his girlfriend got turned on by things like rough hands. The feeling of being pinned down and utterly helpless, even when she wasn’t.
It sounded a lot messier out loud than it did in your head.
“I just…” You hesitated. “It’s not a big deal. It’s probably not even your thing.”
“Well, if you’re unhappy in that department, I’d absolutely like to know what it is.”
“Oh my God – no, no. Not at all. I’m not – unhappy.” Your voice pitched as high as your hands flew up in protest, and now you were spiralling. “I’m very happy. I’m, like, obscenely happy. I think your ability to give me more orgasms in one night than I’ve had in my entire life before meeting you should be studied. Or patented. Or possibly banned in several states –”
He blinked once. Then bit back a smile.
You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I hate you.”
“You love me.”
“I do, unfortunately,” you muttered into your palms.
“Then tell me,” he said, voice dipping just a little. “Or am I going to have to profile it out of you?”
You peeked out from between your fingers. “You wouldn’t.”
He gave a mild shrug. “You’re not exactly subtle.”
Your heart thudded.
“You get flustered when you lose control of the conversation. Especially with me. You fidget more. You avoid eye contact like you’re doing right now.”
You shifted almost immediately.
“You like routine and structure. You’re organised to a fault, but the second I step into your space and do something unexpected, you melt.” He tilted his head. “You act like it annoys you, but I’ve watched you for long enough to know it doesn’t. When I back you against the counter. When I pull your hair back mid-sentence just to kiss your neck. When I don’t ask and take instead. You don’t stop me, you lean into it.”
Your mouth went dry.
“You like being told what to do,” he said simply. Like it was a fact. Like it was always obvious. “In little ways. Safe ways. And when you’re overwhelmed, your instinct isn’t to push back, it’s to submit.”
He watched as your throat worked around a hard swallow.
“You like it when I’m in control.”
Your legs pressed together tight. Too late to pretend it hadn’t happened.
He smiled. “You throw around sarcasm, roll yours eyes, push back, pretend to fuss when I get bossy. But the second I tell you what to do – really tell you – you listen.”
You stared at him, cheeks flushed, lips parted.
“And the truth is, you don’t want to say it out loud because you think it’ll sound messed up. But it doesn’t.” He paused for a second. “I understand you and I’m not judging you. I want to give you what you need.”
Another moment of silence passed before he added, “But if you keep pressing your thighs together like that, I’m going to start thinking we’re done playing this game.”
You let a breath out before speaking. “I…I think we’re done playing,” you managed, voice hoarse.
“Yeah? You sure?”
You nodded before your brain could catch up. “Yes.”
“Then get upstairs.”
You rose on shaky legs and turned towards the stairs, amazed you didn’t trip over yourself on the way up. You could hear him following behind unhurried, while your vision nearly swam from what he’d managed to do to you with just words.
Inside the bedroom, you stopped at the foot of the bed, unsure whether to turn around or stay still. But you didn’t have to ask.
“Turn around.”
You obeyed immediately.
He stepped in close, the heat of him pressing into you just as his hand gripped a firm handful of your hair giving it a tug.
“I can feel you shaking,” he murmured, his mouth brushing against your neck. “You’ve been so worked up since downstairs.” His lips trailed along your jaw slowly, down the curve of your neck, before you felt him bite down gently, his tongue smoothing over the sting.
“Clothes off, sweetheart.” He took a step back, giving you space.
You reached for the hem of your shirt and peeled it up over your head, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes tracked every inch of newly exposed skin, like he was cataloguing every place he intended to touch.
You pushed your pants down next, shimmied them over your hips, then stepped out, standing there in just your bra and panties, chest rising and falling.
“All of it.”
Your fingers trembled as you reached behind and undid your bra, letting it slide off your shoulders. Then finally, you hooked your thumbs into the waistband of your underwear and slid them down your legs, stepping out of them and standing bare in front of him.
He nodded toward the bed.
You turned and sat on the edge first, heart racing, then eased yourself down, your back meeting the cool sheets as you settled into place beneath his gaze.
It didn’t take long before he was hovering over you, one hand spreading your thighs as he settled between them, the other coming up to rest lightly – so lightly – around your throat.
You whimpered.
“There it is,” he whispered, kissing just beneath your ear. “That little sound you make when you’re starting to let go.”
Then his fingers found your clit, and you arched off the bed with a gasp, eyes fluttering shut as the pressure landed exactly where you needed it
“I can’t possibly imagine why you’d think this isn’t ‘my thing.’” His fingers kept working you. “Feel what you’ve done to me.”
Your hand moved down between you, palming him through his jeans – and Christ, was he hard. Straining against the fabric, so much so that it almost felt painful.
He groaned at the contact, his hips instinctively pressing into your touch.
“See?” he murmured, slipping a finger inside you without warning, drawing a moan from deep in your chest. “This is exactly my thing. And you—” he kissed the corner of your mouth, “you like this is my thing.”
You gasped, your back arching again, but his other hand was already moving, finding your neck again, pressing down just enough to hold you in place.
He leaned in close, brushing his nose along your cheek, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear as he added a second finger. “You don’t even realize how pretty you are when you’re desperate, do you?” he whispered. “The way you shake. The way you clench around me when I take my time.”
“Aaron…”
He smiled against your skin. “I could keep you like this all night.”
“Please –” was all you managed, the word falling out in a half-broken whimper.
His hand at your throat tightened just enough to make your breath hitch, the same time he curled his fingers inside you. You clenched around him so hard you thought your body might unravel right then and there.
“Fuck – I – I –”
“What is it? Tell me exactly what you need.”
You bucked against him, unable to stop it, hands flying to his forearms – not to push him away, but to hold on. He didn’t move, didn’t ease up either of his hands.
“Or… do you want me to decide for you, hm?”
You couldn’t answer, not in words. Your mind was a haze of heat and ache, your breath catching somewhere between a sob and a moan. Your nails dug into his forearms, desperate for some sort of release.
“Too overwhelmed to answer?”
And then he stilled.
Fingers deep inside you, his body caging yours, hand still resting at your throat but no movement. No friction. No relief. You whined, your hips shifting in an attempt to chase more.
“I’ll decide, then,” he said softly, like he was offering kindness. “You want release? Earn it.”
He withdrew his fingers slowly, achingly slow, and the loss had you nearly sobbing. But before you could even begin to beg, he brought his slick fingers up between you and pressed them to your lips.
“Taste it,” he murmured. “Taste how worked up you are. Taste what you do to me.”
Your lips parted without thought, wrapping around his fingers. You moaned as your tongue slid over them, tasting yourself on his skin. He pressed a little deeper, a little further down your throat, and you hollowed your cheeks, sucking greedily.
“Good girl,” he whispered, voice rough now. “So fucking good for me.”
He began making his way down your body, peppering kisses over your chest, you stomach, your hips. You could feel him everywhere, his breath fanning against your skin, his hands sliding down your thighs, spreading you open again.
He lowered himself between your thighs, and when his mouth finally met you again, it was everything.
His tongue lapped at you, circling your clit before dragging lower to taste all of you. He groaned into you, the sound deep, pushing you that much closer to the edge.
You couldn’t stop yourself from moving – hips bucking, thighs twitching, grinding against his face, desperate for more. But he only gripped your hips harder, strong arms pinning you down like it was nothing. Like your squirming didn’t even faze him. Like it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.
You whimpered, barely coherent and all you could think about was how badly you wanted those bruises. You wanted to see the outline of his fingers tomorrow. You wanted to remember exactly how they got there.
The pressure built low in your stomach, your thighs beginning to tremble, clenching around his face.
“S’okay baby,” he mumbled against you, voice muffled by your skin. “I’ve got you.”
And that was all it took.
Your thighs clamped around his head, your hips jolting up off the bed, and you cried out, high and breathless, one hand flying to your mouth, the other tangled in the sheets. You writhed beneath him, overstimulated and soaked, gasping through the aftershocks. Your whole body was twitching, lips parted, chest heaving.
He finally pulled back, mouth and chin glistening. “You should see yourself. You don’t even know how beautiful you look when you come.”
You were still catching your breath when you heard the sound of his zipper, the clink of his belt hitting the floor. You reached up to brush a strand of hair off your damp forehead, but your hand dropped the second you felt him between your thighs again, tip dragging slowly along your soaked slit.
Your entire body went still, mouth falling open and he hadn’t even pushed inside you yet.
“You okay?” he asked, pausing just long enough to check in.
“Yes,” you breathed, eyes wide. “More than okay. So okay.”
He let out a quiet laugh. “Now you want to talk?”
“I’m just –” you started, breath catching every time the head of his cock slid through your folds. “I’m just saying, I didn’t know it could feel like this, and I – God, Aaron –”
And then he thrusted into you.
One deep stroke that filled you completely, stealing the rest of the sentence right out of your mouth. Your eyes flew open, a strangled gasp caught in your throat as your head tipped back against the pillow, hands flying to his shoulders to hold on.
“Yeah,” he gritted out, his voice hot against your ear. “I thought that might shut you up.”
You could only whimper in response, nails digging into his skin as he stayed there, buried to the hilt, giving you no room to think.
“You feel that?” he murmured, rocking into you once, slow and deep. “You take me so fucking well.”
You nodded, mouth open, breathless. “I wasn’t done talking,” you managed to whisper.
He pulled back slightly, just enough to drag the tip out to your entrance and paused. “Go ahead,” he encouraged. “Try.”
“Fuck y–”
He slammed back in, cutting you off mid-word with a thrust somehow deeper than the last.
“Fuck you?” he echoed smugly. “Yeah. I think I will.”
And he did – hips rocking into yours, each thrust pushing you further into the mattress. Then his hand came up, wrapping around your throat again and you clenched around him, a moan escaping your lips. He let out a low tsk, like he’d caught you misbehaving.
He leaned in closer, his chest pressing against yours, his thrusts slowing. They were deeper now, rougher, grinding into you with so much intensity you weren’t even sure where your body ended and his began.
“This,” he murmured, squeezing just a little tighter, “this is what you were so scared to ask for?”
You opened your mouth to answer, to give him something, anything, but he slammed into you before the words could form, another deep, brutal thrust that knocked the breath out of you.
“I—Aaron, I—” you tried again, voice thin.
Another thrust. Harder.
You gasped, your back arching off the bed. “You’re not even letting me –”
He did it again, cut you off with a stroke that had your vision going white at the edges.
“Fuck—you’re doing this on purpose,” you whimpered, dazed and desperate.
“I sure am.” His hand tightened just a little more at your throat. “You want to know what my turn-on is?” he muttered, not waiting for an answer. “Seeing you fucked senseless.”
Another thrust hit that perfect spot, making your entire body jerk beneath him. You tried to speak, to respond, but he snapped his hips again and you mewled out whatever nonsense your uncooperative tongue could muster.
“You want to come?”
You nodded frantically, words useless now, tears brimming from the sheer overload.
“Good. Then do it.”
He reached down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, setting a pace in perfect sync with his thrusts. Your hips began to stutter as you screwed your eyes shut, the pressure building too fast to stop.
It took mere seconds before your body seized around him.
“Jesus – fuck, that’s it,” he groaned. “You’re so fucking tight when you come –”
His rhythm faltered, stammered and then he was slamming into you one last time, your name falling from his lips as he came.
He loosened his grip on your throat, both hands sliding to your ribcage, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.
Neither of you spoke. Both of you were too focused on catching your breath, sharing the same shallow air like it might not be enough.
Finally, after a minute, he leaned in, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your jaw. “Think we should play card games more often.”
Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites. I do not consent to my work being used for AI purposes.
─
Chapter Seven ─ The Manor
Three Weeks Later
Large bronze bowls line the long driveway, fire crackling within them. They stretch on, reaching right from the high gates to the grand manor at the end, which itself is illuminated by them and lights planted into the ground before it.
Newly released and vintage cars roll up in a neat, single file, people adorned in jewels and expensive fabrics stepping out of them so a valet can swiftly drive the cars away to the underground garage. It leaves the guests to move along the red carpet and up the steps to the huge, open oak front doors, where their names are checked and they are then welcomed in.
The security scanners are hidden by garlands of the finest and freshest flowers, cut and arranged that morning, though weapons are handed over before guests pass through.
Gianni rolls his eyes good-naturedly before lifting his suit jacket, revealing he has nothing on him before raising his eyebrows as he looks at you. Or, more specifically, at the silk gown you wear, the material gathered at one side of your waist and falling down to graze the floor.
“You manage to hide the bazooka in there, amore mio?”
You laugh, pulling an equally good-natured face. “Not this time, darling.”
The security guards laugh, too, as they allow you through, your arm looping through Gianni’s. You smile warmly as he nods and smiles at those you pass, murmuring their names into your ear, sometimes just to remind you. He leads you straight to a drinks table rather than over to talk to anyone, though, and you leave your warmest smile for him as he passes you a glass of champagne.
“Amore mio,” he murmurs as he clinks his glass against yours. “To us.”
Your smile widens, affection pure and bare in your gaze, and you place a hand on the back of his neck, your fingers gently caressing.
“To us.”
As his arm settles around your waist, you lean your head against his shoulder, both of you gazing at the other guests. You’re in the main, grand foyer where you’d all been told tonight's celebrations would begin, and heavily-vetted servers wander through the crowd, offering canapes and drinks. The marble floor has been polished to perfection, the garlands continue throughout the space, lights hidden amongst them twinkling, and people laugh and embrace each other.
You raise your glass and smile at those who meet your gaze, until it finally comes to Francesco Vitale, who’s laughing with his brother and wife, telling a story that they all seem to know very well but love regardless.
His wife notices the pair of you and beams, waving enthusiastically. You laugh softly as Gianni smiles, and Francesco lifts his hands as he grins, beckoning you both over.
“Here we go…” Gianni murmurs, his hand sliding into yours as you start to head over.
You’re just smiling, beaming.
His family adores you.
They’re delighted you’re here, clearly, delighted they can bring you into the fold.
Not fully yet, of course, but enough. No business is to be spoken of tonight unless behind closed doors, but they’re all here. Every single member.
Your smile lingers as your gaze drifts across the room.
Every single one.
—
Guards cover the expansive garden, patrolling, only some stood by the walls of the manor, some sat by the pool, having a sneaky game of cards. Every now and then he hears a radio when a guard draws closer, but they never come close enough.
Standing hidden in the treeline, Ghost watches them, watches the bright lights that illuminate the building, the routes of entry they show.
He hears someone approach from behind, but doesn’t move, eyes flicking from balcony to balcony.
Soap clears his throat quietly, clasping his hands together as he stands beside him. “I know why you don’t want me in there, but can ye at least reconsider takin’ someone?”
“No. It needs to be just one of us. Just me.”
He doesn’t look at Soap, but hears him clear his throat again.
“Right. Cameras have been intercepted. They won’t see ye comin’.”
“Cheers.” Looking to Soap, he raises his eyebrows. “If this goes tits up, don’t bother with a funeral.”
Soap snorts. “Ye think they’d bother givin’ any of us one?”
“They told me they would me. I’m special.”
Soap’s chuckle follows quietly after him as he moves down the grass, keeping low and out of the lights. He has to time it right, has to reach the section of wall he’s chosen just as the guard to the right turns…
When the man does, he breaks into a sprint. Using a window sill as leverage, he vaults up and grips onto the bottom of a railing before hauling himself up onto it. Crouching, he peers through the glass door into a dark room. Finding it empty, he waits until the guards playing the game below laugh and cheer, and then uses his gloved fist to smash the glass—
It doesn’t break.
What the fuck.
Shaking his hand out, he presses his lips together.
Fucking hell.
Looking at the keyhole, he sighs quietly.
The old fucking fashioned way, then.
Using a knife, it doesn’t take him long to unlock it, and he pushes the door open, glancing about the room again before he steps through. Closing it behind himself, he straightens, keeping his eyes on the room.
It’s a library of some kind, armchairs here and there, a huge fuck-off fire place, though he doubts much reading gets done here.
Heading to the door, he listens, then opens it. The hallway is empty, clear. He can faintly hear the party coming from the floor below, voices and music muffled. He waits a beat, then—
He frowns as he notices a trail of clear liquid that runs down the corridor, covering the wooden floor.
What the fuck… Has someone pissed here?
It doesn’t smell like it, it smells… clinical.
Maybe a cleaner had been careless.
Pushing it aside for now, he listens, hears no one approach, and then he moves, swift and quiet down the hallway, avoiding the liquid.
The first guard he comes across he kills swiftly. The second spots him a split second before he attacks, but he goes down easily. The third goes like the first. The fourth and fifth put up a good fight together, but the music from the party below drowns them out, and they were too proud and arrogant to reach for their radios.
Moving down a dark landing, he pauses by a door, sounds coming from it, but swiftly realises it’s just two people having sex. Maybe three.
He’s about to move forward when he hears voices coming up a side stairwell.
Dropping back, he crouches by the railing at the corner, hidden, eyes fixed on the stairs.
A small group emerges, men talking quietly together, smiling, and he notes Francesco amongst them.
Not who he’s here for. Not today.
He stares at him, though, stares at the smiling fucker and all his mates.
His smile is reminiscent of Angelo’s; easy, arrogant, cuntish.
Watching them enter a room, he waits until the door is closed before he turns his radio on, murmurs the location of the room into it, and then switches it off.
And he continues on.
Heading down the back stairs to the ground floor, he steps off the last step and he’s about to head round closer to the party to find a place to hide and observe, when he notices a slight bulging in the curtain at the window in front of him.
… Right…
Moving closer, he reaches out and swiftly tugs it aside… and exhales a breath.
A guard sits on the floor, blood dripping from his throat, dead.
Fuck…
Pressing his lips together, he looks left down the hallway then right, and sees a door just slightly ajar, at the very end.
He sees something else, too; another fine layer of clear liquid leading from the guard’s body to that door.
Dropping the curtain and adjusting it to cover the body, he then moves down towards the door, one hand hovering near his gun, just in case.
Leaning back against the wall beside it, he nudges the door open a little more, revealing a stone stairwell that leads down into darkness.
… Right.
Taking a last look down the hallway, he then heads through the door, pulling it quietly shut behind him, and moves down the stairs.
He goes slowly, knowing any little sound will echo here, though he can’t hear a thing from below just yet. Maybe he’s just wasting his fucking time, maybe a server or guest had left it open by accident and—
A muffled crash echoes up the stairs.
He pauses, eyes on the darkness.
Nothing.
He starts moving again, only pausing for a moment when another crash comes, a little louder. And then he sees it; a small, flickering light.
It grows larger as the crashing sounds grow louder, until, finally, he reaches the bottom step.
Entering the cellar, barrels line either side of the walkway before him, and right at the end of it, a warm light glows from behind a door left ajar.
The crashing sound comes from within. No, more like smashing.
Glass breaking.
It’s slow, nearly rhythmic.
Smash. Beat. Smash. Beat. Smash. Beat.
Placing his hand on his gun, he approaches the door.
Moving to one side of it, the side that’s ajar, he leans back against the wall, and tries to peer in. A figure moves within, sometimes blocking the light that shines into his eyes. Blinking against it, he tries to focus on the person, but the light is too bright, and the door isn’t open enough.
Pressing his lips together, he removes the gun from its holster and, with his other hand, carefully and quietly tugs the door open a little more—
He stills.
Your back is to him.
His chest tightens.
Your hand reaches out every other moment, taking bottles of wine, whiskey and vodka from the rows and rows of shelves.
And you drop them onto the floor.
Moving to another row, rounding a wooden table, your heels crunch the shards to finer pieces, and his gaze drops to them.
He knows those heels.
Hello, old friends.
Eyes trailing up from them, up your long, silk, green dress, up your back to your head, he quietly holsters his gun.
You inhale a breath as you glance over the label of a bottle before dropping it, feeling the red liquid bathe your feet as it smashes beside them.
What next…
“Well, that’s a waste.”
You spin, glass crunching beneath you.
Ghost stands in the doorway, filling it, his head bowing slightly so he can fit.
Of course.
You’re unsurprised, but still feel irritation prickling at you.
“I promise they won’t be.”
Turning back to the shelf, you pull out another bottle and drop it.
As it smashes, he takes a step forward, and pulls the door shut behind him. As you withdraw a bottle, he pulls the bolt across it, locking it.
You pause, head turning, eyes darting to him.
He lifts his hands in a small gesture of peace before folding his arms. “I did that so we won’t have any surprises, not to trap you in here with me.”
“Right.” You drop the bottle, pull out another. “Why are you here, Ghost.”
“I think you can guess.”
You drop it. You pull out another.
“I want to hear you say it.”
You hear him exhale a quiet breath. “I’m here to bring you in.”
“Right.” You look over at him. “Plenty of opportunities to have done that before now.”
“Two birds, one stone kind of night. We’re gathering evidence of Francesco’s and the family’s dealings, too.”
“Right. Busy night.”
You drop another bottle.
His eyes haven’t moved from you. “What are you doing?”
You inspect the next shelf for bottles at the back, removing a vintage whisky. “I’m going to burn this place and everyone in it to the ground.”
He exhales another breath. “I can’t let you do that.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
You drop the bottle.
“Stray, I…” He presses his lips together, but anger doesn’t lace his tone as he says, “Can you look at me, please?”
You don’t, half-reading a label for the alcohol percentage with your back to him.
And he looks at you, the curves of your shoulders, neck and arms. He thinks about how he feels in that room, looking at you, having you close again, finally.
Being with you.
Licking your lips, you drop the bottle by your side, tilting your head back to look at a shelf above. The bleach you’d been able to find in one of the bathrooms had sufficed for the upper levels, but it felt fitting to use Francesco's lovingly curated cellar to start the blaze. Only the very old and high percentage stuff, though, the random cheap shit could be left alone.
You just about manage to ignore Ghost’s eyes on you. He’ll either do his best to take you in, and you can hate him all over again and rage and scream, or he’ll try and talk you down.
You don’t fancy his chances with either. And there’s nothing else he can d—
“Stray, I’m sorry.”
You still.
The words had been quiet.
Staring at the shelf, your jaw moves slightly.
“It’s no use trying to stall me, Ghost.”
You hear him shift, release a breath that sounds both weary and resigned. “I’m not… I’m not trying to fucking stall you, Stray, I mean it. I’m sorry.”
Your tongue runs along your teeth. “For what?”
You wait for the silence, for the sigh, for the empty words, for th—
“For betraying you. For not… trusting you.” He shifts a little, clears his throat. “I should’ve, I fucked it, I know I did. I knew it then and I’m sorry I didn’t say it. I need you to know, though, that I didn’t mean it. What I sent to Vitale. I didn’t mean I was done with you or that… I didn’t mean to imply you meant nothing. To me. Well, I did, but to him, not to you, you weren’t meant to see those. I wanted to make the cunt angry, and Soap was supposed to be there, I promise you he was, but…” He clears his throat again. “That doesn’t matter ‘cause I should’ve told you. You put your trust in us, in me, and I… I let you down.”
Let you down.
It was such simple phrasing.
But the simplicity of it… the normality of it… Your vision is starting to blur slightly as tears come suddenly.
And he continues.
“I didn’t want to do that, Stray. I…” You hear him shift again. “Since then I can’t stop thinking about how you were lookin’ at me. About how you must’ve felt. You should’ve torn me apart. I wouldn’t’ve blamed you.”
You’re silent, gaze fixed on the shelf.
And he continues.
“This… thing we have, had, you and I… I’m not good at it. I don’t think I’m made for it. But with you… When I was with you… When we had our times together… It felt… good.” He clears his throat once more. “Feels shit that we don’t have it anymore. And I know that’s ‘cause of me. And I’m sorry. I’m sorry for causing you to have to go back to him. I’m sorry he hurt you… and that it was because of me.”
You’re silent.
And he continues.
“I hate that he was the better option than me. But…” You hear him release a breath, and his tone, already quiet, already sincere, softens. “... What did he have on you, love?”
Love.
You hate the way it so easily rolls off his tongue, how it travels across the space between you, licks up your spine and makes your chest ache.
Licking your lips, you inhale a breath and turn to him, managing to keep your breathing steady.
“Take your mask off.”
He’s now silent, looking at you.
And it stretches on.
You give a slight nod, a small, humourless, resigned smile on your lips.
Turning away from him, you look at the bottles before you but you’re not really seeing, because you know you’re never going to see him again and the acceptance of that makes yo—
A gloved hand grips your bicep and turns you, shoving you back against the shelf.
Inhaling a sharp breath, you stare up at him. “What the fuck are you—”
“Don’t move,” he commands, the hand moving to your shoulder, keeping you in place.
You shove his arm away, trying to straighten to your full height. “Get off me—”
“Stay still.” His knee presses between your legs, thigh against your stomach, keeping you in place.
“Get off—”
He covers your eyes with one gloved hand, plunging the world into darkness, and you hear something clatter to the ground and then he’s gripping your hand and lifting it and he presses it—
He presses it against his cheek.
His bare cheek.
You still, breaths coming out a little harsher.
It’s the only sound that fills the stone room.
After a few moments, your fingers flex a little and he releases your hand.
And you keep it there.
When he doesn’t say a word, doesn’t move, you slowly draw your hand back until it’s just your fingertips against his skin.
He doesn’t move.
You glide them slowly up to his cheekbone, then drift them along it.
You reach his nose.
Your fingertips travel over it, up the bridge.
It’s strong, a little longer than you thought.
You glide them up, to his forehead.
You keep waiting to feel a mask but… nothing.
Just his bare skin.
Drifting your fingertips across his forehead, you trail them down his temple—
You feel hair.
You pause.
Then, you move your fingers closer to his hair.
He doesn’t move.
You move again… and your fingers sink into his hair.
It’s a little longer, and much softer, than you had imagined.
You can’t help yourself; you slide your hand through his hair and find that it ends at the nape of his neck.
You don’t realise that the corners of your mouth lift a little.
Your fingers glide around the side of his neck, your hand coming up to cup his face, and your other lifts, too, cupping his other cheek.
The masks are off.
You can feel his face.
All of it.
And you can feel slight rises and dips here and there, scars, many of them.
And you can feel his stubble, too.
All of it.
All of him.
One of your hands moves, your fingers wanting to stroke over his cheek again, and you caress them down to his lips, over them—
You feel it.
His breath, shaking.
Carefully lowering your hand, you place it on his vest, and feel it rising and falling a little faster.
Your lips part.
He’s… You don’t know.
Frightened? You can never imagine him that way.
Apprehensive? Not that either.
But… maybe this is it.
Your other hand, still on his cheek, moves a fraction, your thumb gently brushing back and forth over his skin.
You don’t want him feeling that way.
When you don’t move again, you hear him swallow lightly.
“This…” His voice is quiet, rougher. “... This is all I can give you… for now…” He swallows again. “… I’m sorry it can’t be more. And I’m sorry, for all of it. Sorry that this is a shit apology, too.”
For now.
Inhaling a quiet breath, you lick your lips.
“Say it again.”
There’s a small pause, and you wish you could see him.
“… What?”
“Say sorry.”
There’s a smaller pause, and you feel him inhale a deeper breath.
“I’m sorry.”
“Again.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Again.”
“I’m sorry, Stray.”
Your hand moves from his cheek to the back of his neck, and your fingers curl a little into the ends of his hair.
And you pull.
He allows you to, lowering his head to yours.
“Again.”
“I’m sorr—”
You steal the last syllable from him by capturing his lips in yours, and the kiss is firm, deep. Your hand lifts from his vest, settles on his cheek, and you still can’t believe you’re touching him.
Splaying your fingers, your thumb brushes over his cheekbone once more, and as you do, he releases a breath through his nose, and then you feel his other hand on your waist. You brush your thumb again, stroking gently, and his hand slides further, moving to your lower back. When your fingers slip into his hair, curling in, he pulls you against him, a low sound coming from the back of his throat.
“... I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” he mumbles against your lips as you press against him, trapped between him and the shelves, and a small, soft moan escapes you as his tongue strokes against yours.
With the heels giving you a few more inches of height, you can easily wrap your arms around his neck, and you keep your hand in his hair, fingers tangling in tighter, and he groans.
His breathing has quickened, too, though so has yours.
“Can you keep your eyes closed? Please?” he suddenly mumbles against your lips.
There’s something quietly desperate in the way he says it, and you nod, breaking your lips from his.
He doesn’t move, though, and you can just hear your breathing as you feel his face close to yours.
And then he lifts his hand away from your eyes.
Swallowing involuntarily, you exhale a breath.
You could open them. Really fuck him over right now. See his face, use it to trade, to barter, to blackmail. Betray him like he betrayed you.
You keep your eyes closed.
There’s another moment in which you don’t hear him seemingly doing anything, and then you hear him move, and realise after a beat that he’s on his knees.
His hands are on your dress, you can feel the skirt of it moving about your legs, but before you can release another breath, you hear a ripping sound. Followed by a very long ripping sound.
“Are you ruining my dress, Lieutenant?”
“I am.”
You can’t stop your lips from twitching as the ripping sound comes again.
“I really like this dress, you fucker.”
“I’ll buy you a new one. A better one.”
You hear him move, then he seemingly pauses.
“What is it?”
He doesn’t answer, doesn’t move.
It startles you slightly when you finally feel his fingers, now bare, drift over your thigh. Or, rather, the bullet-hole scar you know is there. He traces around it gently, so gently.
“I wanted to kill him after that.” His voice is quiet. “My own teammate.”
You don’t answer, just focus on his fingers stroking over it.
His bare fingers.
When he rises after a few moments, you lick your lips and lift your head, trying to imagine how close his lips are.
But it’s his fingers at your shoulder you feel next, and they pull the thin strap of the dress off your shoulder, fingertips trailing down your bicep to the scar there.
“I couldn’t look at him for days without thinking of murderin’ him.”
It sounds like a pained confession.
You like to think it’s the first time he’s said it out loud, that you have that privilege.
He lowers his head, and kisses it.
You can’t help the slightly ragged inhale you take, and then his head lifts, lips millimetres from your jaw.
“That’s what you do to me,” he murmurs. “That’s what I’d do for you. I’d fuckin’ kill for you, Stray. I should’ve killed Vitale, I’m sorry I didn’t.”
You angle your head a fraction closer to him.
“I’m glad it was me.”
You feel the breath he exhales, the fingers on one hand touching against your hip.
“It shouldn’t’ve had to be.”
Before you can respond, his head and hands are suddenly gone, he’s pulled back, and then you feel something silky cover your eyes, and it’s swiftly tightened and knotted at the back of your head.
He’s used the strip he’d ripped from your dress to blindfold you.
“Very creative,” you murmur, a corner of your mouth lifting.
“I’m very intelligent.” His hands now cup your face, and you have to try with everything in you not to lean your head into one of his palms, because your lips twitch again, ruefully.
“Not about everything.”
He exhales a small breath. “Nah, not about everything.”
Silence falls as you press your lips together a little, try to quell the desire and need and want that is burning inside you because the still logical and hurt part of you is demanding you to not crumble, to not give in to him, to hate him, to hurt him—
He kisses you, softly, tenderly, and it takes you by surprise.
It’s so… nice. It’s nice to be kissed this way, sweetly, intensely, nothing else to it except just wanting to.
It’s nice to have it done by him.
But… Fuck… But the last time this happened…
“What is it?” he murmurs as you break the kiss, your chin tilting down a touch.
“You… Last time…”
He gives you a moment before he quietly prompts you.
“What?”
Inhaling a breath, you lick your lips. “You kissed me like that last time.”
“Like what?”
“Like…” Like you care. Why can’t you just say it. “... Gently.”
“Oh. Right.” There’s a pause, and his hands fall from you. “... I didn’t realise I… You didn’t like it?”
Your bitter-sweet smile returns, your voice quiet. “I liked it very much.”
Your own, pained confession.
Swallowing lightly, you have to add, “... It was what came after.”
Releasing a breath, he shifts slightly. “That night…” His voice is quieter, lips still close to yours. “... I meant everythin’ I said and did, except the messages to Vitale. And I didn’t mean for him to take you. For you to go to him, I mean. I’m sorry.”
You’ve met a lot of expert liars in your life. You’re one of them. It’s why you’re so good at what you do. It’s what you’ve been hired for. You know when someone’s lying; you can feel it, sense it. Even if it’s just the slightest, smallest thing, a little alarm will ring in your mind.
Your mind is quiet.
“I know.”
“You do?”
There’s the quiet desperation again.
“Yeah.” Pressing your lips together a little, you have to force yourself to say it. “... I just don’t know if I can… if I can trust you, again. Because I did trust you, Ghost. With my life. And… all of me.”
You wish you could see him.
“I know. Believe me, I fucking know.” He shifts again, and you think you might, briefly, feel his hand by your waist, but then it’s gone. “... Do you… Could you give me the chance to earn it back?”
Silence.
You’ve thought about it over the last year. Of killing him. Of forgiving him. Of thinking and doing nothing at all. Each time had been a different answer, a different resolution. But that had all been before.
Before you’d seen him again.
Before he’d come to warn you about Francesco.
Before he’d offered to help.
Before he’d taken his masks off.
Before he’d kissed you like that.
You know what kind of man he is. His flaws, the limits of his emotional capability.
How things have changed.
That’s what had first drawn you to him. A quick, satisfying fuck with nothing else attached, that led nowhere.
How things have changed.
If he didn’t care, if this all meant nothing, then why do all of this?
You want to ask that very question… but there’s still something in you that just…
“If you do something for me.”
You hear the small breath he releases, clouded with relief, and he asks instantly, “What can I do?”
Lifting your chin, you wet your lips. “Help me burn it all.”
You expect the pause, but not how short it is.
“Is that what you want? Is that what it’ll take?”
“It’ll take more, Ghost,” you murmur, knowing, and hoping that he knows it, too, that it’ll take a whole lot more. “But it’ll be a start.”
“Then I’ll do it, love.”
Your eyebrows lift slightly before you swiftly catch your features, holding them expressionless. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He’d murmured the affirmation, and before you can speak again, he surprises you by pressing a small kiss to your lips. Then another, then another.
You’re returning them before you realise it, a faint smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.
“You going to defy orders for me, Lieutenant?” you murmur, your hands lifting and resting on his vest.
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” he rumbles, and you now allow your eyebrows to rise, his lips brushing against yours.
“I need you to tell me about every time, in explicit detail.”
“Later.”
You very much like the sound of that.
Later.
Still, you can’t let it be that easy.
“That’s very presumptuous, Lieutenant,” you murmur, a light warning in your tone.
“Wishful thinkin’,” he murmurs in reply, and his hand cups your cheek, and… you indulge.
You lean your head ever so slightly into it.
It also serves as a reminder that you can touch his face. Raising your hands, you cup his cheeks, fingers splaying a little. Then, moving one hand to the back of his neck, you lift your chin and press a kiss to his cheek. It’s lingering, soft.
When you end it, you pause because you just… You just want to be in that moment for a second longer.
And he doesn’t move either.
But, no, then he is, his head tilting, and his lips brush against yours.
He’s changed.
Something about him’s changed.
Why else would he be here? Why else would he be this… undemanding? The Ghost you’d first met would have you halfway to a base right now.
The Ghost you’d first met would have done a lot of things differently.
That’s why the betrayal had hurt you so much. Because it felt like the man you’d first met.
And you’d thought he’d changed.
Because of you.
For you.
And he… he has.
That’s why this is so terrifying, yes, you’ll admit you are just that; terrified. Because you don’t know, if you truly and fully forgive him, what territory that leads you into. Uncharted waters. Something new.
Something lasting.
Something that’s not really… allowed, in your world.
And you never thought it would be possible, not in your profession, not with all that you’ve seen, experienced. But if tonight goes as you plan, as you hope, then maybe…
Parting your lips, you kiss him.
He returns it instantly, moving as slowly as you do.
It’s strange, kissing him and not feeling the roughened material of his mask on your skin. Just his skin.
His bare skin.
A small sound comes from the back of your throat, and his hands are suddenly on your waist, sliding around to your back and holding you against him.
And your arms, of their own accord, go around his neck as you press into him.
And he doesn’t push for more.
You’re just kissing.
…
Oh, fucking fuck it all, maybe you can let it be that easy.
You’ve hated yourself for it, but you’ve missed him. You’ve dreamed about him, imagined him, fucking pined for him.
It’s fucked up and fucking unexplainable, but you need him.
“What you doin’?” he rumbles as your hands go to the fastenings of his vest, fumbling a little as you try to find them.
“Take this off,” you breathe.
He does as he’s told, helping you and dropping it to the floor. Next you find the zipper of his jacket, yank it down, and go straight for his belt, unclasping it once you feel it. One of his hands grips the edge of the shelf beside your head as his other settles on your hip, gathering the material of your dress, fisting it.
“You want me here? Right now?” he gravels, and you can just imagine his eyebrow arching, that smug fucking smile on his lips.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
“Thought you had business to attend to.”
“I’ll allow them a few more minutes to live.”
Your hand finds the back of his neck and you pull him closer and kiss him, deeply, intently.
“You can be fuckin’ terrifyin’,” he mumbles against your mouth, and you smile.
“Don’t you forget it.”
Opening your mouth, your tongue strokes at his, and you moan as he gathers the skirt of your dress higher and higher until his fingers can stroke against your thigh.
“Touch me, please,” you murmur, and he groans quietly.
“Where? You said only a few minutes.”
You nip at his lower lip. “Are you doubting your capabilities?”
“Nah, I just like to take my time with you. Wanted you begging for my cock.”
“If you ask nicely, I might.”
A corner of his mouth lifts higher than the other. “Oh, that’s how it’s gunna be, is it?”
“Yeah, so be a good boy, and ask nicely.”
“All right.”
Before you can nip at him again, he moves his head to the side, lips drifting over your ear as he starts to murmur, “Will you beg for my cock, love? Will you beg for me to fuck you open? Fuck you nice and deep? So slow you can feel every inch of me stretching you?”
You moan as he starts to kiss at your neck, your hands gripping at his biceps.
“Will you do that for me, love? Hm? Will you drip down my cock and squeeze me until I cum? Will you?”
You’re gasping quietly, breaths ragged.
“You didn’t… say please…”
You feel him smile.
Oh, fuck…
His lips are at your ear once more, and he murmurs deliciously low, “Please, love. Please beg for my cock.”
Oh, fucking hell…
Inhaling a jagged breath, your nails bite into his shoulders. “I need it, please.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, please.”
“Mmh, let’s see, shall we… You wet enough for me yet…?” His hand slides across your thigh, heading towards your—
“No knickers? You really are about savin’ time.”
You release a short, breathy laugh that swiftly morphs into a gasp when his hand slides down your pussy lips, palm rubbing over your clit.
Your knees nearly buckle as he chuckles lowly.
“Fuckin’ hell…”
When three of his fingers push into you, your head drops back against the shelf as you release a loud moan.
“Fuckin’ Christ, can you take me already, yeah?”
You’re nodding before he’s finished, wetting your lips as you breathe faster.
“Yes, please, just give me your cock, I need it.”
“I know, love, I know… Here…” He grips your thigh and lifts it, hooking your leg over his hip as he widens his stance. Then, you hear the zipper of his trousers coming down, the rustling of material, and then the grunt he gives as he pulls his cock out.
You imagine he strokes it a few times, considering the groans that follow, and then, fuck, you feel the tip against your pussy.
He glides it up and down through your lips, wetting it with your slick, and you inhale a breath of surprise when you feel his forehead touch against yours.
“You ready?” he murmurs, and you nod a little.
“Yes. Please.”
Slowly, he pushes his cock inside you.
Gripping at his shoulders, you cry out softly, your mouth open, and your forehead remains against his.
“Fuckin’... Christ…” he grunts, a hand back on your hip, holding you against the shelves as he slides further and further inside you.
When he’s finally all the way in, you release a breath, feeling him do the same, mouth so close to yours.
Fuck, you’d missed feeling him. Missed the way he stretches you so perfectly. So fucking perfectly.
You can’t help yourself, you start to rock your hips instantly, a soft, almost whimper coming from the back of your throat.
“Oh, fuck… Yeah?” he breathes, and you nod, you can only nod, mind blanking momentarily at the feel of him dragging in and out of you.
“All right, love, hold on.”
Your arms wrap around his neck as he moves one hand to the back of your head, his forearm against your back, making sure you won’t hit your head against the shelf as he then starts to increase his thrusts, harder and faster.
“Oh, fu-uck…” you gasp, pleasure pulsing through you with each thrust.
He’s grunting, teeth nearly gritted by the sounds of it. “... Christ… You’re so fuckin’... Take me so fuckin’ well… So wet and tight…”
A breathless smile pulls at your lips. “Hearing you say sorry… had me fucking dripping.”
He chuckles roughly. “I’ll be sayin’ it a lot fuckin’ more, then.”
“Good… ‘cause you’re always fucking up.”
“And you’re always right, aren’t you.”
“Yes.”
He groans, fingers tightening on your hip. “Guess we know where we stand, then.”
Do we?
You’re about to ask him so; with his cock dragging in and out of you, spreading you open, your arms tight around his neck, alcohol covering the floor with a matchbox in sight and rooms of ruthless murderers above, you’re about to ask him what the fuck you two are.
But he kisses you before you can, hard and deep.
You moan against his lips, feeling his nose against your cheek and you just still can’t believe you can feel all of him.
Him having done that… it must mean… it has to…
“... Simon…”
He almost doesn’t register it, thinks he’s imagined it, your little fucking delicious moan sounding like his name.
But then you gasp it again, he having thrusted harder without realising, and yes, it’s real.
He’s Simon again. Not just Ghost, not cunt, not fucker.
Simon.
And you’d moaned it like a question.
“Yes, love?”
It takes you a moment, a litany of moans falling from your lips as he hits a sweet spot on his next thrust.
“... You said… I don’t mean… nothing to you…”
He has to quickly quell the slight panic that sparks within him, looking at the silk strip, where your eyes are. “Yeah?”
“What… do you feel for me, then?”
He stares at you, panic rising again as his brow dips even though you can’t see it. “...You know… You know, don’t you…?”
There’s the slightest shaking of your head
Fucking hell…
Right here, with you squeezing around his cock and moaning his name and a fucking crime syndicate not too far away?
“Simon?” you prompt, in a fucking little breathy way that has his cock aching.
“For fuck’s sake, I care about you, you silly cunt,” he gravels.
He’d thought ever saying the words out loud would be with resignation, with a sense of signing a death warrant on someone’s name. But the way you smile, the way your slick pussy grips at him… He wishes he could see your eyes…
He’d promised it a year before to himself, but now he does again.
No one’s going to fucking hurt you ever again.
“You do?”
“You heard me, woman.”
“Say it again.”
He sighs. “Fucking he—”
He breaks off with a groan that comes deep from his throat because your hand has gripped his hair and pulled.
“You cheeky cunt,” he mutters, head tilted back, his cock twitching with pure lust.
“Say it,” you half-hiss, and “I care about you,” he hisses back.
You shove his head closer to yours and your lips crash against his. It’s a hard, sloppy kiss, and his hand tightens on the back of your head, keeping you close.
“I care about you, too, fucker,” you mumble, and he groans again.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Fucking hell.
The tightness that had taken hold of his chest releases, and something that feels, despite everything, like peace drifts through him.
He fucks you harder, deeper, but when you break the kiss with a sharp gasp, he doesn’t release you, keeping you close still.
“Yeah?” He mutters again, lips nearly brushing against yours, voice strained as he looks at you, as he tries to hold off, keep his orgasm at bay just a little bit longer. “You gettin’ close, love?”
“Yeah…” you breathe out shortly, gripping at him tightly.
“Get yourself there, love, rub your clit while I fuck you.”
Your hand drops instantly, finding your clit and fuck, he loves watching you, loves seeing the pleasure on your face, the way your brow goes between dipping and rising, how your perfect mouth stays open.
“You gunna cum on my cock, darlin’?”
The moan you release should be embarrassing, but he’s never called you that before.
You could get used to it.
“Mmh, fuck… Yeah…”
“Let me feel you cum, darlin’, been waitin’ so fuckin’ long to feel it again, been thinkin’ about you every fuckin’ day, remind me of how fuckin’ good you feel, come on, love…”
You’re moaning, gripping at him desperately, nails digging in deep.
And he doesn’t take his eyes off you.
“Cum for me, come on, cum for me… Cum on my cock like a good girl…”
Tipping your head back into his hand, you cry out as you cum, and his lips are on your neck, kissing, sucking, licking and biting, and it sends you spiralling higher in your orgasm, your bones nearly turning to liquid.
And he doesn’t stop.
He fucks you through it, grunting against your skin as your slick walls squeeze and flutter around him.
It just keeps the pleasure going, and your hips buck as your hand flies up to grip at his hair.
“Fuck, fu-uck, Simon… I…”
“I know, I know…” he hums against your ear. “... Feels too good, doesn’t it, feels too much… Just a bit longer, I’m nearly there… Good girl… Fuck… Yeah, squeeze me… Yeah, yeah…”
His thrusts become harsher, quicker, and his head rests against yours so you can hear every short, grunted breath he gives. When he inhales a sharp one, you sink your teeth into your lower lip, pull his hair, tighten your pussy around him… and he cums with a long, loud groan.
You mewl almost pathetically as you feel his cum inside you, feel his cock twitching.
Fucking hell, which you’re definitely going to, you’d missed this.
Missed him.
A few more, deep groans fall from his lips, and then you’re both still, just your breathing filling the room.
Slowly, your grip softens on his hair, and you only slightly register that you’re stroking it gently.
It’s a few more moments before you feel him lift his head, but he doesn’t move any further.
When he releases a breath closer to a sigh, you raise your eyebrows a little.
“What is it?”
“You… You look beautiful.”
That takes you by surprise, your brows lifting higher.
He’s never said that before.
Your lips twitch a little as you try to stop a smile. “Thanks.” Wetting your lips in another valiant effort to hide a smile, you clear your throat. “Can I—”
He kisses you. It’s firm, but undemanding.
When it breaks, you take in a soft breath, and try again, lifting a hand and pointing at the slip of silk around your eyes. “Can I take this off?”
“Not yet.”
He’d said it quickly, and you feel him stiffen slightly before he straightens, and your hand darts to his arm, gripping it.
“Wait. Can I feel your face again?”
He’s still.
Then he lowers his head, and takes one of your hands, guiding it up.
The moment your fingertips touch his skin, they move. You glide them over his cheeks, feeling his stubble and scars, down his nose, over his lips.
You don’t know when you started to smile, but it widens a little more.
“You feel handsome.”
You think you feel him smile.
“I am.”
Exhaling a laugh, you then inhale a sharp breath as he pulls out of you.
Gently lowering your leg from his hip, he then steps back and you hear him tucking his cock away and sorting his trousers. Then he moves somewhere else, and you stay where you are, trying to imagine what he’s doing.
When he steps towards you, you lift your chin a little, and then his hands are at the back of your head, untying the knot. As the silk slips from your face, you keep your eyes closed.
He releases a breath through his nose.
“You can open your eyes, love.”
Doing so, you blink a few times, adjusting to the light.
And then your eyes find his.
There’s lines around them; he’s smiling.
The corners of your mouth lift, and you arch an eyebrow.
“You’ve fucked my mascara up, haven’t you.”
“Not for the first time.”
Lifting a hand, the other pushing the strip into his trouser pocket, he swipes his thumb under one of your eyes, then the other, wiping the mascara and flecks of eyeshadow that have smudged from the silk strip.
When he drops his hand, you wet your lips and tilt your head.
“How do I look?”
“All right.” He lifts the strap of your dress back up over your shoulder as your lips twitch.
“Good.”
When his hand drops, you look at each other.
Fuck, you want him all over again. But not now, not yet.
Later.
“So…” The word prompts him into action, and you watch him zip up his jacket and then pick his vest up, fastening it back onto his chest. “… Shall we burn this place to the ground, Simon?”
Lifting his eyes to you, you see the lines again. “Absolutely.” Moving to the door, he unlocks it and holds it open for you. “After you, love.”
A smile on your lips, you grab a matchbox and a set of keys he hadn’t noticed from the shelf, and head towards the door, passing through.
And then, you swiftly pause and grip his chin and jaw.
He hisses out an almost incredulous breath as you raise your eyebrows.
“If you betray me tonight, or again, I’ll cut your dick off.”
He just looks at you. “Good thing I’m not plannin’ on doin’ that, isnt’ it.”
“It is.” Releasing him, you rise up a little higher in your heels and press a kiss to the cheek of his hard mask. “Let’s go.”
Shaking his head as he follows you up the stairs, he keeps his voice low.
“So what’s the plan, then, boss?”
“Lock all the doors except the front one for me.” Half turning as you ascend, you hand him the keys. “Take out any guards you can but be discreet. This won’t work if there’s panic and they scatter.”
He slips the keys into his pocket. “Any kids here?”
You snort. “What do you think I am, a monster? No. Adults only party.”
“Copy that. What are you gunna do?”
You smile. “Start the fire, darling.” Reaching the outer door, you push it open a little, check the hallway is clear, and then hold it open for him, smile widening. “So you’d better be quick.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Moving through the door, he then turns to you. “Where will I meet you?”
“The foyer. They’ll all have moved into the ballroom. Lock that one last, it’s connected to the foyer.”
“All right.” You’re just about to turn away when he adds, “One more thing…”
“What?”
You arch an eyebrow as he leans closer, his voice low.
“Is my cum dripping down your thighs?”
The sinful smile that lifts your lips has his cock nearly hardening again.
“What do you think?”
He grunts, eyes flicking down to your legs, then back up to yours.
Your smile widens.
“Off you go.”
Shoving his chest, you then turn from him, moving down the stairs. He watches you, releasing a long breath.
Then, before he can stop himself:
“Stray?”
You pause on a step, turning to him.
His jaw moves a little.
“Be careful.”
It’s now your turn for your eyes to flick over him.
Then, you smile.
“You, too.”
—
He moves quickly, as instructed. Handily, the keys are all labelled, thank fuck. Taking out any guards he comes across and locking doors, he skirts around the vast puddles of clear liquid that coat the floors of some of the corridors.
The ground floor is a little trickier, people having snuck off for conversations, or to have a quick fuck. Luckily, though, they all value their privacy, so the doors are already shut. He just has to lock them quietly.
Piece of cake.
Glancing at his watch as he locks the second to last door, he presses his lips together.
He was supposed to check in five minutes ago. Johnny’ll know something’s up. Hopefully he puts a little faith in him, though. Gives him more time.
More time to think about how to fucking explain this.
Heading down the backstairs, he then halts swiftly.
Fire burns at the bottom of it, climbing up the walls and thick curtains of the window.
Fuck, you did work quickly.
Turning, he takes two steps at a time, heading for the hallway he’d come down. Striding down, he opts for the main stairs, why the fuck not.
Jogging down them, he glances at the front door as loud music drifts through from the ballroom.
Two security scanners with flowers draped over them are by the front door, which is closed, and two guards stand by it. They talk together, and as he nears the middle of the stairs, one of them looks up.
Hello, mate.
Withdrawing two knives, he hurls them at them, watching them sink into the men’s chests before he picks up the pace, not wanting anyone in the ballroom to catch a glimpse of him.
As the two men choke on the blood filling their lungs, he pulls the knives out, then sinks them into their necks, the choking abruptly cutting off. Wiping the blood on his sleeve, he then holsters them and, one at a time, grabs the men by the legs and drags them off to the side.
Piling them in the corner, he then strides to the ballroom doors.
Pressing his back against the wall, he peers in.
Three guards stand on the other side, facing the party, fucking idiots, and what a fucking party it is.
People are dancing, there’s lights and flowers everywhere, there’s laughter, and the band sound fucking top notch.
He’s about to feel sorry for the players when he realises they’re made up of members of the family.
Ah, well.
His hand darting out, he grabs one handle, yanks the door closer, then the other and does the same, and when they’re near he grips both and pulls the doors closed. The music is now muffled, and he can hear the guards talking to each other, asking what the fuck happened, and his hand darts into his pocket for the keys. Finding the right one, he swiftly locks the doors just as the guards try to turn the handles.
Well, he can’t promise it won’t cause a panic, but it’s been done.
Pocketing the keys once more, he turns and strides for the front door, ignoring the banging on the ones behind him.
Removing his gun, he opens one of the doors and peers out, finding the driveway empty, quiet.
He closes it a little, leaving it ajar, and checks his watch.
Any minute now, you’ll be here.
Lowering his hand, his lip curls slightly as he starts to smell burning.
Not even just that, he can hear it, too.
There’s screaming coming from somewhere, maybe the ballroom.
He glances at the landing above, then the stairs, then checks his watch again.
Where the fuck are you.
Something is twisting in his chest, rising.
Unease.
Seconds tick by.
A minute.
Minute and a half.
His teeth gritting, his head suddenly whips to the side as he hears a commotion, something crashing to the ground.
Somewhere, either a ceiling or a wall has caved in.
Fuck, where the fuck are you.
His chest twists again.
You wouldn’t.
You wouldn’t just—
You wouldn’t leave.
You can’t have.
You can’t—
There’s the muffled, distant squeal of tyres on tarmac and the roar of an engine from outside. His head whipping to the open door, a half-second later he then lunges for it, gripping the handle and pulling it wider.
Stepping out, he strides across the stone and down the steps to the red carpet, just as a car roars out of the underground garage and shoots across the gravel, the tyres spinning.
No.
No, you can’t—
A burst of gunfire erupts from his right and on instinct he ducks, and then his head snaps up to see—
You.
You’re striding out of the tunnel leading to the garage, rifle raised, and you’re aiming at the car. As you fire again, he looks to the car, watches it swerve, and then the back tyres burst. It swerves again, crashing into one of the huge bronze bowls, and the engine immediately erupts into flames.
Fucking hell.
Pressing his lips together, he looks to you, watches you lower the rifle and stride towards the car.
You look fucking… Well, he has to focus on his anger to stop his cock from rising.
He strides towards you, swiftly catches up and falls into step with you.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he grunts, and you glance at him.
“Calm down, I was getting the servers out. And someone caught on. Well, someones’.”
As you nod in the direction of the car, he looks to it again, and sees three people emerging from it, two men and a woman. The woman’s sobbing, clutching her fur coat to her as she tries to run across the gravel.
Exhaling a breath, you raise the rifle again and fire at her.
She goes down with a cry instantly.
Mariana Vitale. Weapons dealer.
One of the men yells out, raising a handgun and firing at you.
Simon grips your arm, pulls you out of the way of the bullet with a grunt, and you stumble slightly in your heels.
He holds you upright, and you look up at him, smiling.
“Thank you, darling.”
“Don’t mention it.”
He releases you, and you raise the rifle as the man yells again.
You shoot him, and he slumps against one of the car doors before collapsing to the ground.
Roberto Morelli. Money launderer and diamond mine owner.
You and Ghost continue to walk towards the burning car, hearing the manor burn behind you, part of the roof collapsing.
There’s one person left.
Nearing the car, Ghost hangs back a little, adjusts his grip on his gun.
And then there he is.
Gianni rises from the other side of the car, hands raised, eyes wide.
They dart between you both, and he steps out from behind the car, hands shaking.
“Amore mio? What is this? Wh… Why are you with him?”
Raising the rifle, you shoot him in the head.
He collapses to the ground, arms and legs splayed out.
Gianni Vitale. Human trafficker.
Blowing out a long breath, you gaze at his body as you shoulder the rifle, straightening your back.
Ghost keeps his gun to hand, looks to the long driveway, the trees, just in case anyone is out there.
When you turn to manor, he does the same, glancing at you then at the—
His gaze darts back to you as you reach into the bodice of the dress and remove a small remote.
His mouth opens to ask what the fuck you’re doing, when you press the button, and part of the manor explodes.
The ballroom.
Squinting slightly against the light of the blaze, he raises an arm over you in case any debris should fall.
You’re far away enough, though, and it falls short, pieces of wall, ceiling, furniture, and yeah, probably people, falling to the ground a good several feet away.
Lowering his arm, he just watches it with you.
And neither of you speak.
The roof starts to cave in all over, the flames reaching up to the sky, angry and swift. Smoke billows out, and walls collapse, and he finally holsters his gun, folding his arms across his chest.
When he suddenly hears a sniff, he looks over at you.
Your jaw is set, and a few tears slide down your cheeks, but you’re smiling.
He gazes at you, and after a few moments, he looks to the manor again.
He hopes you have your peace now.
Whatever comes next, he hopes you—
“I was part of a unit once.”
He doesn’t know what startles him more. The fact you spoke, or what you said.
He looks at you, still.
Wiping at a cheek, you then fold your arms, still gazing at the collapsing building.
“For years. A group for hire. Shadow operatives. Didn’t belong to anyone. Didn’t even know much about each other, but we were a good team, the eight of us. We were on a job one day, like any other, but it all went south.” You sniff. “Went to absolute shit, actually. Angelo was the job, and one by one his mercs picked us off. I was bleeding out, I’d taken a bullet here.”
You point to your side before tucking your arm back against your chest. He knows which scar you mean.
“They didn’t finish me off, though. They took me in, patched me up, brought me back to life. It wasn’t until I was stable that I found out I was the only one left. They’d killed the others.” You wet your lips. “When they took me to Angelo, he told me of how his people had kept me alive, by his grace. How he hadn’t had to do that. How lucky I was. He said I owed him.” You snort humourlessly, as if he was right before you again. “I said I owe you fuck all, if my team are dead then kill me. He smiled. Fucking awful smile. And then he said if I didn’t serve him when he called then he’d kill their families. I didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, whose families, I said.” You stop for the smallest of beats. “And then he showed me pictures of them all. These people that I had no idea existed. Friends, family, children that looked so much like their parents—” Your voice catches slightly, and you swallow before continuing. “... If I told anyone, if I refused at any point, then he’d kill them. I knew he meant it, but…” You swallow again. “... When I said no to killing you…” Your voice catches again. “… When I went back to him he told me what he’d had done. Three families killed. He told me how it had happened. How it hadn’t been quick. How that was all my fault.” Tears are dripping down your cheeks and you inhale a shuddering breath. “I hated myself. Still do.” Sniffing, your tone hardens. “But it was his fault. And I knew I had to kill him.” Wiping at your cheeks, you sniff again. “When I killed him, I knew his people would think it was you, your unit. I knew his people left over, whoever would take charge next, wouldn’t care about the families, but I made sure they were safe, warned. But I just couldn’t live…” Shaking your head, you wet your lips. “... Knowing those people were out there, doing the shit they were doing. When I recovered, I came up with this. Tracked down Gianni, gained his trust. Bided my time. And…” You release a shaking breath. “... Now, it’s over. It’s finally over.”
Simon hasn’t looked away from you for one moment.
Something burns in his chest, hotter and more furious than the fire ahead of him.
And it burns for you.
But he can’t say it, doesn’t know when or even if he’ll ever be able to.
If he’s capable.
Maybe.
Maybe one day.
Silently, he pulls the silk strip out of his pocket and holds it out to you.
Looking down at it, you smile, exhaling a small laugh through your nose.
“Thanks.”
Accepting it, you wipe at your cheeks and eyes, blowing out another breath.
Gripping the neck of his vest, he finally pulls his gaze from you, looking back towards the manor.
“What happens now?”
Sniffing, you fold your arms again. “All the family are in there. If there’s anyone left anywhere else, they won’t mean shit. Won’t do shit.”
“What if they broke the windows, got out?”
You raise your eyebrows, a smile lifting your lips. “The great thing about the rich is that they’re arrogant. Shatterproof glass on all the windows.”
“Ah.”
That explained the fucking balcony, then.
He’s silent.
You are, too.
It nearly startles him when you tilt your head back and release a loud sigh.
“Fuck, I feel like I should light a cigarette.”
“Can kill you, that, smoking.”
He glances at you, catching your trying-to-be-unamused look.
And then he chuckles quietly as you laugh, watching you look back towards the blaze.
Yeah, maybe one day he’ll be able to say it properly.
“Oh, are they your boys?”
Lifting his head, he looks to the treelines beyond the manor, finds the figures darting out, nearing the building.
Shit.
“Yeah. Stayed out past my curfew.”
“Shit. Sorry.”
He shrugs. “Nah, don’t be. They’ll be pissed but…” He looks at you, shrugging again. “This is a good outcome. We can figure out the rest.”
“Good.” Smiling, you gaze at him.
Fuck, he wants to kiss you, wants to feel your body against his, wants to tell you that he lo— cares about you, again.
He’s just starting to lower his arms, is about to close the distance between you, when you turn.
And you fucking start walking away.
Staring at you, he raises his eyebrows. “Where the fuck are you goin’?”
You release a long, contented sigh. “To a nice hotel. I’m fucking exhausted.”
Fucking hell.
“Right.”
Turning to him, you walk backwards, smile wide. “What about you, what’s your plan for the evening?”
“I’ve got a fucking psychotic woman to catch.”
“Ah.” Your smile widens into a beam. “Best of luck. I hear she’s in the market for a new job, you know.”
His head tilts as something dangerously like hope sparks in his chest. “Same industry?”
“Yeah.” You shrug. “Stick with what you know, y’know.”
You can’t see his smile as he folds his arms. “I’ll ask around.”
“Thanks.”
Your smile softens as you look at him, and he doesn’t think he imagines that your gait slows a little.
And then you’re turning away, and striding down the driveway.
“See you around, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he calls after you.
Watching you go, he shakes his head as you lift a hand and wave it, not looking back.
Fucking Christ… You’re in it now, son.
Finally making himself turn away, he starts walking towards the ruined building, lifting his hand and turning his radio on. Voices burst out of it, shouting orders to each other, and he sighs.
Suppose once I explain it all, they’ll want to offer her a position again.
Wonder if I’ll have to declare this relationship to HR.
… She’s gunna love that joke.
─
A/N: You! Reading this! Yes, you! Thank you so much for making it this far, I appreciate it so much. To those who left comments, thank you from the bottom of my heart, you kept me going and kept this fun for me.
I hope you all enjoyed this story, and this pairing, and I hope you have a lovely week!
─
Reblogs and comments make my day in a way I can’t describe.
Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or removed in my future works! (Note: I'll only tag if age is in your bio) Sorry if the tag doesn't work!
Characters: Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female Reader
Rating: E, 18+ ONLY
Words: 4.7k
Summary: Ghost has a fine time making you admit you need want him.
A/N: Chapter Six of Six. <3
Entire Story Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, enemies are lovers, porn with plot, they're not nice people, but are they
Chapter Tags: Angst x 10 again, hurt Reader, fighting, shooting, guns, fire, blood, death, a confession
Read on AO3
Stray Masterlist
Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites. I do not consent to my work being used for AI purposes.
─
Chapter Six ─ Goodbye
He’s defying doctors orders. Several doctors' orders, actually.
And he couldn’t be fucking happier.
Gazing out of the helicopter at the burning high-rise, he’s barely listening to the voice in his earpiece going over the plan once again.
“Fucking hell…” Soap mutters beside him, feeling the heat of the flames even from here.
The blaze has turned the air a strange orange-beige, the fire stretching towards the night sky, and it brings him peace.
Somewhere in there, hopefully, Vitale is burning to death.
“... Remember we want Vitale alive. I’m going to repeat that, Vitale alive. We need to know where the bombs are. Good luck, boys.”
“You hear that, L.T?” Soap calls over the sound of the helicopter blades and the fury of the fire.
“Yep,” Ghost answers, gazing at the building with a smile pulling at his lips.
When the helicopter is close enough to the roof, they drop down onto it, rifles raised, and move quickly across the heli-pad, down the stairs and to the balcony. The windows that cover the length of the wall are smashed, shards of glass covering the floor, and their boots crunch over them as they move. Odd, but they continue on. Passing through a window, they enter the bedroom of the penthouse. Fire hasn’t spread here yet, but it will soon.
Right now, the rest of Vitale’s base is burning to smithereens.
It had been hiding right under their noses this whole time, masquerading as an exclusive high-rise of apartments, when really each floor held rooms of weapons, documents and soldiers.
And Vitale lived right on the top.
Moving through the door, Ghost tunes out the rest of the team on comms, eyes darting across the landing before he heads to the stairs.
“I’ll check the other rooms,” he hears Soap say, the other man peeling away to head down the landing.
Wordlessly, Ghost moves down the stairs. The air feels warm, but not hot enough yet to be a concern.
Maybe Vitale’s frying away right now, being barbecued nice and─
A door bursts open.
It comes from somewhere ahead, possibly the front door.
Swiftly, he moves behind a column, pressing his back against it.
Someone’s shouting, but he can’t make out how many people enter, the floor carpeted.
“... fucking helicopter?! Are you fucking serious?! You fucking cunts better be here right fucking now or I’m gunna fucking kill you, do you hear me?!”
Vitale.
Of fucking course. Like a fucking cockroach.
“... Fucking serious?! Like I give a fuck, just get here!” Vitale thunders, into a phone it sounds like, and he seems to halt, his voice not coming any closer nor moving further away. “Just get me out of this fucking shit-show!”
Ghost chances it, peering around the column, and finds the man pacing, phone pressed against his ear, a gun in his other hand. Smoke and blood is streaked across his face and clothes, his usually perfect hair in disarray, but he’s still got his fucking suit jacket on, though his silk shirt is dirtied, rumpled.
And he’s alone.
Ghost’s fingers tighten over his rifle.
He could so easily just lift it, aim it, and shoot the fucker… Could easily be a mistake, something he’d be more than happy to take the bollocking for…
His fingers flex.
He only has to─
Vitale turns sharply and hangs up, shoving the phone into his pocket. Ghost can hear him seething, his free hand running through his hair before he presses the heels of both palms against his eyes and releases a shout of frustration.
Now. Now is the moment, he just─
Vitale’s hands drop suddenly and he spins, looking towards the front door. A smile breaks out across his features.
“Well, well, well, you fuckin’ made it, huh?”
Shit. He’s too late. Fucking reinforcements.
Gritting his teeth, he watches Vitale jog towards the front door, smile lingering.
Fuck.
Leaning his head back against the column, he looks up at the landing, finding it empty. Soap is probably in a room somewhere, waiting, maybe he can see more from up there─
Gunfire breaks out in the hallway, beyond the front door.
It’s fast, brief, and the moment it stops it’s followed by shouting. He can’t make out the words, but it can’t be more than two people, maybe three.
There’s a scream, and it─
He pauses.
It comes again and his teeth grit.
No.
More yelling. A shot is fired. A scream.
No.
He moves out from behind the column, rifle raised, and he strides towards the door.
Smoke and flames have started to drift down the hallway, coming from the elevator shaft, the doors locked open, and he has to blink against it, the dark shroud and heat of it filling the space. At first all he can see are two figures, both moving, jerking, one on the floor, the other standing over. And then his vision clears.
Vitale is gripping you by the straps of your vest, gun nowhere to be seen, lifting your back off the ground as he yells at you, and you’re yelling back, blood running out of your mouth, and from the soot and blood all over you he can’t see if you’re hurt anywhere else, he can’t see what would have made you scream.
Your nails are digging into Vitale’s face, though, blood trickling down his cheeks, and the fury on both your features nearly makes him pause.
Nearly.
“Oi, cunt!” he calls, raising his rifle, and the shouting suddenly cuts off, your heads turning to him.
You both stare at him.
Ghost doesn’t look at you, keeps his eyes on Vitale.
There’s an awful, unknowing beat.
And then Vitale laughs.
“Well, look who’s a fuckin’ liar.”
He looks at you, grinning, and then throws you down onto your front as he straightens. Pressing his shoe onto your back, he turns his grin to Ghost.
“Ghost─” you start to say, voice cracking, before you break off with a grunt as Vitale pushes his shoe down harder.
Ghost’s finger flexes over the trigger.
It’s fucking itching to pull it.
“Surrender,” he says instead, though, jaw clenched.
Vitale stares at him, eyes narrowing, brow dipping, smile gone, lips parting… and he laughs again.
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? How anticlimactic is this.” His head tilts. “Is that the real Ghost under there? Maybe you’re not a liar, huh, sweetheart?”
Crouching down, foot still on your back, he grabs the back of your head and forces it back, making you hiss out the air that’s left in your body.
“Did you lie to me?” he murmurs, keeping his eyes on Ghost as you try to gasp in breaths.
“Surrender,” Ghost commands again.
Vitale ignores him. “Did you?”
You’re staring at Ghost, confusion slipping across your eyes because why the fuck isn’t he shooting.
When you don’t, can’t, answer, he tuts and releases your head, rising to his full height, shifting his other foot slightly so, briefly, his whole weight is on your back, making you hiss.
And he seems to have had similar thoughts.
“What’s happenin’ here, huh? You run out of bullets, big guy?”
Ghost hasn’t moved an inch, ignoring the voices shouting in his ear for him to confirm his location.
Vitale sighs, an almost genuine edge of sadness to it. “I expected so much more.”
Vitale’s quick, but he went to the fucking Stray School of Reacting.
Ghost ducks down just as Vitale darts off of you, grabbing the gun tucked into the waistband at his lower back, raises it, and fires, and so does Ghost. Both men dart behind one of the huge, ridiculous plant pots that line the hallway, the tops of them cracking away as bullets collide with them.
Finally able to suck in a deep breath, which instantly makes you cough as it’s filled with smoke, you roll to the side, scrambling behind one of the pots.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, of course he’s here.
You could’ve taken Vitale. You nearly had, you’d just needed a little more time.
Looking over at him, you watch him count the bullets in his gun as Ghost continues to fire, lips parted, teeth gritted.
As if sensing you, or suddenly remembering you, his head turns sharply, and his jaw tightens.
“What’re you fuckin’ lookin’ at!” he shouts over the noise.
You can’t help it. The corners of your mouth lift. “You. Alone.”
His features split into a smile as he laughs. “Oh, I’m not alone, sweetheart, I got you here with me.”
You can’t help the incredulous snort you release. “Do I have to write you a formal fucking resignation for it to sink in?”
He angles his head. “We both know you’re not gonna do that.”
Your smile, somehow, lingers. “And we both know you’re not going to survive the night.”
You’ve never seen the look he gives you now; the rage, yes, the indignation, yes… but not the fear.
You’ve never seen Vitale afraid, and it sends pure liquid bliss through your veins.
Your smile widens, an almost feral quality to it.
His jaw is moving, tongue running over his teeth, and you watch his fingers flex over his gun.
“Can’t shoot us both, fucker,” you call, Ghost still firing.
Vitale laughs out an incredulous, manic breath, lips curving up. “Can’t I?”
He turns his gun on you.
Lunging forward, you swiftly dart to the next pot as he shoots, the one you’d been at shattering, and Ghost’s rifle quickly silences as he realises Vitale’s change of plan.
Vitale hisses and curses as he misses you, aiming at the next pot you’re trying to make yourself as small as possible behind, when Ghost rises, and bears down on him, firing rapidly.
When a pained cry comes from Vitale, your heart nearly stops.
Yes. Yes.
But then you hear Ghost shout once more, “Surrender!”
Fuck.
“Fuck you!” Vitale yells, turning his gun on him once more.
Teeth gritted, your gaze desperately darts around the floor, but the smoke has thickened and you can’t see your gun anywhere.
Coughing, nearly choking on the air, you pat your vest down, trying to find one of your knives.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, nothing. You’d used everything just trying to fucking get to Vitale. You hadn’t hidden the fact it was you who started the fires, a few of his mercs even watching you do it without realising. You had also shouted it with glee at Vitale not half an hour before on the 31st floor, and he’d just been hurried away, probably expecting his mercs to kill you within minutes.
They’d made a damn good go of it.
You’d thought the other gunfire you’d heard was mercs turning on each other, but now you know it was him and his unit.
A slight saving grace, you begrudgingly admit as it had taken some of the pressure off of you, but now… you can’t understand why Vitale isn’t fucking dead.
Coughing again, you close your eyes for a moment.
The perfect fucking opportunity, wasted again.
Looking over at Vitale, watching him hastily shove more bullets into his gun as Ghost shouts for his surrender again, your gaze then flicks to the fire exit you’d come through, the green sign illuminated.
Beckoning.
Whatever you decide today, it has to be final. It has to be done.
Kill Vitale, or disappear.
Coughing, lungs starting to ache, you know you’re running out of time.
His unit will be here any minute… and what will they do with you?
You look to them, finding Ghost’s figure in the smoke, unmoving, and then to Vitale, watching him cough and cower… and then you rise and run to the door.
Ghost nearly aims his rifle at you, only able to make out your shape, and then pauses, watches you dart through the fire exit.
So… So fucking predictable.
Gritting his teeth, he tightens his grip on his rifle and strides towards Vitale.
“Surrender, you cunt!”
“What is it with this fuckin’ surrender bullshit!” Vitale yells, throwing his hands up with incredulity. “This isn’t you…” He pauses, and then laughs, grinning. “... Ah shit… You can’t kill me, can you? Daddy’s orders, right?”
Ghost is silent.
He wishes he had shot the little fucker’s head off.
Rising, Vitale is still grinning, gun now held casually.
The only silver lining of the image is that blood is oozing from a hole in his side. His silk shirt’s a fucking mess.
Vitale steps out from behind the crumbled pot, gesturing his gun towards him.
“But I can kill you. Y’know… I knew she wouldn’t kill you. A sentimental killer, how fuckin’ funny. But I will confess, I’d hoped she wouldn’t…” He raises the gun, aiming it at him as a corner of his mouth rises higher than the other. “Now I get to kill you myself. And some others. I’m gonna have a fuckin’ good week.”
He pulls the trigger.
A single gunshot rings out.
Ghost flinches slightly, though he knows his fucking vests can take a bullet.
Nothing comes, though, no impact.
But he watches, through the smoke that’s making his eyes water and his throat dry, as Vitale collapses, knees giving out, arms falling to his sides. When he collides with the ground, Ghost sees the hole in his head, blood pouring out of it.
Slowly lowering his rifle, his eyes lift to you.
You’re frozen, gun still raised, and you’re staring at Vitale’s lifeless body.
There’s nothing on your features, not that he can make out, anyway. And you still don’t lower the gun. He’s concerned, not for his own safety, but because you’re also still not looking away from Vitale.
His lips part to speak, but then you pull the trigger again.
He stiffens for half a moment, but he watches the bullet sink into Vitale’s back. The corpse jerks slightly from the impact, and then is still.
His eyes flick back to you.
You still don’t lower the gun.
And you fire again. Then again, then again.
The bullets keep sinking into Vitale’s back, his corpse continuing to jerk, until there’s no more bullets left for you to fire.
Still, you keep pulling the trigger.
Fucking hell.
Swallowing and suppressing a cough, throat painfully dry, Ghost goes to take a step towards you─
Your arms drop suddenly as you make a strange sound, a half gasp, half sob.
And then you’re dropping the gun, hands going to your knees as you bend over, and your head bows, and you sob.
Ghost doesn’t move, frozen to the spot as the heaving sobs wrack your body.
Shit, are you hurt, did he miss something, are you in pain again─
Suddenly, you straighten, turning from him, and your hands cover your face. You’re sobbing still, the sound now a little muffled, and he stares at your back.
He doesn’t move.
What the fuck does he do?
What can he do?
He looks down at Vitale, at the blood pooling out from under his body, staining the carpet. As he looks back to you, he can’t help the cough he releases, the smoke getting too fucking thick, and the sound seems to snap you back into your body.
Your hands suddenly lower, one going to your side, the other to your mouth, covering it for a moment or two before it also drops to your side.
He watches your shoulders move, the deep breaths you take that twist into coughs.
He has to get you out of here.
Moving towards you, his steps slow, measured, he clears his throat.
“Stray…”
You turn to him, and he pauses.
Tears have carved their way down your cheeks, glistening tracks through the soot and blood. Your eyes are still shining with them, and a couple spill over. There’s nothing he can read behind them, though.
After a moment, he lifts a hand, palm half turned up, and extends it a little towards you.
And he doesn’t say anything.
Your eyes flick to his hand, then back to him.
You don’t say anything either, and you don’t move.
Exhaling a breath, he takes a step towards you─
Your hand flies to your side and you draw a gun, lifting and aiming it at him.
He stills.
Pressing your lips together, head tilting slightly, you exhale a shaking breath before swallowing hard.
“I meant what I said, Ghost. If I saw you again…” You trail off, tears slipping down your cheeks after you blink.
Ghost looks at you, releasing a breath… and keeps his hand up.
“Stray─”
A gunshot fires and you cry out as a bullet slices through your arm─
Another one sounds and you cry out again as a second bullet slices through your thigh, your legs nearly buckling.
Ghost spins instantly, raising his rifle in the same moment and aiming at─
Soap stands in the doorway, his own rifle raised.
“Hold your fucking fire, Soap!” he thunders, and he can’t see Soap’s expression but from the fact he doesn’t lower his rifle he knows the other man is fucking pissed.
It’d be heartwarming if rage wasn’t making his skin prickle and his trigger-finger itch.
“Lower your fucking weapon!” he shouts, and he’s just wrapping his fucking head around the fact he might have to physically disarm the man, when Soap obeys, resting one arm over the top of the rifle.
And then he nods down the hallway.
“Maybe you should taking her fuckin’ hint, L.T.”
Lowering his own rifle, Ghost turns and… And finds the hallway empty.
He can’t see you anywhere.
You’re gone.
—
Thirteen Months Later
The hinge you’ve been meaning to oil squeaks painfully as you open the door, and, as always, you wince. The sound echoes down the stone landing and stairwell behind you, and you know it must piss somebody off. Maybe appartamento 15 who likes to smoke outside her front door and doesn’t bother to hide looking you up and down with a faintly curled lip when you share the metal-gated elevator.
You need to remember to ask her where she got that purple coat from sometime.
Closing the door behind you, the hinge squeaking again, you adjust the plastic bags in your arms and kick your shoes off, leaving them where they land haphazardly against the skirting board before you move down the hall.
You release a breath as the coolness of the open, high-ceilinged kitchen/living room/dining room/plant room washes over you, a blessing on a hot day like today─
You freeze.
Ghost stands by the open balcony door.
The bags drop from your hands, colliding with the floor and he blinks.
“Easy.”
He immediately lifts his hands to show there’s nothing in them. In fact, all he has on is a grey T-shirt, jeans and boots. And the masks, of course.
And you… you don’t go to draw any kind of weapon, either.
He decides not to question that, taking any blessing he can now.
Especially as your gaze on him is hard.
“What are you doing here.”
His hands move, his arms folding.
“I was in the area.”
You only respond with silence, and he exhales a breath.
“I was. Doing a job, which has become complicated as Vitale’s uncle, Francesco, is in town. He’s been toying with the idea of resuming Vitale’s business, and our intel suggests now that things have quietened down about the fire, he finally has. He may come looking for old contacts of his. Just thought you should know.”
You’re silent again, and he allows you the time to process the news─
Your eyebrows rise slightly. “Is that it?”
He blinks. “Yeah.”
“Right.” You nod a few times. “Thanks.” You then grab the handles of the bags and move into the kitchen area, placing them on the small island. Opening one, your gaze flicks from it to him. “Suppose you can see yourself out.”
He’s looking at you, brow dipping a little. “If you need─”
“I don’t.” You take various vegetables out of one of the bags, inspecting them for bruises that might have occurred before placing them on the island.
And he doesn’t move.
Placing a yellow pepper down, you exhale a short breath and look up at him, your hands on the island.
“What is it, Ghost?”
He shifts his stance slightly. “Can’t have a little small talk after a year?”
You look at him.
He clears his throat. “My superiors have deemed you a risk in all this. Killing Vitale is not what they wanted.”
“I don’t work for you─”
“You could.”
You look at him, lips parted.
And he’s looking at you, a smile you can’t see pulling at his lips a little.
But then you release a breath, no, a sigh, and you shake your head.
“I don’t work for anyone anymore, Ghost. I don’t work at all, actually. Doing what I used to, I mean.”
Silence now fills the space between you and he… he doesn’t actually fucking know what to say.
Intel on you over the last year has been sparse. He’d tried to keep tabs because he’s not a fucking idiot, but each time he’d come up with nothing, as had various sources. A few sightings here and there, all unconfirmed… until a few days ago. When you’d been spotted here, more than once, and it seemed like you were living here. He’d almost not believed it until he saw images from three different CCTVs.
And the job he’d been on in the area was, well, you. The complication: the sightings actually being you.
While it is true that Francesco Vitale is in town, he’d known about him for some time, the man having picked up his nephew’s business nearly instantly. But you didn’t need to know that, yet.
Maybe you didn’t need to know that at all if what you’d just said was actually the fucking case.
But he can’t really determine that because he’s still just fucking looking at you and no fucking words are coming to his fucking mind.
He watches as you lick your lips and exhale another sigh.
“Leave, please.”
It’s said quietly, wearily.
He lowers his arms, and takes a step towards you. “Stray, I think you need to─”
A key slots into the front door, and he watches your eyes widen.
“Get out.”
Before he can speak, you’re striding towards him, and your hands are on his chest, pushing him back, and his feet nearly stumble slightly as he goes.
“What─”
Shoving him onto the balcony, your hard gaze holds his.
“Leave.”
“Amore mio?” a masculine voice calls from the front door, and Ghost’s brow dips.
“What the fu─”
You pull the balcony door shut, adjusting the thick netting to cover the glass of the door.
“In here!”
Hearing the front door close, you dart to the kitchen area, and resume your position unpacking the bags. Your eyes briefly flick up to the balcony door, and you feel the tightening in your chest ease as you see no sign of Ghost.
Licking your lips, you look down at the bags again as footsteps come down the hallway. When he enters, you lift your head and smile widely.
“Hey.”
Gianni returns your smile warmly, moving towards you and running a gentle hand down your arm.
Leaning closer, he presses a tender, lingering kiss to your lips before murmuring, “Ciao, bella.” Straightening, his hand moves to your back, caressing lightly as he gazes at you. “How are you?”
Your smile is lingering, softer. “Good. Hot, sweltering, actually, but fine. Yours?”
He nods, his gaze drifting over the bags before it returns to you. “Sweltering, too.”
As you go back to removing packets from the bag, he leans his hip against the island, his lips going to your temple.
“Have you showered yet?” he murmurs, and your lips twitch.
“No, I just got in.”
“Mmh, good…” He kisses your temple again and then his hands are on your hips and he’s gently turning you towards him, making your lips twitch again as you’re forced to stop unpacking. “... I guess we can save water then and shower together…”
You laugh softly as he presses small, gentle kisses to your lips, your hands on his chest, sliding up to his shoulders. “I guess we could, that’s a very wise idea…”
“Yeah, I’m full of ‘em…”
He captures your lips in a deep kiss, one that has your arms wrapping around his neck and the world falling away for a few moments… until you remember who still might be only a few feet away.
Breaking the kiss, you press a small one to his lips before you lean away, hands back on his chest and gently pushing.
“Go on, get in there.”
His lovely, warm smile returns as he raises his eyebrows, lifting his hands away from you in an exaggerated manner.
“All right, all right, but you’re coming, yes?”
You nod exaggeratedly back, not bothering to stop a grin. “Yes, I’m just going to put these away before they melt in the heat.”
“Mmh, so wise.” He lowers his head, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as his hand settles on your lower back. “You need a hand?”
You gently push him away with your hip, raising your eyebrows. “No, you just get on in there and take those clothes off.”
He chuckles, eyes darkening but you can still see the deep affection there.
“Yes, ma’am. One sexy, ready to serve man in your shower coming right up.”
Watching him go, your smile lingering, it slowly fades as you wait to hear him enter the bathroom that’s joined to your bedroom.
And you wait still, until you hear the shower start.
When it does, you dart to the balcony door, opening it and slipping out onto it.
Closing the door behind you, you lift your head and─
Ghost grips your shoulder and shoves you against the wall beside it.
“You fucking liar─”
“Leave,” you hiss, eyes boring into his.
His gaze is now just as hard. “That’s his fucking cousin, you twat─”
“I’m aware.”
“You think Vitale didn’t tell him about you—”
“He’s not in the business. Not that side of it, anyway.” You shove his arm away, then shove his chest, making him take a step back. “Now leave.”
He exhales a short, harsh breath, and you can see his jaw moving under his material mask.
“You said you’d kill me the next time you saw me.”
“Yes, I did. Aren’t I merciful.” You lift your hand towards the fire exit ladder. “Leave.”
He doesn’t move. “We could work together on this─”
“Leave.”
“Stray─”
“Leave.”
He releases another one of those harsh, exasperated breaths. “I could handcuff you right now and take you in.”
You can’t fucking believe him. Your brow dipping as you look at him, incredulous, you shrug.
“To what end, Ghost? To fuck something else up for me? To make me hate you more? What are you going to do, put me in a cage? Keep me under your control, like he did?”
His back straightens instantly.
“Don’t you fucking compare me to him.”
“Leave, then.”
Silence falls.
You’re both staring at one another, unmoving.
Then, after what feels like a lifetime, he moves towards the door. You quickly dart in front of him to stop him, placing a hand on his chest.
“Not that way, down the fire escape.”
He doesn’t say anything, looking at you, and you don’t move your hand from his chest.
It’s a little over his heart, and you can feel it.
Strong. Steady.
Yours is faster.
When he turns, your hand falls from his chest, and you watch him go, unsurprised but wary of his silence.
He moves down the ladder without another look at you, and it’s only when you hear him reach the bottom that you turn and head inside. Closing the balcony door behind you, you lock it, and lean against it, your eyes lifting to the ceiling as you blow out a quiet breath.
“Amore mio? I’m getting very lonely!” Gianni calls from the bathroom.
Licking your lips, you take in a breath, lift your head from the door, and smile.
“Coming, darling.”
—
*Personal Jesus - Depeche Mode starts to play.*
Surprise! The final chapter of Stray will be posted two weeks today, on the 25th.
I hope you look forward to and enjoy ‘The Manor’.
—
Reblogs and comments make my day in a way I can’t describe.
Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or removed in my future works! (Note: I'll only tag if age is in your bio) Sorry if the tag doesn't work!
Characters: Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female Reader
Rating: E, 18+ ONLY
Words: 3.3k
Summary: Ghost has a fine time making you admit you need want him.
A/N: Chapter Five of Six. A chapter posted every Monday!
Entire Story Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, enemies are lovers, porn with plot, they're not nice people, but are they
Chapter Tags: Angst x 10 again, hurt Reader, fighting, shooting, guns, these guys aren't nice, blood
Read on AO3
Stray Masterlist
Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites. I do not consent to my work being used for AI purposes.
─
Chapter Five ─ The Casino
Your bare feet drag and scrape along the concrete floor as the soldiers haul you down the corridor. Blood runs down the sides of your nose from when one of them had punched you, trickling from the cut on the bridge of your nose. Some runs into your mouth, joining the split in your lower one.
Turning a corner, another soldier rises from a chair and opens a door, holding it open. He smirks at you as they drag you into the room, and you ignore him. You recognise him, can’t be fucked to remember his name.
The other two pull you to a stop, and one holds you firm and still as the other takes a set of handcuffs from his belt. Securing one around your wrist, he lifts your arms high, pulls the handcuffs over a low-hanging pipe, and secures the other loop around your wrist, securing you to it. You’re nearly on your tiptoes, arm and back muscles already aching, now straining. But you just look at them, features stoney.
One of them turns instantly and heads out the door, the other pulls on your arms, checking the cuffs are secure. Your teeth grit as they bite into your wrists, and your shoulders shout in protest. He then steps back, looks at you, turns and heads out. The soldier you recognise, propping the door open by leaning against it, arms folded, nods at him as he passes.
Then, he looks at you.
His smirk returns.
“Good to see you again, Stray.”
You don’t answer, and he chuckles.
“Yeah, you won’t be quiet for long.”
Pushing off the door, he shuts it, and you hear him lock it, the sound echoing through the small room.
You stare at it.
You can hear a drop of water somewhere, rhythmic.
You don’t know how much time passes, don’t bother to count.
Then, you hear a voice echoing down the corridor outside. You recognise it.
You shift slightly, the cuffs scraping against the pipe.
Your fingers flex.
“... fuckin’ stand straight,” Soap commands. “This isn’t your fucking area, pal, anything to do with Vitale we get notified, all right, and we handle it. No, you’re gonna fuckin’ sit down and let him through before I put a fuckin’ bullet in your head…”
His voice is drowned out by the scraping of the metal of the door as it opens. You catch a small glimpse of him, bollocking the soldier you’d recognised who is now sat, back ramrod straight, before he’s blocked by the figure who steps through the door.
Ghost enters, ducking slightly, and straightens, his eyes on you. The door is shut behind him by someone, muffling Soap’s voice again.
You block it out.
Silence fills the room.
Ghost looks at you, takes in your red, shimmering evening dress, the gold jewellery adorning your ears, neck, wrists and fingers.
The smoke and dried blood on your nose and cheeks.
He moves closer, taking measured, but not slow, steps.
Neither of you speak.
When he’s a small step away, he pauses, and then reaches up. Gripping one of your forearms, he opens the opposite cuff, releasing your wrist.
You move swiftly, your fist driving towards his jaw—
He catches it in his hand.
You look at each other.
You’re not as strong as him, but you’re still pushing against his hand, your arm almost shaking.
He forces your hand down, quickly grabs your wrist, and keeps your arm by your side. He pulls your other arm down, keeps it there, too. Your chest is millimetres from his, and you don’t move, don’t take your gaze from his for one moment.
He moves you backwards, forcing you back, and makes you sit down in a chair. Leaning over you, keeping his head, nose and jaw away from your forehead, knowing you well enough, he threads the open cuff through a metal rod on the back of the chair, and attaches it back to your wrist, securing you in place.
Then he steps back.
He watches you inhale long, deep breaths, your chest rising and falling. Your gaze is hard, and you still haven’t taken your eyes from him.
He looks to the table beside you, the bowl of water there, the square of cloth, the scissors, scalpels, tweezers.
Moving towards it, he takes the cloth and soaks it in the cold water.
He moves back towards you, places a hand on the back of the chair, leans down a little, and starts wiping some of the smoke from your face, wiping at the dried blood under your nose.
Your lip twitches, like it wants to curl.
A sound comes from the back of your throat… then you spit at his face.
He pauses as a glob of saliva lands on his mask.
Straightening after a moment, he uses the back of his hand to wipe the spit away, and then tosses the cloth onto the table. Exhaling a breath, he steps back and folds his arms.
“Where’s Vitale, Stray.”
You look at him.
He nods at you. “Did they just hit you, there?”
You look at him.
“Nowhere else?”
You’re silent.
“What did Vitale do to you?”
You’re silent.
“Did he touch you—”
“Why? Want to know if he got his sloppy seconds?”
And there it is; air seems to come back into the room when your voice fills it.
“Stray, you were the only thing that could draw him out—”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“You were recovering—”
“Bullshit.” The single word slices across the room like a whip. “Answer the question.”
He looks at you. “I didn’t know if you’d agree.”
“Bullshit.” Your lip curls. “Say it.”
He exhales a breath. “I couldn’t trust that you wouldn’t tell him.”
Silence.
It fills every corner of the room, and you don’t look away from him for one moment. Challenge him not to. He doesn’t, and you see nothing in his eyes.
After a few moments, you nod, tongue running along your teeth.
“Right. Because I was so clearly loyal to him after he beat me, and had me beat, and I told Soap everything.”
“You went back to him.”
“After.” Your voice has risen, tone stronger. “After you offered me up and there was no way out.”
“There was, we would’ve protected you—”
“For how long? He’s fucking relentless. And why. Why keep wasting time and resources on me when I’ve nearly had you all killed?” The words had kept coming, burning questions that had been festering in your mind demanding to come forth now.
They’re met with his silence now, though.
Then he exhales a breath. “Where is Vitale now?”
You exhale a harsh breath. “I don’t know. I’m not privy to that information anymore.”
Ghost’s eyes flick over you, briefly. “What did he do to you.”
You shrug, shoulders lingering high for a moment before they drop. “Same as before. For longer. Minus a broken bone, though. He wanted me back out there the next day.”
Nothing passes behind his eyes, not even a flicker, but they look over you again, like he’s trying to see if there’s still evidence of the punishment.
“Doing what?”
You look at him.
He exhales another breath, exasperation tingeing this one. “What does he have on you that you do this for him?
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’d like it to be.”
“Take the mask off.”
Silence.
You shrug again. “There you go.”
He drops his arms. “We can stop him, Stray, if you help us.”
Eyes narrowing, your jaw tightens. “I did help you. I told you everything I knew and you fucked it. You all fucked it by letting him slip through your fingers. Again. By fucking me. In more ways than one.”
He’s silent, though you see a slight movement of his jaw under his mask. You don’t fill the silence, letting it stretch on and on and on.
Then, he folds his arms again.
“Soap was meant to meet you in the clearing. He got into some trouble, Vitale brought more men than we expected, and he got caught up. That wasn’t how that was meant to go.”
Your teeth had gritted as he’d continued, and a small, humourless smile pulls at your lips. “Bullshit.”
Ghost shifts slightly, exasperation starting to come through again. “He showed me the CCTV. What Vitale did to you, or the start of it—”
“And still you thought your plan was best—”
“He also told me you sent him the coordinates for the warehouse, too—”
“I won’t be making that mistake again.”
Your snapped words hang in the silence between you.
After a few moments, his hands go to the top of his vest, gripping it. “Where is he, Stray. We’ve only got so much command here, and that’s gunna run out if we don’t get anything.”
You’re silent.
His gaze is harder. “What were you doing in the casino?”
You shrug. “Just having a drink.”
“Dressed like that?”
“A girl can’t look nice?”
“I know it’s not your style.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
Your hiss, verging on a snarl, silences him.
Then, you laugh, it sounding too loud in the small space, and he blinks.
“You know what’s fucking funny?”
“What?”
You’re smiling, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “You haven’t once said sorry. And I keep fucking expecting you to. I don’t know who’s more fucked up, me or you.”
He looks at you.
There’s some movement in his jaw again.
When he speaks, his voice is lower.
“Where is he, Stray?”
“I don’t. Know. Ghost.” Your smile has gone. “You robbed me of that privilege.”
He’s looking at you, gaze no longer hard, and you tip your head back as you blow out a loud breath, looking up at the ceiling.
Shaking your head slightly, you lick your lips, dragging your teeth over your lower one, and then tip your head down, looking at him.
“You know, he offered me the job again.”
His lips press together. “To kill me?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“I took it.”
You’re fast. As you rise out of the chair, the cuffs clattering to the floor, your hands now free, you lunge at him. Grabbing the handgun from the holster at his side as he blinks, you raise it. He lurches back a few steps, reaching for his other—
You pull the trigger.
The bullet whizzes through the short space between you, and sinks into his vest. It absorbs it, but he takes the impact; he makes a strange, pained sound, something between a cry and a wheeze as the breath in his body is forced out of him and pain spreads across his entire chest.
And he falls backwards.
Hitting the ground, he makes another sound, and it hurts to do that, hurts to breathe.
Staring up at the ceiling, he wheezes, unable to move.
He thinks his ribs might be broken, some of them have to be.
His eyes dart to you suddenly as you move closer, and you sink to your knees beside him, lips pressed together. Staring down at him, you clasp your hands together, the gun still in one. He’s staring at you, and he tries to move his hand to his gun but his arms are shaking too much and it hurts to do fucking anything.
“Lieutenant, sir?” the man you recognised calls from the other side of the door, voice muffled. “Everything all right?”
He tries to call back to him. All he can release is a strained, quiet sound.
You tilt your head, grazing your teeth over your lower lip.
And you press the barrel into the forehead of his mask.
You look at him and he stares at you.
You lean closer.
“If I ever see you again, I will kill you.”
Moving the gun, you grip the bottom of the material and hard masks and pull them off as you stand. Looking at the door, you move towards it, holding the masks in your hand.
“Stray…” His voice comes out rasped, pained, and you grip the handle and push the door open.
The soldier is on his feet, and his brow dips as his gaze tracks over you. “What the fuck—”
Ah, now you remember him.
Lecherous cunt.
You raise the gun and squeeze the trigger. He collides with the wall when the bullet cuts through his shoulder.
Groaning, features twisted, he tries to reach for his radio, and you reach down, yanking it off his vest and tossing it away and then grabbing his gun.
“Fucking… bitch…” He hisses, and you tilt your head.
“That bullet was a warning. The next one won’t be.”
Turning, you move down the corridor.
You walk quickly, knowing the second gunshot will have drawn attention. Ignoring the sparks of pain from the small cuts and bruises on your feet, you take the route that they’d brought you through, having memorised it. Voices come from down other corridors, the faint sounds of radios crackling to life until it’s more frequent and—
“Hey, stop!”
You break into a run, and you dart around a corner as a bullet flies over your head.
Door, door, door, which door…
You shove the one you’d noted open, and immediately move down the stairs. The stairwell is quiet for exactly 30 seconds before the door you came through is shoved open and you hear boots following after you. You don’t know how many soldiers there are, but some start firing down at you, bullets ricocheting off the walls and steps. You don’t start firing up at them with your guns until you reach the bottom, and you hear them shout to each other, pausing, slowing. Using their hesitation, you open the only door and dart through.
The corridors are quiet on this floor, for now. You’d gathered from the glimpses you’d gotten as they’d dragged you out of the van that this building is a warehouse of some kind, and there are some windows into the rooms you pass, some filled with boxes piled high, others with tables shoved into the corners.
Turning a corner, you hear the door you’d come through open but nobody passes through for perhaps 10 seconds or so, and you know with their grouping and planning, you’re running out of time.
You try a door; it’s locked.
You try another; the same.
Fuck.
You can hear them getting closer, nearing the corner, their radios talking but quietly.
You try another door.
Locked.
Fuck.
Pressing your lips together, there’s one left, and you turn your back to it, moving backwards and raising the guns, pointing them at the end of the corridor. Your fingers rest over the triggers, waiting for whoever the bravest of them will be. A shadow falls across the floor, growing as whoever it is nears the corner.
Your back touches against the door, and you slowly lower one arm, moving your hand to the handle.
The shadow grows.
Your hand moves.
Your finger readies to squeeze the trigger.
The shadow grow—
It pauses.
Chatter sounds from a radio, echoing down the corridor but you can’t make out the words.
Seconds tick by.
You use it; gripping the handle, you pull the door open a little, and take a step forward and to the side so you can start edging through it.
You pause, though, as the shadow starts to retreat.
… Right…
Eyes narrowing slightly, you listen as the radios grow quieter and quieter, and then a door closes.
Waiting a few moments, you then glance through the door, berating yourself for not having done so earlier. It leads to a garage, the strip lights on, and all you see are vehicles, three rows of Jeeps and vans.
Exhaling a breath, you look once more down the corridor before slipping through the door. Closing it behind you, you start moving instantly, striding towards the middle row. You don’t stay still, moving between the vehicles, trying each handle as you go.
All locked.
Fuckers.
Still, you keep trying, heading towards the back.
None of them open.
Cunts.
Fuck it.
Looking up, you see a door by the last row, and stride towards it. The van had felt like it had gone over gravel, after dirt, you had to be near woodland, then, especially knowing these guys and how much they liked their priv—
“Where you goin’, darlin’?”
You spin, raising the guns, and Soap raises his hands.
“Woah, hey. Don’t be a cunt. Put ‘em down.”
You don’t move, eyes fixed on him.
He raises his eyebrows. “Really fucking clever all this, eh. Drawing us out. Drawing him out. Really fucking clever.”
A corner of your mouth lifts a little. “I thought so.”
He presses his lips together. “Is he alive?”
You shrug a shoulder. “Maybe.”
His jaw moves as his fingers flex slightly. “You…”
You raise your eyebrows now, tilting your head. “Go on. Insult the woman with the guns.”
He stays silent.
You let it linger for a few moments before you move backwards slowly.
It only takes you two steps before he suddenly grabs his gun and raises it, making you pause.
His gaze is hard. You smile.
“Sure you want to waste time here with me? He could be bleeding out. He could be seconds from death.”
Rage smoulders in his eyes, the first time you’ve ever seen it from him. You nearly hold your breath as you stare at him, almost challenging him. Almost daring him.
Then, he lowers his gun and swiftly turns on his heel without another word, striding away.
Exhaling a breath, you seize the opportunity. Turning, you head for the door, just as swift.
Yanking the door open, you head out into the night.
—
Matteo releases a low whistle at the sight of you, smiling widely. “What Party City store did you raid?”
You flash him a humourless smile. “Very funny. Is he in?”
“Of course. Been waitin’ for ya.”
Lowering an arm from where they’ve been folded across his chest, his smile lingers as he knocks twice on the door next to him.
You look at each other as you wait.
“Come in,” the voice within calls.
You step forward as Matteo opens the door for you, moving into the office. The light from the corridor illuminates a straight path before you, but when he closes the door, it plunges the room into near darkness, the only light on the dim lamp on the desk.
Standing a few steps from it, you wait, watching him, listening to his pen scratch across a contract, signing in.
When he’s done, he places the pen down, lifts his head and sits back.
“There’s my girl.”
Angelo beckons you closer, and you move, standing before his desk.
He clasps his hands together over his stomach.
“Is it done?”
You exhale a breath. “Yes.”
Lifting your hand, you drop Ghost’s hard mask onto the desk.
Dropping his gaze to it, he leans closer and traces his fingers over the grooves of it. Then, he smiles. Looking up at you, he beckons you again.
“Come here.”
Silently, you move around the desk and stand before him, and he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs over your knuckles. Then, he stands and cups your face, exhaling a long breath.
You hold his gaze.
A light smile is on his lips.
“Y’know, if you’re lying to me, I’ll twist your fuckin’ head off with my bare hands.”
“I know,” you murmur.
“And I’ll kill them.”
“I know.”
His smile widens a little. “Yeah, you do, don’t you.”
Leaning forward, he kisses your forehead, lips lingering there, and you stare at his chest, managing to keep your breathing steady.
When he releases you, you swallow, and watch him as he sits down, reaching for his pen.
“Go on, get outta here. Matteo will tell you what’s next.”
You lick your dry lips. “Thank you, sir.”
Looking up at you, he smiles softly. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
You move when he looks away, heading around the desk and towards the door. Your heart pounds in your chest and you try to stop the waves of nausea that roll through your stomach.
You’re running out of time.
─
Reblogs and comments make my day in a way I can’t describe.
Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or removed in my future works! (Note: I'll only tag if age is in your bio) Sorry if the tag doesn't work!
Characters: Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female Reader
Rating: E, 18+ ONLY
Words: 12.2k
Summary: Ghost has a fine time making you admit you need want him.
A/N: Chapter Four of Six. A chapter posted every Monday!
Entire Story Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, enemies are lovers, porn with plot, they're not nice people, but are they
Chapter Tags: Angst x 10, hurt Reader, reader is beaten up and it’s shown/described, not by Ghost, i want to make it clear Reader isn’t sexually assaulted, blood, wounded, Simon being Simon, small time-skip, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, unprotected sex, creampie, a character refers to themself as Daddy, not Simon, fighting, Simon is not a nice man
Read on AO3
Stray Masterlist
Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites. I do not consent to my work being used for AI purposes.
─
Chapter Four ─ The Fort
Finally, finally, they’d gotten fucking lucky.
Exact coordinates with a confirmed sighting and fucking all.
He’d jumped at the chance to take the fucker down, so had they all. Dead or alive, the order had been. Alive, preferable. Dead… Well, he wouldn’t be too missed.
Even the heavy flurry of snow the night before hadn’t caused too many issues, in fact it had been a blessing; they could follow the tracks of those who’d tried to escape. It seems money couldn’t buy you everything, even loyalty.
Even a decent fort, this place is a fucking mess.
It’s old, from a time period he couldn’t be fucked to listen to Soap bang on about, with crumbling walls and worn away stone stairs. Even the modern additions are shit, the doors rusting and the concrete floors uneven. They’d truly chased the cunt into a shitty corner if this was where he’d chosen to hide out. Still, some of his men are still probably loyal, so Ghost moves silently through the fort, rifle raised, breathing slow.
He can hear echoes of gunfire here and there, some mercs still around, but he manages to tune them out, taking the route he’s memorised from the maps. Vitale has to be in the central chamber; it’s structurally the strongest room, and while he has a good swing, he’s no fighter. Every time before this he’d run, but this now… There was no where to fucking run.
Ghost can feel his blood nearly humming with anticipation, knowing any minute, any fucking minute now, he’ll be splitting the fucker’s throat.
Watching him die.
When he turns the corner to the hallway leading to the central chamber, he thinks he’s imagined the blood, the picture in his mind is so strong. But no, it’s real. There’s a wide, thin-layered streak of it on the concrete, like someone’s been dragged, and then it becomes splatters, dotting like a fucking bread-crumb trail to the metal door at the end of the corridor. He pauses, eyes flicking from it to the door, breathing steady. Vitale’s? Had one of them managed to clip him somewhere without realising? Or had a merc just lost their temper?
He wouldn’t be surprised, he doesn’t know how any of them put up with the cunt.
There’s some blood on the stone wall, too, adjacent to the streak.
Maybe they’d battered his huge fucking head against the wall, then dragged him off. What a treat that’d be. Less satisfying, but a treat nonetheless.
Ghost starts moving again, heading down the hall. No sound comes from beyond the door, but maybe it’s soundproof. Maybe they’re beating the shit out of Vitale right now and he’s screaming his head off, begging for his pathetic life.
What a treat.
He’s silent as he nears the door.
It’ll likely make a racket when he opens it, so he’ll have to be quick. Reaching a hand out, he settles his hand on the handle, grips it, and then pushes down and shoves it open. The hand is back on the rifle in seconds, and he points it into the dark room, dust swirling, aiming at, he swiftly notes, the only figure in the room─
You.
Aiming at you.
And you’d instantly raised your own gun, a handgun, aiming right back at him…
Your hand’s trembling.
He can see it, even in the dark.
And your face…
One of your eyes is swollen shut, the other bloodshot. There’s a long, freshly forming bruise down your jaw, and smaller bruises and cuts litter your face. Blood has stopped coming out of your nose only a little while before, dried now above your lip.
Fuck.
“Easy, love. Easy,” he murmurs, lifting a hand from his gun but keeping his finger over the trigger. “It’s me.”
He doesn’t know why he fucking says that, why would that stop you shooting him.
He can’t think on it, though, because you’re half-slumped against the back wall, and he can hear your breathing; jagged, harsh, rattling around in your lungs.
You’re also cradling your other arm against your vest, forearm curving at an awkward angle. Fractured at best, broken… most likely.
Fuck.
“Why don’t you put that down, yeah?” he says quietly, taking his finger away from the trigger and lowering the rifle, hoping that might convince you to do so.
Your eyes are fixed on him but it’s like you’re not seeing him, no light or mischief or amusement dancing behind them like usual. Instead… nothing. He wants to check over the rest of you, but he doesn’t dare look away from your gaze in case that might suddenly trigger you to do something. Particularly as your finger is still over the trigger.
“Stray,” he murmurs, staying stone-still. “What happened?”
You still don’t move, don’t speak.
“Who did this?”
Your lips move minutely.
“What was that, love?”
Suddenly, your hand drops and you swallow thickly, gaze falling to the ground.
He takes a couple of slow steps closer as he keeps his eyes trained on you.
“Come with me, let’s get you out of here, yeah?”
Your gaze lifts to his once more, and after a moment, you nod a few, weary times.
“All right, come here.” Shouldering his rifle, he moves swiftly, closing the distance between you and pulling your good arm over his shoulder, ignoring the hiss you give, before his arm wraps around your waist. “Can you walk?”
You nod again just as he looks down and sees the cut in your trousers at your thigh, blood seeping out of it.
Fuck.
There’s other cuts and tears up and down your trousers too, but no blood coming out of them. Yet.
“All right, let’s go nice and easy, yeah?”
He doesn’t wait for you to nod, just starts walking and, thankfully, you automatically start walking with him. Your breathing is ragged, sawing in and out of you nearly, and you don’t holster your gun, it resting in your hand at your side. His gaze darts about the room swiftly as he walks you to the door, but there’s no sign of Vitale, no maps, no clothing, nothing.
Fuck.
He heads through the door first, guiding you next, and then leads you down the hall. You don’t speak and neither does he. There’s no gunfire coming from outside now, but he still peers out through the door he came in from, just in case. Nothing.
He takes you across the snow-blanketed courtyard, tightening his grip around your waist in case there’s ice hidden beneath the snow.
And he knows he shouldn’t look, but he does.
His gaze drops to your left thigh.
Blood is still seeping from the wound.
Fuck, what a cunt, he should’ve wrapped it back in there. But there had been no time, he’s no idea if Vitale or any of his people are still here, no idea if the fact they are or aren’t is worse.
If they are, how the fuck did they get away?
If they aren’t, where the fuck are they.
It’s when he starts taking you up some stairs that he hears you make another sound: you grunt with each small step, moving quickly to take the weight off your left leg.
Fuck, he’s a fucking cunt.
“Nearly there,” is all he says, though, fixing his gaze on the top step.
When you reach it, the ground levelling out, he hears you release a long, shaking breath.
“Nearly there,” is all he can say again.
He scans the crumbling ramparts, but there’s nothing, no one, and just silence.
Fuck.
He leads you round a wall, keeping the pace up, though he can feel you want to slow.
“Ghost!”
Ah, there we go.
His gaze lands on Soap, the man’s hands lifted.
“What the fuck’s been goin’ on, why were y─” He pauses as his eyes land on you. “Christ, darlin’, what happened?”
“Don’t know,” Ghost answers for you, taking you past the man, who quickly falls into step with him.
“Ghost, her leg’s fuckin’ blee─”
“I know. Where’s a car?”
“Gaz brought the Jeep closer, it’s just up there.” He points to a courtyard up a steep incline.
Fuck.
“Did you find Vitale?” Soap is still beside him, but Ghost keeps his eyes ahead.
You’re on the incline now, and he doesn’t slow the pace still, practically pushing you up it with his forearm, ignoring your sharp grunts.
“Does it look like I have?”
“I don’t know, you haven’t been on comms, thought you might’ve left him hangin’ off a wall.”
I fucking wish.
Reaching the top, the cobbles levelling out once more, he finds the Jeep and doesn’t pause for a moment, pulling you towards it. Your head is slightly lowered now, but your feet are still moving so he just carries on.
“Christ, Ghost, I could’ve just brought the fuckin’ car closer…” Soap drops back, moving behind him, and appears at your other side. His hand settles on your back, on the vest, just above Ghost’s arm.
“I have to ask, darlin’,” he begins in a gentle tone that has Ghost wanting to rip his fucking head off for a reason he can’t even beginning to fucking understand. “Is Vitale here?”
He’s about to snap that you can’t really talk right now, that your jaw might be dislocated, why didn’t he fucking check that, when you wheeze out a breath.
“... No…”
Fuck.
“Right, thank you, darlin’.” Pulling his radio from his vest, Soap starts talking into it instantly. “Seal the area, lads, he’s not here, confirmed, but see what ye can find. Follow tracks but keep your fuckin’ eyes peeled. I’ll be in touch soon, Ghost and I are headin’ back to base.”
Ghost’s eyes flick to him as you finally near the Jeep. “Why’re you comin’?”
Soap opens the back door you’re closest to, holding it open. “You’ll need to stop that bleedin’ and quick, I’ll drive ye.”
“Right.” Carefully as he can, he pulls your arm over his head and turns you, pushing you back gently and helping you up onto the seat. “Lie back,” he instructs, and when you do he notices the sweat that’s beaded on your face, trickling down your neck and under your long-sleeved black jacket.
Fuck.
“Move back, lean against the door.”
You do as you’re told automatically, sitting up a little so your head and shoulders lean against the opposite door. He removes his rifle, resting it on the floor of the car before lifting your legs and sitting in the seat. As he settles your legs on his lap, Soap shuts the door and darts to the driver’s door, pulling his own rifle off.
Once in, the door closed, he yanks a first-aid kit from under the passenger seat and swiftly hands it to Ghost. Taking it, he grabs some bandaging and lets the rest of the kit fall to the floor as Soap starts the engine and the car lurches forward then speeds down the main road.
Jaw locked tight, set, Ghost rips the cut in your trousers open wider with his hands, before unravelling the bandaging as he stares down at the wound. Not as deep as he’d thought. Feared. But there’s enough blood coming from it for it to be concerning. He shoves a wad of the bandaging on top of it, then shoves his palm down on top of that.
You cry out, your hands balling into fists, and he lifts his gaze to you. Your eyes are half-lidded, and the bruise on your jaw has deepened. It had probably hurt, to make that sound.
He keeps his eyes on you, makes sure yours stay open, and that you blink.
You do. Slowly. Agonising distances between them.
Soap speeds down the country lanes, handling each corner perfectly, and it doesn’t take long before he’s pulling up at the warehouse and airhanger they’re using as a base. He’s first out of the Jeep, soon followed by Ghost, who holds your legs up as he gets out. He’s just trying to think of how to fucking get you out when Soap knocks on the window you’re leaning on, and then carefully opens the door.
“You’re all right, sweetheart, I’ve got ye…” His arms slide under yours, supporting you, and you automatically move, your hands on the seats pushing you back as he pulls you. Your legs drop from Ghost’s hands and he stands there for a moment, staring, as Soap pulls you out. The sharp hiss you emit as you have to drop your legs and stand jolts him back into action, slamming the door and moving around.
“Right, let’s get ye to the medb─”
“I’ll do it.”
Soap has helped you straighten, and was about to pull your good arm over his shoulder when Ghost had spoken.
“All right.”
He steps aside to let Ghost swiftly take his place, and watches him pull you towards the warehouse.
“I’ll get back to the boys,” he calls after him, and Ghost doesn’t answer.
Blowing out a breath, he shakes his head and turns back to the Jeep.
Ghost can feel your pace stumbling slightly, your legs and feet becoming heavier, but he pushes on, entering the open warehouse. The medical section is at the centre, and he hauls you over to it, ignoring the mutterings of soldiers and other personnel.
“Can I get some fuckin’ help over here?” he calls, voice echoing, and people leap off chairs, speaking rapidly to each other as he sits you on a shitty med-bed.
Your eyes are closed, and you grimace as you settle, deep breaths inhaling and exhaling through your nose.
He looks at you, arms by his sides, mouth in a thin line.
He can’t work out if you’re trembling or shivering. Neither is good.
“… Was it Vitale.”
There. Slight movement on your features; your brow dips a little.
“... S’fine… Was my fault.”
Silence.
This is bad. Things are never your fault, even when they are. He'd sighed at you as much several times before.
His gaze darts across your face, going from your swollen shut eye, your nose, your cut lips, your purple jaw, down, because now at this angle, he notices your throat.
Stepping forward, he grips your chin as gently as he can and lifts your head.
You hiss out a breath, eyes remaining closed. “Simon─”
“Quiet,” he says softly.
You hiss again as he tilts your head back a little further, and, yeah, he sees them now. Finger marks around your throat. He releases your chin, takes a step back again, and watches you slowly lower your head.
“What happened.”
You have to take a few breaths before you respond. “Didn’t take the job.”
“What job.”
He thinks you just need to breathe again before you answer, but then you shake your head slightly. He folds his arms.
“So, what happened.”
“He wasn’t happy… Tried to take him on… Stupid… He’s a rich dick but… he’s a good fighter…. And he doesn’t fight fair.”
You lift up a little, trying to straighten your back, but you instantly curve again, face contorting in pain as you gasp.
His arms drop. “What is it?”
Lifting the hand on your good arm to your shoulder, you try to unbuckle your vest but your hand is trembling too much. Stepping forward, he knocks your hand away and undoes it for you, noticing now that it’s frayed, almost to the middle, and his gloves are suddenly wet and─
Releasing the clasp, he sees it. A bullet hole right through your shoulder.
“Fuck’s sake, why didn’t you tell me?” he hisses, shoving his palm against it and making you cry out again.
“S’fine, Ghost,” you murmur, voice strained with pain.
“Shut up,” he snaps before lifting his head. “Is anyone here going to fuckin’ get to work?”
A doctor trots over, eyebrows slightly raised as he approaches.
“We were prepping, do you want her to die of a bacterial infection─”
Ghost’s hand is off you and he’s gripping the man by the front of his shirt, nearly raising him off the ground. “The fuck did you just say to me, you fucking little cunt?!”
“Ghost, stop it,” you pant, though he barely hears you, a sound almost like a siren screaming in his mind as he stares at the doctor.
The man is trying to shove him off, teeth gritted, but Ghost can see the fear in his eyes and he fucking likes that because then this cunt will be too fucking scared to let you die and you cannot die.
“Simon, please.”
Your pained voice suddenly cuts through the noise, and he releases the doctor as two soldiers grab at him and haul him back a couple of steps.
“Get the fuck off me, you cunts, I’m fine,” he barks, and they swiftly let him go, stepping away.
A pained cry has his attention swiftly turning back to you, and he watches another doctor help you lie back, your eyes closed again.
The doctor had swiftly moved away, and now helps to wheel your bed towards a door as they talk rapidly to each other. He doesn’t move, just watches as they take you away.
And he can feel his heart pounding against his ribcage.
—
People duck their heads a little as he passes, not wanting to make eye-contact.
Not that he would, anyway.
Striding down the few halls he needs to, he keeps his gaze ahead, breathing even. Reaching the office door, he doesn’t bother knocking before opening it. Stepping in, he finds Soap sitting at the table, boots up on a chair, picking at dirt under his nails. He looks up when he enters, and drops his boots onto the floor, standing.
“Hey, L.T.”
Ghost looks from him, to the laptop on the table before him, and then to the rest of the room, finding it empty.
“What is it?”
Soap tilts his head. “She all right, first of all?”
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t elaborate, and Soap doesn’t ask him to, despite the fact he last saw you just over an hour ago and you still haven’t appeared from the med-room.
“Right, good.”
“What is it?” Ghost asks again in the same tone.
Inhaling a breath, Soap turns the laptop towards him. “The fort had CCTV, the team’s been combing through it. There was a camera, outside the main chamber. Thought you might want to see this. Sorry, there’s no sound, shit tech.”
He presses a key on the laptop as Ghost folds his arms.
The video starts.
The camera is pointing at the chamber door, and the footage is grainy, flickering, but he can see well enough. Well enough so that when the door of the chamber opens, he can immediately identify the figure that passes through as you. He watches you stride down the hall, anger plainly written on your face.
Vitale then passes through the door, arms raised, a wide smile on his lips. He says something, something that clearly angers you further from your expression. He can’t read what it is, though, the video quality too shit. And then he says something else, and you spin and halt, pointing a finger at him. Ghost can’t see your face, but his eyes don’t leave Vitale for too long, anyway. He watches the man move closer to you, smile still in place, hands on his hips. He shrugs at whatever you’re saying, opens his mouth, says something else, and then your fist is suddenly darting out, smashing into his jaw. He stumbles from the impact, hands dropping to his sides, and there’s a moment or two where time seems to stop. And then you’re taking a step back but he’s suddenly before you, grabbing your throat, and three mercs run out through the door, nearing you, just as you shove Vitale away. Two of the mercs grab you, hauling you back against the wall, pinning you there, and Vitale smoothes his hands over his hair before he jabs a finger at you, speaking rapidly. Rage is across his features now, and you’re struggling against the mercs, shouting back at him.
He punches you.
Once. Twice. Three, four, five times. In the same place. Right in the jaw.
Then his hands grip your neck again, and his face nearly presses against yours as he yells at you.
He steps back after nearly a minute, staring at you, then he lifts his hands, flicking them at the mercs, and they release you. You straighten, step away from the wall, lift your chin. Vitale raises his hands again, speaking with an expression of confusion. When he finishes, he shrugs and gestures at the door, clearly telling you to return. You give a slight nod, and the mercs back away as Vitale nods, clapping his hands together, pleased.
He turns away, about to head to the door, when you say something.
Vitale’s head turns to you. Then, he lunges for you. Grabbing your head, he slams it into the wall.
You buckle instantly, but you don’t hit the ground, the mercs suddenly there again and grabbing you, hauling you up. Vitale is yelling again, and then there’s a flash of silver in his hand. A knife. He points it at you as you sway slightly, gesturing wildly. Stepping closer, he holds the knife between his and your face, still speaking, still yelling. He’s clearly asking you something, and you don’t respond. He keeps asking it, and you still don’t answer. Then, he shrugs and the knife suddenly drops out of view and your mouth opens in a cry as your knees go to buckle again, but you can’t.
He has to have struck your thigh.
He’s asking something again, and you’re shaking your head, and you’re smiling. Not just smiling, you’re laughing.
Vitale is seething. Stepping back, he points at the door and the mercs drag you down the hall towards it. You all pass through the door, the third merc the last to enter, and he shuts the door behind himself.
The video ends, the image of the closed door staying on the screen.
Silence.
Soap had been looking at him throughout, eyes flicking from the screen to him every now and then. And each time, he’d found nothing in Ghost’s eyes, no change in his posture, stature. The man was stone-still.
But Soap had known him long enough to know that didn’t mean there wasn’t something fucking raging in his head.
“Any cameras in the chamber?” Ghost asks after a moment.
“No.”
A fucking blessing, perhaps. Soap keeps his eyes on him.
Ghost nods, eyes back on the laptop.
Then, he looks at Soap, inhaling a breath.
“Right, this is what’s gunna happen…”
—
Three Months Later
Killing the engine, Ghost lets his hands fall to his thighs, and exhales a breath.
Fucking too long a drive with shit else to see but tall pines and snow. Not even many other drivers, though, that’s why he’d chosen this place.
Any other drive he would have welcomed that, seeing no one, but this time… It might have been nice to have something else to see, something to occupy his mind a bit.
Get a fuckin’ grip and get a move on.
Unbuckling his seat belt and opening the door, he steps out. Gazing up at the house, he shuts the door. It’s the only sound, not even birds singing. Snow has a strange way of stealing sound.
Retrieving his bag from the boot, he shuts it, locks the car, and makes his way to the front door. After checking it hasn’t been tampered with, he unlocks it, and steps inside. The hallway is dark, light spilling in from the living room at the end. The kitchen, to his left, is dark, light only coming through from the living room again from the archway at the end. The other sitting room, to his right, is dark, too. There’s no lights on upstairs, either.
Dropping his bag to the ground, he shuts the door and locks it, pocketing the keys.
Then he listens.
Nothing.
Just as quiet as it was outside.
Shrugging off his coat, he hangs it up, then starts to move down the hall, slowly, carefully. He’s reminded of how it’s verging on the side of narrow, his shoulders nearly knocking against the framed artwork that had come with the house. Why hadn’t he just gone through the kitchen, he could’ve done with a fuckin’ dri─
The barrel of a gun is pointed at him.
Pausing, his eyes flick to it.
Then you.
Your gaze is fixed on him, hard.
“We have to stop meeting like this.”
Humour, that’s a good sign.
“Hello, Stray.”
“Hello, Simon. Been a while.”
“You missed me?”
“Nope.” You pop the ‘p’, press your lips together, then drop your hand and the gun to your side. “Certainly not missed those fuckers who watch the house all the fucking time.”
“What fuckers?” He watches you turn, walking back into the warm light of the living room.
“Very funny.”
He follows, at a distance, then stops by a cabinet, watches you move to the couch, standing before it and placing your gun on the coffee table. You replace it with a glass of clear liquid, could be water, could be vodka.
“How you doing?” he asks as you take a sip of it.
Your eyebrows raise as you swallow. “You probably know already.”
You’re in a difficult mood, which he was prepared for.
“You’re pissed still, then.”
You snort. “Yeah, I’m under fucking house arrest.”
“You’re not, this is to keep you safe.”
Eyebrows rising again, you fold your arms, keeping the glass in your hand. “Is it, now? To keep me safe, or to get me to give more information?”
He just looks at you.
You shrug. “I’ve told Soap everything I know, all about his Mafia uncle, all the bases, all the caches, all the names, all the contacts. Everything. I’m going fucking mad.”
“So he tells me.”
“Yeah, he’s been great fucking target practice.” Turning away, you move towards the large window behind the couch, gazing out as you sip from your drink. Exhaling a breath, the fact you can just feel him staring at you irritates you. Looking over your shoulder at him, you raise your eyebrows. “Why are you here, then? Have you found him?”
“No.”
“Right.” You snort, returning your gaze to the window, more specifically to the frozen lake in the distance. “Fucking crack team of experts, aren’t you.”
“We will, soon.”
“You’d fucking better. I’m going to shoot Soap if I have to move again.”
“You haven’t liked the houses?”
You shrug. “This is a nice place. My favourite so far, so I’d like to stay, thanks.”
“We’ll see. How’s your arm?”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
You can feel him just staring again.
“Anything else?” You don’t bother to look at him this time.
“You used to offer me tea.”
You snort. “Yeah, I’m a shit host now. You should leave before I get worse.”
He’s silent.
You let the seconds tick by, then, still irritated, because what the fuck’s he doing, you turn, and find him still there.
“Something else you’d like to say, Lieutenant?”
There’s nothing in his gaze. “Why did you work for him?”
Well, that’s a fucking pivot.
It’s a question Soap has already asked, though, so you don’t know why he does.
“I owe him.”
“What for.”
“None of your business.”
The same answer you’d given Soap, that he has to know.
“When is your debt paid.”
“When he says.”
Silence.
Then, he inhales a breath. “I’m gunna stay the night. This is one of my places, so there isn’t anywhere else in the area. That gunna be a problem?”
“Nope.” You pop the ‘p’ again, turning back to gaze out at the lake and the trees.
“Good. I hope you’re makin’ something nice for dinner.”
“I am. I can’t wait to enjoy it alone.”
“That’s fine. I’ll eat mine in my bedroom.”
“My bedroom,” you retort, turning to him with an arched brow. “I’m sure the couch will suit you just fine.”
“It doesn’t.”
There’s slight movement around his eyes, almost like he’s smiling, but he turns away before you can really be sure. Hearing him head up the stairs, you blow out a breath and roll your shoulders, trying to get some of the irritation out.
Well, at least you might finally have some entertainment, anyway.
—
The fire crackles quietly, the only sound filling the space other than you turning the pages of your book.
You’re barely focusing on the words anymore, though, because you can’t stop looking up at him.
Because Ghost is just sat on a chair he’d pulled in from the kitchen, in his jacket and trousers, just the material mask on, gazing out the window, flicking a knife absentmindedly in his hand.
It’s annoying.
It’s distracting.
It’s attractive.
“Can you do something?”
He catches the knife, and his eyes flick over to you. “What?”
“Can you do something?”
“What do you mean?”
“Can you do something other than that? Anything.”
“Like what?”
You’re staring at him, nearly incredulous. “Read, or get that fucking TV to work, or do some push ups, I don’t know.”
Some lines appear around his eyes; he’s smirking. “You’d like to see me doing that, would you.”
You snort, returning your eyes to the page. “Yeah, I’ll just cum at the sight.”
“I like the sound of that.”
You don’t look up. “Quiet, please, I’m trying to read.”
You think you manage to convince him, because he doesn’t say anything else… and then he goes back to flicking the knife.
Slamming the book down onto your lap, you raise your eyebrows, staring at him.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
He lifts his other hand, holding the knife still. “What’s your fuckin’ problem? I don’t know why you’re being such a pissy bitch still.”
“‘Pissy bitch’? I can’t leave the house unless I’m chaperoned like a fucking dowager countess, or a fucking criminal. Even Vitale let me loose.”
It’s a low blow, but you’re frustrated, beyond that, actually, and feeling like unspent energy is just thrumming through your veins, like it has been day in and day out for over three months.
This is a good way to get it out.
Even if he is looking at you, eyes hard, all humour gone.
“You’d rather be with him, would you?”
You shrug. “At least I had outside-time.”
Ghost holsters the knife, shoving it into the scabbard and tossing it onto the bookshelf beside him before folding his arms. “Yeah, proper top bloke, isn’t he. Far better than me, who’s been keepin’ you safe, lettin’ you stay in my fucking houses. Miss him, do you?”
“No, of course no─”
“Miss fucking him?”
“I’ve never fucked him,” you snap.
He pauses, and you do, too… because why the fuck had that just slipped out so easily.
“... What?” he says after a moment.
You shrug again, wanting the confession to seem intentional, like you know what you’re fucking doing. “He’s fucking tried, but we’ve never fucked. I’d never let him.”
Silence.
You don’t like it.
Don’t like how he’s looking at you not with anger or lust, but with something else that you can’t place.
So your mouth opens again and you speak before you can stop yourself.
“I don’t fuck other people either. He thinks I do, to get intel. I don’t. Haven’t fucked anyone else in a long time.”
Anyone else. Anyone other than you.
The unspoken words hang in the air between you.
Silence.
What the fuck am I doing.
Your eyes are about to return to the book when he finally speaks.
“When I… When I’ve been sayin’ all that shit about you fuckin’ him─”
You shake your head, hating that you feel embarrassed now. “It’s fine, Simon,” you mutter. “You don’t have to apologise.”
“Nah, I do. You could’ve ripped my fucking head off, you should’ve.”
“You didn’t know.”
He can’t understand why you’re being so… lenient.
“I was a cunt.”
“So was I.” You pause, holding his gaze, then tilt your head, eyebrows rising. “Though I’m allowing myself to be now, because I’m seconds away from scratching at the walls and my own eyes.”
He makes a sound, almost a grunt, almost a chuckle.
“We’d better do somethin’ about that, then.”
You’re about to ask what when he gets up, moves over, and sits beside you. Taking the book from your hands, he tosses it onto the coffee table.
“Uh─” is all you can get out before he grips your chin with his fingers, lifts it as he lifts his mask over his mouth with his other hand, and then he kisses you.
You’re stunned.
For about three seconds, and then your lips move against his as you raise your hands and settle them on his shoulde─
“No, no…” he murmurs against your lips, catching your hands at the wrists and lifting them off his shoulders.
Tilting your head, your brow dips as your lips remain millimetres from his. “What, why?”
He’s looking at you, still holding your wrists. “You said we never just do this, so…”
Your head pulls back a little as you exhale a laugh. “Simon Riley, do you want to just make out with me? Should I call my parents, say I won’t be back for my curfew?”
“Shut the fuck up,” he mutters, attempting to do so by kissing you again.
You lean into it happily, and when he releases your wrists, you go to drape your arms around his neck.
“No, no, no…” He catches them again, pulling his head back, and moves your arms to your sides. “Hands down.”
You release a sound, one of protest, wrapped in a wanting whine that you hope might persuade him. “Why?”
He releases you, his hands going to rest on his thighs. “You wanted to kill some time, so, let’s see how long you can go without touching me, or needing anything else.”
You raise your eyebrows, looking him up and down. “You don’t think I could?”
With his mouth exposed, you get a rare look at his smirk. Your stomach flips, and you try so fucking hard to ignore it.
“Not even for a minute.”
You scoff, clasping your hands together in your lap. “Fine. It’s about time it was proved that you’re the needy one.”
“We’ll see.”
Fucking hell, the smirk is still there. You want to feel it all over your skin.
Leaning forward, you capture his lips in a firm kiss, your tongue instantly stroking. He immediately opens his mouth to you, and you give a pleased hum, tongue finding his. The only sounds in the room now are the fire, and the quiet sound of your mouths moving together.
You almost want to laugh.
It feels so… adolescent.
So… normal.
That’s a fucking weird thing to think.
You focus back on his lips, on his tongue sweeping into your mouth and, fuck, it might just be because of how long it’s been, how alone you’ve been, but you already want him so desperately.
Need him desperately.
Small, soft sounds escape from the back of your throat as you shift a little closer to him, and you feel his smirk.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…
Moving your hands behind your back, you clasp them together, and he chuckles lowly.
“Give in…” he murmurs, and you hum against his lips.
“No…”
You think he’s about to talk again when his lips move away, and your chin lifts as you try to chase them… and then you feel them moving along your jaw.
You release a breath as he kisses down your neck, swallowing lightly.
“That’s not fucking fair… I said we never just kiss…”
“This is kissing,” he mumbles against your skin, making it tingle.
“You’re a dirty fucking cheat, Simon Riley,” you breathe, tipping your head back as he kisses around to the other side.
“Never said I wasn’t.”
His teeth graze over your skin, and your nails dig into your palms as you arch your body closer to him.
Oh, fuck…
Your small moans and breaths are getting a little louder, and you hear his hand move, and you think, yes, you have him… but you don’t feel it. Opening your eyes, you see his hand resting on top of the couch. No, not resting, gripping it.
A smile pulls at your lips, and your gaze drops to his other hand on his thigh.
His fingertips are pressing in.
If you can just hold on a little longer, then maybe he’ll just─
He bites your neck.
You gasp, back arching, and, well, fuck.
“Oh, fuck it…” you breathe, your head tilting down as your arms go around his neck and your lips find his. “... Fine, please touch me, Simon, please.”
He chuckles against your lips as you move into his lap, straddling him.
“You’re the needy one, aren’t you?” he murmurs, hands still remaining off you.
“Yes, yes, I am, just fucking touch me.”
“Say it.”
“Fuck you,” you murmur, gripping at his jacket as your lips hover over his.
“Say it.”
You hadn’t realised you’d started to grind your hips against his, and, well, why are you denying you both?
Pushing your hips down on his, making his breathing halt minutely, you bite at his lower lip.
“Please, I’m the needy one, Simon, please touch me, I need you─”
His arm is around your lower back, the other hand gripping your waist, and he pushes you back, making you lie on the couch as he kneels over you, between your legs. They instantly wrap around him as he kisses you fiercely, his hand now running down your waist and hip, gripping your thigh. He kneads it firmly with his fingers, making you arch against him, and when you feel his hard cock pressing against you, you pull your lips away. You’re about to speak when his lips are on your neck again, and you have to take a moment, gathering whatever fucking brain cells are left in your head.
“Not… here…” you murmur, fingers gliding around the back of his neck. “... I want the bedroom.”
He gives a quiet groan, perhaps of annoyance, and lifts his head, looking down at you. “Fine. Get up there. Quickly.”
You push up onto your elbows as he sits back, a smile pulling at your lips as you arch an eyebrow. “Are you going to chase me up the stairs?”
“No.” His arm drapes across the back of the couch, his other hand on his thigh. “But if I get up there and you’re not lying on that bed naked, there’ll be consequences.”
Your smile widens. “I hope so.”
Before he can respond, you’re darting off the couch and out of the room. As he hears you go up the stairs, he closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and releases a long exhale.
His cock is fucking aching.
Fuck.
Reaching the top step, you move across the small landing and short corridor to the room at the end. Pushing the door open, you step in, immediately moving to the bedside table. It’s pitch-black outside now, so you flick the small lamp on, a warm, dim glow filling the room.
And then you move to the centre of the room, and stand there. Still.
You try to regulate your breathing as you hear him downstairs. Hear him near the stairs. Hear him move up them.
Even without his boots on he fucking thuds.
When he pushes the door open, you take in a quiet breath. He steps in, and looks you up and down.
“Well, well, well.”
He pushes the door shut, and starts moving towards you.
But your lifted finger makes him halt two steps from you.
“What.” He nearly snaps the word, and you smile, knowing he’s just as impatient as you.
“You can undress me.”
His eyebrows rise. “Can I, now.”
“That’s something else you never do.”
He grunts. “That’s a lie.”
“It’s not, you always tell me to take my clothes off.”
His head tilts. “I take your knickers off.”
Your lips lift higher. “And if you want to again, you’ll take everything else off.”
He exhales a short breath. “Fine. Come ‘ere.”
You moving towards him seems to be the compromise, so you do, lifting your arms above your head as your smile stays on your lips. His lips are pressed together and he grips the bottom of your long-sleeved shirt, yanking it up. It’s with no grace that he pulls it off, tossing it to the floor.
But he keeps his eyes on yours.
His hands are then at your back, unclasping your bra, and he catches the straps, pulling them down your arms and off. Your nipples were already hardening, but now they’re peaked, tight, desperate for attention.
He doesn’t look, though, just holds your gaze, and his hands move to your jeans next, unbuttoning then unzipping before he pushes them down. They stop just around your knees, and he looks at you expectantly, and you look right back at him, raising your eyebrows.
After a moment, he releases a breath, a sigh, and then kneels.
Gripping the jeans, he tugs them down, waiting for you to lift each foot before he pulls them off and lets them join your shirt and bra. His eyes return to yours when his fingers grip your panties. Your smile has gone, and you hope he can’t hear how breathless you are.
He pulls them down.
You can feel his fingertips gliding down your skin as he does, and your lower stomach clenches.
Waiting for each foot to lift again, he then removes them and tosses them aside.
You wait as he looks at you, trying not to move, trying not to push your hips forward.
And then he stands.
Looking down at you, his gaze holds yours.
“That what you wanted?”
“Yeah,” you breathe.
His head is suddenly lowering, capturing your lips in his, and you moan against them as his hands grip your hips. But you only indulge for a few seconds before your head is pulling back.
“Wait…”
“What now?” he snaps, keeping his face close to yours.
“Now you.”
His eyes narrow slightly, questioningly.
You nod at him. “You undress. Everything. Even the mask, if you feel like it.” You added the last part lightly, a gentle smile pulling at your lips.
You think he’s going to protest, to offer a compromise, but he straightens, lifts his hands, and unzips his jacket. And your eyes follow his hands, watching them pull the jacket off, letting it fall to your feet. They grip the bottom of his grey shirt next, pulling it up his body, over his head. Then to his trousers, unbuttoning and unzipping like he had yours, pushing them down along with his boxers, kicking them away. Then he straightens, hands by his sides.
And then you let your gaze travel over him. Over his muscles, over the scars you’ve only ever been able to glimpse quickly.
“What do you want now.”
Your eyes lift to his. The tightness in his jaw is the only give away that he’s uncomfortable.
“Can I touch you?”
You hold his gaze, and when he doesn’t say anything, you lift your hand slowly. When he still doesn’t say anything, you trace your fingertips so lightly down his chest, over some of the scars.
He’s still as stone, and, enough, you think.
“Kiss me.”
His head lowers instantly, hands cupping your face, and he kisses you hard. It almost steals the half-breath you’d been able to take between you saying it and him doing it. You don’t care, though, you just melt against him, arms wrapping around his waist.
What little patience he has seems to have reached its limit, though, as before you know it he’s walking you backwards and you feel the bed against your calves. You fall back onto the bed, shift yourself backwards a little until you’re fully on it, and his body is immediately on yours.
You part your lips, expecting his, but they go to your jaw instead, and he’s almost desperate with them, kissing down to your neck, down your shoulder, kissing over the bullet-hole scar there, then to your chest, your breasts, your nipples, sucking and pulling at them as you gasp, before he’s moving again, down your ribcage, down your stomach, down to your hips.
He’s never done this before.
Kissed you all over, taken his time.
It’s almost embarrassing how breathless it makes you.
He kisses down your thigh, near to your pussy, and you shift your hips in anticipation… but he just moves to the other thigh.
Your hands settle on his head as you realise once again how fucking long it’s been since something other than your fingers and the vibrator you’d made Soap buy you has touched you.
“Simon, please…” you moan, hooking a leg over his shoulder, trying to draw him in.
He grunts against your hip, placing a kiss there.
“I said there’d be consequences.”
You release an exasperated, desperate breath, draping your other leg over his other shoulder.
“Please, Simon, haven’t I been good?”
“You have.” He lifts his head, and places his hands either side of you, moving up and holding himself above you. “But not good enough. Keep quiet for five minutes, then we’ll see.”
Your eyebrows shoot up as your lips part.
“Five min─”
He tilts his head.
Well, it seems your time has begun.
Pressing your lips together, but unable to stop your smile from showing, you look up at him. He nods, then drops his gaze to your body, then brings it back to yours.
“Turn over.”
You do so instantly, settling on your stomach with your cheek resting against the bedcover, hands either side of your head.
Unable to see him, you just have to wait.
And then you feel his lips on the back of your neck. Your eyes fall shut instantly, your lips parting.
… Fucking hell…
They move down to your shoulder, where he kisses down the scar at your shoulder blade, then down your spine. And they’re slow kisses, kisses that are so at odds with the man you know.
He reaches your lower back, kisses over your ass cheeks, the backs of your thighs, back up to your lower back, to the curve of your hips, to your spine…
You’re practically moaning your breaths, but he hadn’t specified if you were to keep those quiet and you don’t dare ask so you try to muffle them, fisting the bedcover and pressing it against your mouth.
And then his lips are gone, but his hands are now at your thighs, spreading them, and you bite at the covers as he glides two fingers up and down your pussy.
“You’re so wet, love.”
His lips are suddenly against your ear, and you can’t help the moan you release.
“You haven’t, have you. I wonder if time’s up or not.” He kisses your cheek, just as he slides two fingers into you.
You cry out softly, and he doesn’t scold you so you moan again, feeling his breath against your cheek as he fucks you with his fingers.
His bare fingers.
You love when you can feel him. And it’s not just his fingers you can feel; you can feel his bare chest on your back, his bare knee against your thigh, his cock against your ass…
“Are you willing to risk it?” he murmurs, and the last of your paper-thin resolve snaps.
“Yes,” you breathe, turning your head and placing your hand on the back of his head, claiming his lips in a desperate kiss.
“You got lucky,” he mumbles into it. “Time was up thirty seconds ago.”
You’re just about to purr a retort when he slides his cock into your pussy.
“Oh, fuck…” you gasp, fingers curving into the mask as your back arches.
His mouth rests against your head and you can feel and hear the sharp breaths he exhales.
Has to have been a while for him, too.
You hope so.
He fucks you slowly, the way his cock drags in and out of you making your toes curl and your ass push back into him.
“Can you feel every inch of me?” he rumbles into your ear, and you nod, your hand now having fallen to his shoulder, nails digging in.
“Yes…”
“You like feeling every bit of my cock? Spreading you open? Making you feel good?”
You can only nod again, your focus torn between how fucking good it does feel, and how delicious his words are.
“Have you thought about me while fucking yourself? Has it been enough? Have you been satisfied? Or have you needed me?”
You hope they’re all rhetorical questions, because you don’t quite have the brain power to answer. His hand then slides under you, down your stomach, and finds your clit, rubbing slowly.
“Answer me.”
You’re nearly panting into the bedcover, squirming underneath him.
“Mm-hh… Fuck… I’ve needed you…”
“Say it again.”
“I’ve needed you, Simon, needed you so fucking badly, ne─…” You break off with a sharp inhale as he suddenly snaps his hips forward harder and faster, his fingers rubbing harder at your clit.
“Carry on.” You’re unable to register how strained his voice is, how desperate he is.
“You… Fuck… Needed you… Needed your cock, needed your mouth… Needed you… Need you… Oh, fuck… Oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh, fuck, Simon…”
It comes on suddenly, catching you unaware.
Fisting the bedcovers, you gasp as your hips try to jerk in the small space they have, and then your orgasm explodes inside you as you cry out loudly. He fucks you through it, gritting his teeth as your slick walls clench and grip at his cock. You cry out again as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through you and you missed this, missed all of this, missed him, missed it all, fuck.
As your mind blanks, you don’t realise you’re chanting his name, albeit somewhat incoherently.
He hears it, though.
His lips hover over your shoulder as he gradually starts to slow his hips, pulling his fingers away from your clit and resting his hand on the bed beside you.
Licking his lips, he looks at your closed eyes, your parted lips, now quiet save for your spent breaths.
“Really has been a while, hasn’t it,” he murmurs, almost more to himself. “That was a big one.”
You can only answer with a half moan, half groan.
A smile pulls at his lips, something he doesn’t want to give a name to rising within his chest momentarily. He kisses your shoulder, lips lingering before he quickly pulls his head back.
“Turn over.”
When he draws back from you, his cock pulling out, you have to lie there for a few moments, before you then roll onto your back.
Gazing up at him with half-lidded eyes, still trying to catch your breath, you watch his eyes rake over you.
“You look fucking good when you’ve been fucked.”
You give him a smile, raising your eyebrows a little. “No other time?”
“You’re all right the rest of the time.”
Your laugh glides into a moan when he slides his cock into you again.
“You can cum for me again, can’t you?” he murmurs, and your eyes nearly roll back into your head.
Fucking hell…
“Yes,” you moan, managing to keep your eyes open because you want to look at him.
You want to see him as he is now, eyes fixed on you, hips rocking into you. He doesn’t start slow this time, setting an already steady, firm pace. You’re nearly whining from how good it feels, the bliss from your orgasm only having died a little. You can hear him fucking into you, hear how wet you are, and it turns you on so fucking much.
You want more of him. You want to feel more.
Sliding your hands up his arms, you feel his muscles, sliding them over his solid shoulders, down to his chest, near his heart. Before they can get further, though, he catches one wrist, then the other, and then pins them down either side of your head.
You’re not too surprised; it’s the most he’s allowed you to touch him.
He keeps your wrists down, holding them there, and you give him a soft, breathless smile as you wiggle your fingers a little.
“Now who’s going to rub my clit? Do you not want me to cum on your cock again?”
His jaw is set, tight, and you know he’s trying to hold back, which makes you feel fucking incredible. Swiftly, he tugs your wrists higher, takes both of them in one hand, holds them down above your head, and moves his other hand down, immediately starting to rub swiftly at your swollen clit.
Your smile vanishes with a ragged moan, and he chuckles, though it catches in his throat slightly as he groans.
“So fucking demanding, aren’t you,” he hisses.
“I’m the demanding one?” you manage to say through moans, feeling your lower stomach twist and clench as another orgasm builds.
“Yeah, now cum on my fucking cock again.”
You can’t take your eyes from his as he fucks you hard. And he doesn’t stop talking, words flowing out of him through nearly gritted teeth.
“Come on, that’s it, come on my cock, let me feel you fucking squeeze me, make me fucking cum, too, let me feel you, let me feel your perfect fucking pussy squeeze me again, go on, love, you can do it, give me another one, let me feel you again, show me how fucking wet you can get, let me feel it on my cock as I fuck you open, yeah, you’re gunna cum, aren’t you, there we go, that’s a good girl, cum on my cock, let me feel you, go on…”
Your eyes roll back as they close and your mouth parts with a silent moan as your back arches, and then you cry out and ball your hands into fists as you cum, your body jerking as you automatically try to close your legs you’re so fucking sensitive.
“... good girl, good fucking girl…” he’s groaning, hips starting to stutter in their rhythm, but he doesn’t stop stroking your clit. “... give it all to me, yeah, that’s it…”
You’re nearly thrashing, knees pushing into his sides, and still he doesn’t stop playing with your clit and fucking you.
“Simon…” you gasp, staring at him, breathing high and short from the pleasure that’s spiralling through you, too fucking good. “... Please…”
It’s almost like a trigger, now. At your words, his head bows and he thrusts into you one last time, deep and hard, and he cums with an almost roar, teeth gritted together so tightly.
He cums so hard his hand has to leave your clit so he can grip the bedcover, his other hand squeezing your wrists tighter than he realises. You wince slightly but can bear it, and you watch him ride the waves of his release, his hips bucking a little. Feeling his cum inside you, you moan weakly, still trying to catch your breath.
“Fuck…” he exhales, and his eyes finally open, looking down at you.
You want to say something, but you don’t quite have the brain cells yet. Then, you feel his hand sliding up and down your thigh gently, and realise your legs are trembling a little.
Well. His ego will be singing about that.
“Deep breaths,” is all he says, though, and your gaze is held by his as you focus on your breathing, making yourself take a deep breath in, then out, then in, then out…
Your heart finally starts to slow, and when your breathing is normal again, you lift your chin to kiss him… when he pulls out. You grunt quietly from the sensation, and your gaze moves to the ceiling as he moves away, falling onto his back beside you.
He blows out a long breath as you lie there, and after a moment you move your hands from above your head, bringing them to settle on your stomach.
Silence now fills the room.
You let it. You don’t know what to say. You’ve had sex like that before, but… have you? The end, maybe, but not the beginning. He’s never done that before. And you don’t know why he has now.
Do you really need to know? a gentle voice whispers in your mind. Can’t it just be?
You suppose so.
“What was the job?”
His low voice startles you a little, and you turn your head to him.
“Hm?”
He’s looking up at the ceiling. “The job that Vitale wanted you to take but you didn’t.”
You look back at the ceiling, too. “Does it matter?”
He looks at you. “You’ve done all sorts of shit for him before. Must’ve been something really fucking bad if you said no, and it could help us figure out his next move.”
Silence.
After several moments, he gives up, looking at the ceiling. Well, he hadn’t exactly expected you to answer anyway, he’d just taken a chance, which was─
“You.”
It’s said so quietly
He keeps looking up. “... What?”
“You. You were the job.” You’re holding one of your fingers on your stomach. “He knew you were coming, and he wanted me to kill you. In front of him, with him watching. I nearly said yes, nearly lied to him, and then I’d leave the moment I could, run away, go somewhere where he couldn’t fucking find me, but… That place doesn’t exist, and I was… I was tired. Tired of being his fucking dog. And I couldn’t agree to that. Even if it was a lie.”
Silence.
You hadn’t meant to say so much, it had just come out. That seems to keep happening, and you don’t know why.
Ghost looks at you.
Then, rises up, leaning on one arm, and looks down at you.
Your eyes shift to him, looking up at him, searching his gaze.
“Thanks for not killing me,” he finally says.
You exhale a laugh, corners of your mouth lifting, and it feels very much needed. “Thanks for not leaving me for dead.”
“Guess we’re even then.”
“Yeah.”
He remains on his arm, looking down at you, and… he hasn’t covered his mouth yet.
Slowly, so slowly, you lift a hand, and he keeps his eyes on yours as you do.
Then, you gently glide the backs of your fingers along his jaw. You feel his stubble, the warmth of his skin. His bare skin.
“I never get to do this, either,” you murmur softly.
He’s silent, and he doesn’t move.
But then he leans down and kisses you, and it’s hard and firm and desperate in a way that you can’t place. Your arms wrapping around his neck, you moan softly.
“Touch me…”
“You ready to go again?” he gravels, his hand sliding across your stomach.
“I’m always ready.”
“That’s my girl.”
… That’s something he’s never said before.
Your arms are suddenly tightening around his neck as you kiss him intensely. And he returns it.
It feels different, this kiss.
All of this.
It’s frightening… and exhilarating.
As he settles on top of you, he takes your wrists again, pinning them once more.
And when his cock slides into you, one of his hands slides into yours.
—
The sound wakes you with a small jolt, a soft sound coming from your throat.
Oh, and you’d been having such a good sleep. Being thoroughly fucked will do that.
Inhaling a slow breath, you stretch your legs out a little as you blink your eyes open. You’re greeted by the sight of Ghost’s back, finding him still asleep. And if he is, well, then there’s nothing to worry about. Maybe it had been him, the bed creaking as he’d rolled over or something; you’re unused to sharing with someone now.
Turning onto your back, you stretch your legs out again, then look at the bedside table. The clock shows you it’s nearing 4am, and, well… you’re very much entitled to a lie-in tomorrow so that’s okay. Your throat is dry, though, which is annoying. It’s so warm in this bed.
Looking back over at Ghost, your gaze traces his form in the dark. You want to reach out and stroke his back, but you don’t want to wake him. Experience has taught you you’ll just have your head bitten off.
A smile pulling at your lips, you silently push the covers off and slide out of the bed. Finding your panties and shirt, you pull them on as you quietly open the door and head out. You’re silent as you move down the stairs, the house dark but warm. He can berate you about the heating bill all he likes, you won’t regret it one bit.
Heading into the kitchen, you find a glass and move to the sink, turning the tap on and filling it with water. Turning it off, you take a long sip, gazing out of the window as your other hand settles on the counter. His Jeep is still on the driveway, and beyond it, pines, everywhere, reaching up towards the dark sky. It’s littered with stars, and you’d spent many a night staring at them, bored out of your mind. Still, there would always be something beautiful abou─
You see it seconds before it nears.
Releasing the glass, you drop to the floor just as the bullet crashes through the window, raining shards of glass down into the sink and on you.
Covering your head, you grit your teeth as you hear the bullet imbed into either the wall or a cabinet behind you.
“Fuck,” you hiss as more bullets start to fly in.
You look to the hallway but you know it could be a risk; whoever it is could be running for the front door now, or getting ready to aim at it. And then what would you do? Your gun is in the living room, stupid, shouldn’t have just left it there, and you’d been allowed no other weapons.
Fuck.
“Stray?”
You hear his voice call down from the top of the stairs.
“I’m fine,” you yell above the bullets. “In a bit of a sticky situation, though.”
You hear him come down the stairs, are about to call out to him that that’s fucking stupid and risky, when he comes into view, in all his gear.
That had been quick.
He ducks as he reaches the bottom step, crouching right next to the front door, and gestures to you.
“Come ‘ere, it’s fine, the door’s reinforced.”
Right. That would have been good to know earlier.
Gritting your teeth again, you keep low and move swiftly over to him, ignoring the shards of glass that bite into your feet and palms.
When you reach him, he thrusts your trousers towards you.
“Here, put these on. Get your boots on, too.”
You swiftly do as you’re told, somewhat awkwardly in your crouched position. Grabbing your boots, you tug them on, lacing them up as quickly as you can as you look at him. He’s looking into the kitchen, looking at the bullets that are flying in, and you can just tell that he’s listening to someone in his earpiece.
“What the fuck’s going on?” you call to him. “Is it him? Is it Angelo?”
His gaze flicks over to you, and then he gives a slight nod, and you’re not sure if it’s to you, or whoever’s talking to him.
Then, he’s moving closer, grabbing your hand and shoving a key into it as he shouts, “Get to the living room, get your gun, and go out the back door! Get to the other side of the lake, go through the trees until you get to the clearing, Soap’s got a car waitin’!”
“Is it─”
“Go!” he shouts, pulling his hand from you.
Pressing your lips together, you don’t move.
“Is it Angelo?”
His jaw moves, and then he nods. “Yeah. But you’re gunna be all right, go.”
Fuck.
You’d known this day was going to come at some point, but now that it’s here…
“Keep me alive, Simon Riley,” you shout, before tearing your eyes from his and moving down the hall.
You keep low until you reach the living room, though you don’t straighten fully, some of the bullets flying through the archway. Grabbing your gun, you dart to the back door, unlock it, and pocket the key as you head out. Watching the treeline, you sprint across the snow-covered grass, just waiting for bullets to start whizzing around you. None come.
Yet.
Icy air fills your lungs, nearly burning them, but you keep running, reaching the lake and skirting around it. It’s uneven ground, especially with the snow, but you manage to keep your footing, heading on. You can still hear the gunfire at the house, more adding to it now, and you just hope it’s from Simon’s team and not Vitale’s.
Sprinting up a small incline, you reach the trees and dart in. Small pine-needles whip at your skin but you ignore them, heading to where you know the clearing is. Finally, you burst out into it, nearly sliding as you judder to a halt. Breathing hard, you scan it, to your left, your right, beyond the huge rock, beyond the trees, and there’s…
There’s nothing.
No car.
No Soap.
No sign of anyone.
Your brow dipping, you keep turning, keep searching, because any minute now, any minute, and he’ll appear, he’ll be right─
“Hey, sweetheart.”
You freeze. Stare ahead.
You hear footsteps behind you, crunching the snow. Disturbing it.
You release a breath.
You turn.
Angelo smiles widely as your gaze meets his, his hands on his hips.
“There she is.”
You release another breath; it shakes.
He holds his arms out, smile lingering. “You miss me?”
You don’t respond, can’t respond.
He tuts quietly, lowering his hands as he moves towards you, and in your peripheral vision you see some of his mercs in the trees.
They don’t bother you, though.
“Don’t worry,” he’s murmuring softly, coming closer. “Daddy’s here, and he’s gonna make it all better.”
He reaches out, grabs your wrist and pulls you closer, taking the gun from you with his other hand.
And you let him. Because you can’t move.
Half of your brain is screaming at you to, but you can’t.
He’s still smiling, and it’s tender and disgusting.
Gazing at you, he lifts his free hand and runs a fingertip from your temple, down your cheek, down to your jaw.
“You’re lookin’ good,” he murmurs, stopping his finger under your chin. “Better than last time, at least. Why don’t we get you─”
“Let her go.”
The barked command has Angelo spinning you suddenly, holding you back against him with his arm around your waist, and the barrel of the gun pressing against your temple. The mercs have raised their guns, too, but no one shoots.
No one shoots as Simon steps into the clearing, aiming a rifle at Angelo.
Angelo laughs, keeping his head angled behind yours. “Well, well, well. Our hero.”
“Let her go,” Simon commands again, and Angelo releases a weary sigh.
“No, I don’t think I wanna do that…” He moves his lips closer to your ear, lowering his voice, “... Do I, babe? See, he’s not a very nice guy…”
His arm moves from your stomach slowly, and he reaches into his coat pocket. No one moves as he pulls his phone out and unlocks the screen, holding it up so only you can see.
“Vitale, let her go,” Simon calls, but Angelo just leans his head against yours, and opens a message.
“Take a look at this, sweetheart…”
Your eyes flick from Simon to the screen.
There’s messages from an unknown number, the time stamps showing they were sent only a little while earlier.
There’s only six messages:
Hello cunt
You content for sloppy seconds?
Come and collect her. I’ve had my fill
And fuck if she just isn’t full of my cum
There’s co-ordinates you don’t recognise
And the last message is just a photo.
It’s of you, from the waist up, asleep. The sheet just covers your tits. The clock on the bedside table displays only a short while earlier. A few minutes before the messages were sent.
Just before something had roused you from your sleep.
An icy coldness that has nothing to do with the weather sweeps over you, starting at your scalp and going right down to your feet.
Your gaze slides to him. He’s looking at you, and you see… nothing.
Of course the car hadn’t been there.
Of course.
His… attention earlier now makes crystal-clear sense.
Guilt.
You didn’t know he was capable.
Vitale slips the phone back into his pocket as he sighs.
“Such a disappointment, isn’t it? It was so kind of you to let us track your phone, though, Ghost, a real time-saver.”
Ghost doesn’t answer, eyes flicking from the mercs to you.
You’re still staring at him.
Vitale’s still talking. “Why don’t we save even more time by you just putting that gun down, huh? Then you can come for a nice little drive with us.”
“Don’t think so.”
Ghost’s voice is tight, low.
You don’t move, don’t speak.
Vitale laughs. “Ah, I thought you were gonna say that─”
A burst of gunfire erupts close by.
Vitale shoves you aside as two mercs run to him, some others turning to where the sound had come from and firing as the remainders fire at Simon. He fires back, darting forward behind the rock.
When he reloads, he quickly looks to where you had fallen and… Finds nothing there. Just your tracks in the snow, heading into the trees.
“Fuck,” he hisses.
─
Your lungs are burning and your heart is pounding, but you keep running. You have no fucking idea where you’re going, but you have to keep moving. There has to be a fucking road at some point, or something that you can then start to follow.
You can still hear gunfire, though it sounds more distant.
Something slams into you, tackling you to the ground.
You cry out, narrowly avoiding your teeth cutting into your tongue. Immediately starting to fight, you manage to twist over onto your back and─
Ghost gazes down at you, trying to grab your arms.
“Stop it, Stray, just li─”
You get an arm free and punch him in the jaw.
He hisses, and tries to catch your─
You punch him again. Then you kick your legs out, manage to strike him in the thigh as you punch him once more.
He grunts, and you manage to scramble out from under him. Moving backwards, you then swiftly get to your feet, fists clenched as you breathe hard.
He rises, too, eyes fixed on you as he lifts his hands.
“Just let me─”
“Shut the fuck up.” You’re trembling, and you don’t know if it’s from rage, fear or the cold. “I’ve just been bait this whole time, haven’t I. You’ve just been waiting for the right moment.”
He’s silent. Lowers his hands.
Your lip curls into a snarl. “You fucking cunt. So kind of you to let me recover before he batters me again, though─”
“He’s not going to─”
“Yes, he will!” you seethe, voice echoing. Then, you scoff, a smile stretching across your lips. “Really well done, Simon. You managed to fool me. That’s very fucking impressive.”
“Stray, just come with me and get back to the house─”
He’d started moving towards you, and you step back, pointing a finger at him as your features twist with rage.
“If you come anywhere near me or touch me, I will fucking kill you.”
He stops, hands half-raised.
And you look at one another.
“Stray─” he starts to say, voice quiet and firm, when a car suddenly bursts out of the trees some distance behind you.
It throws up snow and frozen mud as it comes to a halt, and the door at the back opens. Vitale leans out, that smile on his lips as he arches an eyebrow.
“Where you goin’, sweetheart?”
You look at him. Then you look back to Ghost.
He’s still, his hand raised.
“Come on, Stray, let’s get back to the house.”
“Come on, sweetheart, not got much time!”
You know you don’t.
Gunfire and shouting is coming from the forest.
You look at Ghost.
You start walking backwards.
“Stray.”
You turn. You walk towards the car.
“Stray.”
You run.
“Stray!”
He stares at your back, watching you run towards the car.
And he has to.
He unshoulders his rifle, raises it, and fires.
Bullets whizz past you, and you keep running.
You don’t stop until you reach the car. Angelo laughs as you climb in, slamming the door shut behind you, and bullets start to batter against it.
“Drive!” Angelo shouts with glee and the car speeds forward.
You stare at the headrest in front of you, hands on your thighs, and you keep staring at it as the bullets lessen, then stop.
─
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Characters: Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female Reader
Rating: E, 18+ ONLY
Words: 6.2k
Summary: Ghost has a fine time making you admit you need want him.
A/N: Chapter Three of Six. A chapter posted every Monday!
Entire Story Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, enemies are lovers, porn with plot, they're not nice people, but are they
Chapter Tags: Angst, simon says some not nice things again, simon literally says, angst, dub-con, just to be safe, mdom, rough, nipple play, slight edging, hold the orgasm, multiple orgasms, throat holding, slight choking, slight overstimulation, biting, marking, gloves on, one spank, slight fight for dominance, a little switchy, reader gets one over on Simon, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie
Read on AO3
Stray Masterlist
Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites. I do not consent to my work being used for AI purposes.
─
Chapter Three - Club 31 High
“The shit people wear these days.”
“I don’t know, I think you’d look lovely in tassels.”
“Fuck off, Gaz.”
He hears Gaz chuckle in his earpiece, making him sigh as he adjusts his grip on his rifle, continuing to gaze through the scope at the street below.
More like back-alley, actually.
A short queue of masked people are waiting to be let through a rusting metal door, a big bloke with shades on even though it’s fucking night taking their names and checking them by speaking into a walkie.
“I think he’s more of a leather man.”
“Shut up, Soap.”
“Look at that handsome fucker there, arse out an’ all. There’s your look.”
“Can we keep the channels quiet, for fucks sake, there might─”
Ghost breaks off as a figure enters the field of his scope, striding down the alley, heels echoing.
He knows those heels.
And he’s never lucky enough for things to just be fucking coincidences.
“Ghost? What’s goin’ on?”
He exhales a long, exasperated breath as he follows the figure, thin-strapped black dress with thigh-high split touching the ground, the square, low cut neckline pushing the figure’s tits in and up tantalisingly, the silky black, wavy wig reaching down to the waist.
The mask that’s resting on top of it is the final giveaway.
Why can’t it just be a fucking coincidence.
“Ghost?” Gaz prompts.
“There's been a complication,” Ghost grits out.
The complication in question strides past the queue, and smiles at the bouncer who smiles and nods familiarly.
And when the door is opened for you, you look up, find him up on the roof, smile, and pull the half-skull mask down over your face.
And then you pass through the door.
“Fuck,” Ghost hisses, lifting his head and swiftly getting to his feet.
“What’s goin’ on?”
“Keep your eyes and ears out, boys. I’m goin’ in.”
─
Deep purple and blue lights flash quickly, and music blares. He can barely fucking see or hear. But thankfully he’s fitting right in, every single person here masked up and in either some kind of uniform, fancy suit or dress, or barely anything. Anyone and everyone is welcome here, as long as your name’s on the list.
His certainly hadn’t been, but they’d scoped out a back entrance earlier in the day, through the cellar, and he’d only had to evade a couple of bar staff before he’d found his way here.
‘Here’ is Club 31 High, as exclusive as they got, and probably fucking gorgeous to other people. Marble columns and floors, plush red seats and curtains, chandeliers, it seems more suited to opera and orchestras than the sultry, Deep House music that’s thumping throughout the chambers. People grind and rock against each other, off their faces on drugs or alcohol. He has to move around the edge of the rooms, passing people kissing, sucking cocks, fingering, and fully fucking in the darker corners.
Anything goes here, as long as your name’s on the list.
He scans each briefly illuminated face, trying to find yours, or, really, the mask you seem to think would be so fucking funny to wear. Some people grab at him along the way, trying to pull him onto the dance floors, or rub against him, caressing him. He passes by swiftly, trying to get through quickly without drawing too much attention. He’s spotted some bouncers here and there, and there’s got to be cameras everywhere, though how they can pick anything up is a wonder.
Gritting his teeth, he heads into another chamber, this one bigger, the ceiling higher. It’s even louder and darker in here, and, moving down the steps into it, he wishes he’d brought his fucking headset. It wouldn’t look so fucking weird to wear it here.
He scans the crowd, but it’s nearly fucking impossible, people are dancing too much and the lights are flashing too much and─
A hand slides across his lower back, around his side, and someone stands in front of him, both hands resting on his vest. He’s about to step away, disappear into the crowd, when his eyes lock with yours.
“Hello, Simon,” you say with a smile, though he lip-reads it rather than hears it.
How can anyone fucking hear in here.
As if hearing his thoughts, you slide your hands up, wrapping your arms around his neck, and only have to rise up a little higher due to the heels to rest your lips against his ear.
Even then he can only just hear you.
“I knew I'd get you out dancing one day.”
“The fuck are you doing here?” he shouts into your ear.
“Having a girl’s night. And we were told strictly no boyfriends, so shoo.”
Stepping back, you release him, smile lingering, and turn, melting into the crowd.
“Fuck sake…” he hisses, following after you swiftly.
People move out of the way, too far gone to be annoyed at being shoved. His eyes are fixed on the back of your head, and then, when you stop suddenly, he nearly collides with you as you turn to him. Raising your hands and arms above your head, you sway your hips, and he rolls his jaw.
“Let’s fucking go,” he shouts, knowing you can lip-read, too, though no one would have a hard time understanding him.
Your blood-red smile widens.
Turning around, he thinks you’re about to set off again when you actually take a step back.
And then you lean back against him, settle your hands on the back of his neck, and grind your ass back against his cock.
Raising his eyes to the pitch-black ceiling, he pushes out a harsh breath.
For fuck’s sake.
You don’t stop, rolling your hips, arching your back, able to find the beat of the noise and make it seem like music to him.
His fingers flex at his sides.
No, no, no.
Shoving you away, gritting his teeth, he watches as you turn to him, lips lifted in a wide smile.
A game, always a fucking game.
He can see you’re about to move again, disappear and have him searching like a fucking dog, and he won’t have that.
His hand darting out, he grips your upper arm and moves first instead, pulling you through the crowd. You don’t hit at him and if you’re shouting, he can’t hear it. Though you’re just as likely to not want to make a scene as him.
At the edge of the room, he spots someone heading out of a door into this room and heads to it, pulling you through it into a small, circular chamber. A marble table is at the centre, with dozens of white roses in a large vase resting on top of it, and as the door swings shut behind you, it does a fantastic job of muffling a large portion of the music. Not enough, though, and it’s still too public here. He pulls you towards another door, marvelling at how you still haven’t said a word, and pushes it open. There’s a long corridor, doors on the left, a mirror that stretches all the way down on it on the right. How anyone could see themselves in it is a mystery, though, as the lights are so dimmed you could barely see your own face.
Pushing the first door open, using the handle, he finds it’s a bathroom, a small, really fucking fancy one.
Perfect, but not this one. He pulls you down the corridor, right to the end, and you still don’t say a word, heels echoing.
Those fucking heels.
Reaching the final door, he pushes it open, finds it empty, and then pushes you in, releasing your arm. He steps through after, locking the door behind himself. It muffles all sound of the outside, he thinks most likely by design, these bathrooms not just for pissing and shitting, but fucking too.
And what a bathroom to fuck in. The toilet is to his left, the grandest he’s ever seen, made from the same marble as the floor and walls, a thick red rug is in the centre of the room, in front along the far wall is a plush red loveseat, and to his right, a marble counter stretches across the short wall along with a mirror, with a sink cut into it and what must be designer products in the corner. The light’s not as dim as it was out in the corridor, but it’s still low.
What he wouldn’t give for some clear fucking strip lighting.
His attention returning to you, he watches you, your hands behind your back, that fucking smile still in place.
Hang on, hands behind your back…
“Come here. Hands where I can see them.” He moves forward, and you raise your hands, empty, as you lift your chin and inhale a breath.
He thinks he might see your lips part before he bends down, but that’s probably just from taking the breath.
He can’t help his gaze from briefly dropping to your heels. Yeah, they’re the ones.
Leather, platform, thick straps, heavy gold buckles at the ankles.
He remembers the cold feel of them against his shoulders.
Shoving the memory away, he starts to roughly pat and feel at your legs, searching for weapons.
He hears you exhale a laugh, widening your legs obediently when he taps a hand from one to the other. “Oh, Simon, they take weapons at the door, they’re in the lovely cloakroom.”
“All of them?” His hand moves up the thigh where there isn’t the split, and he pauses when he feels steel against his gloves. Lifting his head, he arches an eyebrow at you, watches your smile widen, and then slides his fingers under the holster and pulls sharply, ripping the knife from your thigh. He tosses it behind him, making a mental note of where he thinks it lands. Moving his hands to the other thigh, then out onto the silk material of the dress, he slides his hands up your hips, over your stomach, around your back, and then to your waist.
It’s now your turn to arch an eyebrow as his hands near your chest, swiping between and under your tits.
“Do you really think I could conceal anything else in this?”
“Wouldn’t put it past you. Turn around.”
He makes you before you can, gripping your shoulder and spinning you to face the mirror. The sudden action makes you have to press your hands down onto the counter to steady yourself. Your lips twitch as he slides his hands up your hips and across your back. It’s cut low, though, to the middle of your shoulder blades, so it doesn’t take him long.
A hand moves up your bare skin, up the back of your neck, under the hair, feeling along the scalp of the wig.
You hum gently, closing your eyes as your lips twitch again, and his hand quickly leaves.
It goes instead to your mask, which he slides off, and inspects the inside.
“Really fucking funny, wearing this.”
You meet his gaze in the mirror. “Admit it, it turns you on.”
His lips press together, and he tosses the mask onto the counter. “What’re you doin’ here.”
“Well, I was very much enjoying myself, and then you just grabbed me like a brute and pulled me in her─”
“Stray.”
“Simon.”
You tilt your head, a smile lifting your lips as you gaze at him in the reflection.
He, though, is stone-still.
“It’s not fuckin’ funny anymore, Stray.”
Your eyebrows raise and your lips part in faux-surprise. “Oh, is this about what happened at the warehouse with Angelo?”
He hates the way you say the name, nearly purring it.
“You nearly had me and the boys killed.”
“But none of you did die, did you─”
“I said nearly.” The bark of his voice has you silencing yourself.
For a very brief moment.
“So, what, I’ve betrayed you, have I, Simon?” You snort. “That’s your own fault.”
He still hasn’t moved.
“Did you think I was going to hurt you. When we were there.”
Silence.
You’re looking at him in the reflection, mouth in a thin line, and he’s looking at you.
You don’t speak.
His mask and the dim lighting hides the flexing in his jaw.
“Do you think I’m gunna hurt you now?”
He needs to know.
He hopes you don’t fucking realise how much.
Silence stretches on again.
He doesn’t ask again, but you know he won’t move until you do.
You keep looking at him a little longer, though.
You did hurt me. You broke my heart. You betrayed me. And you don’t even know it.
Lifting your chin a little, you give him a light smile. “No. I wouldn’t let you.”
He exhales a breath, something easing in his chest but not enough. “Is that right. You know, you’ve put me in a fucking position here─”
“No, Simon, it’s you who’s put me in a position.”
Your far-too-pleased with yourself smile returns as you press your ass back against him.
His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t move. “I’ll finish. You’ve put me in a fucking position where I could, no, should, walk out of here, let you go, let this all be done. Or…” Suddenly, he grips your hip, hard enough that you hiss in a breath. “... I could repay you for what you did at the warehouse.”
You panic for a moment that Soap told him, but, no, the fury in his eyes tells you otherwise.
You know what a grateful Simon looks like.
“Repay me? You’ve just been moaning about how awful it was.”
“Well… You were working so hard to make it up to me, weren’t you.”
“‘Make it up to you’─”
“Grinding on my cock like that. You were practically begging for forgiveness.”
You laugh, your head tipping back slightly.
“Oh, you’re so─”
His hand suddenly darts up, gripping your jaw under your chin, tipping your head back further as he simultaneously takes a step forward, pressing you against the counter.
“No, you don’t get to fucking talk unless I tell you to,” he murmurs against your temple.
If you obey now, right now, then he knows you’re in; in once more in this twisted fucking game he should end but he just fucking can’t.
He watches you in the mirror.
Your eyes slide down to meet his.
And you don’t say a word.
He exhales a breath, dropping his chin a little so his lips are closer to your ear. “I’m gunna ruin you for him. It’ll be my cum leaking out of you, running down your sweet legs as you trot on back to him in those fucking heels.”
Fucking hell.
Your stomach twists deliciously as you gaze at him.
And you risk it.
“Is that a promise?”
You can’t see him smile as he allows this one insolence.
“It’s a given, love.”
Raising his other hand, he pulls the material mask over his mouth and then bites at your jaw and kisses down your neck.
You gasp and moan almost with relief as the hand then slides across your stomach until his forearm is against you, and he pulls you back further against him, closing the little space there is.
His vest causes you to have to arch your back though, your ass once more firmly against his cock, and he’s not going to fucking complain.
“Look in the mirror, look at yourself,” he murmurs, your eyes having fallen shut, and he bites at your jaw again as they snap open. “You’re going to watch all of this, and you’re gunna fuckin’ think about it while his cock’s inside you. You’ll be thinking of me and only me when you cum.”
Your breathing has sharpened, but there’s a burning in your eyes, some kind of anger there.
There’s probably a defensive quip for Vitale on your tongue, but you’re still behaving.
“Look at you, bein’ a good girl for me,” he murmurs, and your lips part on a sharp exhale.
He loves when you behave, almost as much as when you don’t.
His hand rises, and he tugs the neckline of the dress down, exposing your tits and making them lift higher. He rolls your nipples between his fingers, and he chuckles lowly as your knees buckle momentarily, a moan escaping you.
“Does he do this for you? He doesn’t strike me as a giver.” He moves his hand from your tits to your mouth, resting two gloved fingers against your lips. “Suck.”
You do, instantly, swirling your tongue as you find his eyes in the mirror.
“Yeah, good girl.” He indulges for a few moments longer, his cock twitching in anticipation and memory, and then he swiftly pulls his fingers away. Moving them back down to your nipples, he circles them with your saliva.
Your back arches as much as it can as you sigh out moans, remembering to keep your eyes open.
He mouths at your cheekbone, not giving you an inch of room. “How does that feel? Speak.”
“Good, so fucking good,” you breathe, trying to rock your hips back against him.
Ghost hums his approval lowly, breathing in the scent of your skin, a hint of fragrance there from whatever you’d put on it.
“I want you dripping,” he murmurs, twisting, pinching and pulling your nipples, going from one to the other. “I want you aching for my cock until you think you’ve gone mad. I want you begging for me.”
He can feel your pulse through his hand spread across your throat and neck, his fingers gripping at your jaw still.
It’s faster.
“Good, isn’t it, love. You dripping yet? Is your cunt soaked?”
Your body is on fire, his fingers so fucking good but it’s not enough.
Managing to turn your head closer to him the smallest amount, you try to find his lips, murmuring, nearly pleading, “Mmh, take your gloves off.”
He angles his head away. “They’re stayin on. And did I say you could talk?”
Suddenly his hand leaves your tits and grips the skirt of your dress, tugging it up over your ass roughly. You try not to appear too pleased as he chuckles.
“No knickers? You were wantin’ this, weren’t you? Wantin’ me?”
He brings a hand down on one of your ass cheeks, swiftly and sharply, tearing a soft cry from you.
“Speak.”
You exhale a laugh, unable to help yourself. “Your ego is almost as big as your─”
The grip on your throat tightens a little, for a moment.
“No smart words from you today, just the truth.”
The truth. How frightening.
Still, though, you smile.
“But that was the truth. And your cock is big.”
His lips are against your ear once more, voice low, demanding. “So tell me, then. You came here wanting it, didn’t you?”
You expect him to perhaps spank you again, play with your nipples maybe or caress your skin. But he gives you nothing. It’s maddening.
Licking your velvet-red lips, you exhale a long breath. “... Yes.”
You feel him smile.
“Good girl.”
He plunges two gloved fingers into your pussy.
“Oh, fuck,” you cry out, hands pressing against the counter.
He nips at your earlobe. “I’ll allow that, only because you sound so fucking sweet.”
His fingers move instantly, fucking you slow and deep.
And he barely takes a breath before speaking again.
“How many fingers does he need to stretch you properly? Dainty little things, weren’t they. Does he have to work hard, poor fucker.”
And, yes, the anger’s there again, burning in your eyes, and your teeth are biting into your lower lip.
It’s satisfying to him, as fucking twisted as it is, that you so clearly want to snap and yell at him, but you won’t. For him. Because he said you can’t.
It makes his cock so fucking hard.
He wants to see just how good you’ll be, how much you’ll obey him.
What will be your breaking point.
“Does he cum first, or does he make you first? Countless times, like I can, like I do. Does he know what you sound like when you’re desperate, out of your mind, overstimulated but fucking begging for more?”
He slips a third finger in, still moving them tantalisingly slowly but deeply as moans fall from your lips.
Yet despite giving them to him freely, anger is still clearly blazing in your half-lidded eyes.
And he can’t get enough.
“Do you moan and grip at him, beg him, hang on to him. Do you look up at him with those pretty fuckin’ eyes, beggin’ with them when your head’s too fuckin’ empty to form words? Do you─”
He catches himself.
Your words from the warehouse have been circling round and round in his mind since you spoke them.
And I love him─
Had that been it. Were you going to say that you love him fucking you.
Or that you love him. End of. Full stop.
He’d never know, and he hadn’t wanted to know.
He still doesn’t want to know.
Exhaling a harsh breath, he slips a fourth finger in.
Every breath you exhale is now a moan, one hand gripping at his forearm, and your other suddenly moves back, cupping the back of his head, your fingers pressing in.
He can feel your walls clenching around him, fluttering, and he groans against your ear.
“You gunna cum already? You been that desperate for me?”
He listens to you moan and mewl for a few moments longer, fingers flexing against your throat, before he orders, “Speak.”
Your legs are nearly trembling. “Yes.”
“Beg me. Ask me to cum.”
“Please, Simon, please can I cum, please, I need to, please─”
“Mmh, not yet. Hold it.”
You make a strained sound, eyes closing tight, and he fucking loves that you’re obeying.
But he doesn’t want to reward you. Not yet.
Lips against your ear once more, he watches you in the mirror. “Did he fuck you later, after we left, after we burned that place to the fucking ground. Did you ride him, did you tell him sweet little things to soothe his fuckin’ ego. Did you hold him─”
“Simon─”
“Did I say you could speak.”
There’s no anger in your eyes now, just…
Why would you be sad. He doesn’t fucking understand it.
Are you that attached to the fucker?
Whatever reason for it… he fucking hates seeing it.
Softening his grip on your jaw a little, he turns his head slightly, lips pressing against your cheek.
“How does this feel? Does your clit need some attention, is it aching for me? Speak.”
“Yes,” you breathe again, knees bending slightly for a moment as you try to rock your hips.
His hand finally releases your jaw and lowers, and he walks you back half a step to give himself the room to slip his hand down your stomach to the slit of your dress, yanking it up so his fingers can find your clit.
You gasp sharply as he strokes at it, your body jerking slightly as you hang on the precipice of your orgasm.
He watches you in the mirror, your eyes closed, mouth open, chest heaving.
And still you don’t allow yourself to cum.
Opening your eyes, though, you beg him with them.
Fuck…
He presses an almost kiss to your cheek. “Cum for me, love. Go on.”
You cry out as you grip at his head, your back arching, and you cum instantly. Your pussy squeezes at his fingers, gripping them tight, and he grunts against your skin, pressing another nearly-there kiss to it.
“That’s it, good girl, cum all over my glove, give me it all.”
Your body jerks as you moan, and when it finally goes slack, your head leaning back against him, he smiles.
“That was a big one, wasn’t it. You’ve been fuckin’ desperate for that.”
You just try and catch your breath, your fingertips softening on the back of his head. He pushes your head to the side with his own, then drops his lips to your neck.
“Speak,” he grunts as he bites your shoulder.
You inhale a shuddering breath, swallowing. “… Yes…”
“Good girl.” Pulling his fingers out of you, biting you again when you moan as they leave you, he groans lowly as he wipes his fingers on the ass cheek he’d slapped. “Good fuckin’ girl.”
You hum somewhat weakly in reply.
Not weak enough, though.
You gasp sharply and your hips buck as he starts to stroke your clit again. Your eyes snapping open, you lock your gaze with his.
“You’re gunna cum again for me,” he murmurs against your skin.
Still sensitive, your hips buck again, but he’s stroking so lightly, so gently, though that’s almost making it even better. His other hand slides over your stomach, his forearm holding you against him again, your hips now only able to jerk a little.
The blissful pleasure of your orgasm has only faded slightly, so with each stroke he gives, it rises a little higher… but… and you fucking curse yourself… it’s not enough.
And he knows it.
“Need somethin’ inside you, don’t you,” he says against your ear, still holding your gaze.
You nod, your breathing long, deep and shaking as you try to regulate it.
He exhales a breath. “Not yet. And this time, you’re not gunna take your eyes off yourself.”
Fucking hell…
Dropping your hand from his head, you flatten both palms against the counter and shift your gaze to your own, and he chuckles quietly.
“Good girl.”
His fingers quicken.
Your teeth grit as you try to stifle a sharp gasp.
“No, no, don’t be doing that…” He’s looking at you in the reflection still, head leaning against yours. “… You’re gunna look at yourself and you’re gunna be loud.”
The way he caresses, circles and strokes your clit, the leather of his glove slick against it…
You’re leaning your head into his, hips bucking, and you give in, mewling loud enough to fill the space because you don’t care, it just feels so good.
He’s biting at your shoulder and neck again, too, almost with a sense of frenzy.
And then he starts talking again.
“What does he say when I mark you like this? Do you hide it from him? Do you avoid him?”
Muscles in your jaw jump and flex as you grit your teeth tightly
His eyes flick up to you. “Speak.”
“Yes,” you grit out.
“And what does he say?”
You stare at yourself, eyelids fluttering a little as pleasure sparks through you.
“Speak.”
Your jaw is clenched tight, teeth pushing into each other.
Suddenly, you turn your head closer to his.
“Kiss me.”
“No,” is the instant answer.
He’s punishing you, and you know it.
It could be worse.
He could have left.
So why hasn’t he.
Why is he here, fucking you.
If you betrayed him, if he hates you that much, why is he here.
Why is he asking these questions.
Why does he care.
Does he care.
You’ll probably never know.
The anger that had been bubbling inside you, simmering in some kind of control, now explodes as you gaze at him.
How could he care.
Your elbow drives into his lower stomach, just under his vest, and then you slam your head back, the back of your head colliding with his nose and jaw.
“Fuck─ What the fuck─” he starts hissing, releasing you automatically.
Spinning, you shove him backwards.
“What─”
You shove him again, silent.
His brow is furrowed, eyes slightly wider. “Love, are you oka─”
You shove him again.
He falls back onto the loveseat with a grunt, and you straddle him instantly, gathering the silky material of the dress around your hips. His eyes narrow slightly in realisation then, his hands going to your thighs, gripping them.
“This what you want, huh─”
“Shut up,” you snap, releasing the skirt of the dress and tugging his belt open. “I don’t want to hear from you anymore.”
His mouth still exposed, you can now see the self-satisfied smirk he gives you. “You want my cock inside you instead, yeah.”
“Shut up.” You pull open the button of his trousers.
“You that desperate for me?”
“Shut up.” You yank the zip down.
“Do you cling at him like this─”
Your hand flies up, gripping his jaw.
Leaning closer, you hiss, “Shut the fuck up.”
His smirk is now gone, and an anger that nearly matches yours smoulders in his dark eyes.
And then he knocks your arm away, so you punch his shoulder, then grab at his throat, your other hand going for his trousers. He shoves your hand away from his throat so you use both hands to pull his cock out as he fists at your dress, lifting it higher to expose your pussy.
From this angle, he can see it glistening now, wet, open and ready for him.
“Christ…” he hisses through gritted teeth, watching you position his aching, flushed pink tip against your hole.
Watches you sink down on him, his cock disappearing inside you.
He makes a strained sound in the back of his throat, balling your dress up in his gloved fists.
“Yeah, you like that, don’t you, Simon,” you breathe, hands now firmly gripping his shoulders.
Fixing your gaze on his eyes, before he can answer you start to move your hips, and you don’t want to be slow, you don’t want to tease, you don’t want to give him any gentle satisfaction at all right now, so you set a hard, firm pace, riding him aggressively.
“I bet your cock was hard the moment you saw me, and the way you came running after me… Who’s the desperate one?”
His eyes flick up, locking with yours, and your entire body is taut, waiting for him to switch this once more, while also feeling pleasure burst and spark through you.
“I told him about your base and here you still are, fucking me, wanting me wet for you, marking me… like you don’t even care… and what if one of your boys had died─”
Snarling, he shoves your hands off his shoulders, grips them at the wrists and holds them at your sides.
“You’d better watch your mouth.”
You laugh, and you don’t know where it comes from. “Oh, have I hurt your feelings? I didn’t know you had any.”
He’s silent, the only sound his short, harsh breaths as you ride him.
You don’t look away. “Take the mask off.”
“No.”
“Take it off.”
“No─”
“Let me see you.”
He falls silent.
When he moves, it’s swift.
A hand darts up and grips the long hair of the wig, and he yanks, pulling your head back.
You cry out as your back arches, small, delicious bursts of pain sparking along your scalp where the wig is secured.
His other hand runs firmly down between your tits, to your stomach, to your hip, gripping it. It’s possessive, how he does it, and it pisses you off. Knocking his arm away so he releases the hair, you grip his shoulders again, nails digging in, and you lean forward until your forehead nearly presses against his mask, and you wrap your arms tightly around his neck, locking you in that position.
He pushes against your hip, trying to put some distance between you but you won’t let him.
“Look at me,” you hiss, and he does, stilling as your eyes lock on to each others.
And, somehow, neither of you speak.
You just look at each other.
His gaze is hard, jaw tight, and you just ride him as you grip at him. Ride and squeeze your walls around him until…
His lips part on an exhale, no, not an exhale… a moan.
Ghost moans.
The corners of your mouth lift into a breathless smile as you squeeze him again, desire surging through you.
He grits his teeth at the sight of your smile, low grunts coming from the back of his throat, hands now tight on your hips, and you feel something feral snarling and snapping its jaws inside you.
“Come on, come on, come on, come on…” you hear yourself murmuring, squeezing your slick walls around him every time your hips rise.
His mouth is open, fast, quiet breaths escaping him, and you want to kiss him, you want to bite at his lips, you want to have him kiss you fiercely and deeply in the way that shows you he cares, even if it’s just now, even if it’s just for a little while.
Your mouth hovering over his, you don’t, though.
Because he doesn’t kiss you.
Makes no move to.
Gasping as a wave of pleasure suddenly rolls through you, you realise one of his hands has moved, his gloved fingers now somewhat clumsily stroking at your clit.
There’s almost a sweetness to it; that he’s still wanting to give you pleasure, make you feel good despite both your previous words, despite the slight curling of your lip and his hardened eyes.
You hate him.
He probably hates you.
“Cum, cum for me…” you suddenly realise he’s groaning, fingers of his other hand gripping at your thigh, almost desperately.
Gritting your teeth, your nails bite into his shoulders.
You hate him, you hate him, you hate him, you hate him…
“Cum for me,” you hiss, the pace of your hips starting to stutter slightly as your orgasm nears, dangerously close.
He’s staring up at you, unable to stop small moans and grunts from falling from his open mouth.
“Love─”
“Cum in me,” you command, and he inhales a sharp breath, hand darting from your clit to your hip, gripping tight, and then his hips jerk as he cums.
His eyes squeeze shut as he exhales a deep, shuddering breath, and your own fall shut as you moan, feeling his cum deep inside you, and the thought of it, the feel of it, the knowledge that, yes, it will leak out of you exactly as he intended, has you cumming, too.
Your head falls forward, leaning against his, and you hear his short, sharp breaths as you mewl, his hand sliding from your hip to your lower back, fisting your dress there.
Your hips slow to a stop as he breathes hard against your shoulder, and you try to soften yours, your arms staying around him.
The only sound that now fills the room is his breathing, and you just listen to it. Just feel him against you, inside you.
His hand flattens against your back.
His fingertips press in a little.
Gentle.
You pull back, press your hands against his chest and push yourself off of him.
His cock slips out of you unceremoniously, and he grunts as it does, but you’ve already turned away, adjusting your dress and flattening it.
You hear the metal of his belt clanking together as he tucks his cock away, before he zips his trousers up then secures the belt.
Pulling the top of the dress up over your tits, adjusting them, you then smoothe the dress down. Running your hands down the wig, you run your tongue along your lips, feeling the lipstick having collected in some areas. Smoothing and spreading it out with your finger tips, you’re aware of how silent he is behind you.
You hate him.
“This was the last time,” you hear yourself say.
“Sure it was.”
Why is he still entertaining this, entertaining us.
You’re about to ask that exact question, snap, shout, scream it, when he speaks suddenly.
“You’re scared of Vitale, aren’t you.”
You still, hands paused in needlessly adjusting your dress again, eyes flicking up. Turning to him, you’re expressionless.
“What?”
He’s still sat down, hands resting on his thighs, mask back in place, eyes on you. “I saw it. At the warehouse. Why does he scare you.”
A corner of your mouth lifts a fraction. “Nothing scares me, Simon.”
“I did.”
You pause before you can catch yourself, so you make your mouth lift a little higher. “You didn’t. You startled me, there’s a difference.”
His eyes haven’t left you. “I know what I saw. On all accounts.”
Exhaling a breath, you push your hair over your shoulder. “Think what you like.” Turning away, you head towards the door.
“Stray.”
His tone has you halting, but you keep your back to him, staring at the door.
You hear him stand, take a few steps towards you.
“I know you were scared of me. I know that. What I don’t know…” You remain silent. “... What I don’t know is if you were scared for me.”
Silence.
He can’t believe he’s fucking said it.
Not even a proper question, just words, but words that have been rolling round and round in his mind incessantly.
He gazes at your back, that tautness in your shoulders, your waist moving as you breathe, your head slightly tilted down.
Then, you half turn to him… and there’s nothing on your features.
“Why would I be. I’m nothing but a whore, remember.”
A coldness spreads through his chest as he watches you go, his own, fucking regrettable words, in your voice, echoing in his mind.
─
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Stray is already soooo goood!!! I cannot wait for more do not bail on it 🤚
Aaaahhhh, thank you so much, lovely!! 😊 I'm so pleased you like it.
I won't be bailing, don't you worry, the whole story is planned and semi-written! Today's chapter will be coming tomorrow, however, as I'm a tired gal and I haven't finalised it yet. 😊
Characters: Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female Reader
Rating: E, 18+ ONLY
Words: 4.3k
Summary: Ghost has a fine time making you admit you need want him.
A/N: Chapter Two of Six. A chapter posted every Monday!
Entire Story Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, enemies are lovers, porn with plot, they're not nice people, but are they
Chapter Tags: Angst, they say horrible things to each other, non sexual choking, Simon tied up, threats, dirty talk, just a lot of angst and heartache, reader is threatened, it's non-sexual
Read on AO3
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Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites. I do not consent to my work being used for AI purposes.
─
Chapter Two - The Warehouse
It was the message you never thought you’d get.
You still don’t quite believe it.
But he’d never lie. Not about something like this, anyway.
Striding across the warehouse floor, passing SUVS, sealed tight crates and people standing or sitting around, all sorts of weaponry strapped to their bodies, you ignore some of the eyes that follow you.
If some of them are doubting, your presence confirms it’s true.
Reaching one of the many steel staircases, you walk up, the picture of ease and control. Inside, though, your heart is pounding and your mind is racing.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
At the top, you round the railing and shove a door open. Two men raise their heads, both sitting on chairs, using a small crate as a table to play a card game on, and the one to your left nods down the long corridor.
“Down there, last room.”
“Thanks.”
Heading down, you press your lips together, the strip lights above you blinking and flickering irritatingly. And, even more irritatingly, your heart’s still pounding.
Get your shit together, get your fucking game face on, and don’t hesitate.
Reaching the metal door, you straighten your back and knock twice on it.
“Come on in!” a voice calls, the Brooklyn accent muffled through the door.
Gripping the handle, you fix an easy, warm smile on your lips, push the door open, and step into the room.
And you fight hard to keep the smile there as your gaze lands on Ghost, in only his jacket, trousers and boots.
The masks are still on.
Okay. All right.
And then his eyes lock with yours.
Finding quiet, controlled rage there, you swiftly drop your gaze to his arms, which are tied behind his back, to the metal chair, and then down to his ankles, finding the same. Both wrists and ankles are tied by zip-ties, and you’d laugh at the absurdity of that if you were anywhere else.
If you were with anyone else.
“Ah, Stray, sweetheart.”
Your gaze lifts to the voice, and your smile widens.
“Well, hello there.”
Angelo Vitale returns your smile, white teeth almost glowing in the dim room as he lifts his hands, the gold ring on his little finger glinting.
“There she is.”
Raising your eyebrows, your eyes flick to Ghost before back to him. “I didn’t believe it when I read your message, but here we are.”
“Your pretty eyes don’t lie, sweetheart.”
“They certainly don’t.” Folding your arms, you keep looking at him as he now looks away to Ghost, grinning like he’s won the fucking lottery.
Which he has.
You don’t know how he’s fucking done it, but he has.
I suppose that’s what money can do for you.
Your gaze travels over his yellow silk shirt, pressed trousers, shining shoes.
It can get you a team of well-paid mercs.
Standing before Ghost, you try not to cringe as Angelo slaps his hand against the hard mask a couple of times.
“Caught ourselves the biggest fish in the lake, didn’t we? Your intel on the base was right.”
Ghost’s dark eyes snap to yours, and it’s with practised, painful ease that you can appear nonchalant.
“I wouldn’t have told you if it wasn’t, sir.”
You see the faintest movement of his jaw beneath the material mask.
Looking away, tilting your head, you smile at Angelo.
“Shall I get to it, then?”
“Y’know what…” Angelo inhales a breath, hands on his hips as he looks Ghost over. “... Think I wanna watch this one. See what you can do to make the legendary Ghost spill his guts.”
Ghost turns his head, tearing his gaze from yours, and looks up at him.
“Like to watch, do you?”
Angelo grins, placing his hands on his knees as he bends down, looking him in the eye. “Oh, yeah. I like to see what she uses, it’s like art.” He tilts his head, softening his voice as he exhales a breath. “Think I also wanna see what it is about her that keeps you comin’ back for more.” He lowers his voice a little more, turning his head to look at you. “It’s that sweet pussy, isn’t it? Can bring the greatest of killers to their knees.”
Ghost is looking at you, too, eyes hard, and you manage to stop your jaw from clenching.
Angelo turns his head back to him, nose almost brushing against the mask as he murmurs, “If you’re a good boy, you might even get to feel it later.”
Simon’s arms flex as his fingers tighten into fists behind his back, but he can’t stop looking at your fucking face.
Your fucking nonchalant face.
Angelo straightens suddenly, claps a hand down onto his shoulder. “What a nice treat that’d be, huh, big guy?”
Ghost finally tears his gaze away, looking up at him.
He wants to ram his knife into the man’s fucking throat, spill his blood all over that silk shirt.
He will, one day.
He’ll make you watch. Maybe then you won’t be so fucking nonchalant.
He knew you were a piece of work, but not to this extent. Telling this fucker about the base? He didn’t even know how the boys were, who was still alive. Vitale’s men had arrived swiftly, with barely any warning, and they were fucking good.
Now here he was, in this fucking shit show, with him, and you.
He looks over at you again, watches the mouth he’d so adored open, but knocking on the door halts you.
“Enter,” Vitale calls, hands sliding into his pockets as he steps away, and the door opens, a merc appearing in the doorway.
“War Lord, sir, there’s something you’ll want to see.”
“Ah, damn, all right, one sec.”
Ghost frowns as he looks over to Vitale. “‘War Lord?’ Thought you were War Dog.”
Vitale smiles down at him. “Not anymore.”
“You’ve rebranded then, like a fucking delivery service?”
Fucking hell, Simon.
Your fingers dig into your arm as Angelo laughs, smiling widely. The sound’s false to your ears, and your eyes don’t leave him as he moves closer to Ghost, shaking his head.
“You’re one fucking funny guy, huh?”
Before Ghost can respond, Angelo’s fist suddenly darts out, colliding with his jaw. Ghost’s head turns with the action, a small grunt sounding from him, and you will him to keep his fucking mouth shut.
But, of course, he doesn’t.
“Can only do that ‘cause I’m tied down, can’t you, mate.”
Angelo hisses out a breath as he punches him again. Then again, then again. In the same place, over and over.
And you just stand there, mind racing again as you grit your teeth.
But there’s nothing you can do. Not if you really want to keep him safe.
Finally, Angelo steps back, panting, strands of his dark, usually perfectly slicked back hair falling over his forehead, and he inhales a long breath, massaging his knuckles.
“Not laughing now, are you, buddy,” he smiles.
Then, licking his lips, he turns, heading towards the door.
Keep your mouth shut, please keep your mouth shut, please─
Ghost clears his throat. “Yeah, best to stop before you get your lovely little shirt all stained.”
Angelo spins, fist raising, and you swiftly step in front of him, smiling softly.
“Sir,” you murmur, hands stroking his biceps gently. “Leave some for me, yeah? He’s not worth it. Not worth you.”
Angelo, lips pressed together, nostrils flaring, stares at Ghost for a few moments longer before his gaze drifts to you, and your stomach roils slightly from how it softens.
“You’re right, sweetheart.” Lowering his fist, he cups your cheek. “Get what you can out of him. Make me proud.”
Dropping his hand, with one last look at Ghost, he then turns and strides out of the room, the merc shutting the door behind him. Having turned to watch him go, you move towards the door, locking it.
And you gaze at the door for a moment.
And then you turn, looking at Ghost.
He’s looking at you, blood slowly seeping through the cloth of the soft mask.
Still.
Silent.
The corners of your mouth lift into a gentle smile.
“So… The easy way or the hard way?”
“You told him about base?”
His voice is tight. He’s really fucking pissed, and, of course, you don’t blame him.
You shrug a shoulder as nonchalantly as you can, because you got here after them; before you could sweep the room for bugs or cameras.
“Should be more careful about where you leave your maps.”
A lie. He’s not careless, and Ghost’s eyes narrow because he fucking knows it, too.
You’d used other means, but neither the man in here or out there can know that.
“I don’t fuck─”
Inhaling a breath, you move closer with a faux-pout. “I’m a little insulted you don’t respect my skills and talents, Simon.” You stop by the table that’s shoved against the wall next to the door, tilting your head as you smile. “Well, I know you like some of them.”
Oh, he’s really fucking pissed.
“Why’re you still fuckin’ with that little fucker?”
“Jealous?” You laugh softly, chest twisting. “Tell me where the cache is. Before this gets messy.”
“I’m not telling you a fuckin’ thing.”
The way he’s looking at you, like you’re nothing more than scum… Well, you know you deserve it.
So you might as well go with it.
“All right. All right,” you murmur softly as you approach, and you lower to your knees before him, hands resting on his knees. And you caress them in small, gentle circles. “We can do this the easy way.”
His eyes haven’t left you, and you see the small movement of his throat as he swallows slightly. “Do you like doin’ this, hm? Whoring yourself out for him?”
Your hands stop. After a moment, a slow smile lifts your lips.
Then, you’re suddenly on your feet, no, you’re straddling him, sitting down heavily on his thighs. He couldn’t stop the grunt that escaped him as you had, his lips pressing together as you sigh and drape your arms around his neck.
“There’s that jealousy again, Ghost,” you tut softly, practically purring. “I just hate it…”
Your hips are moving slightly, and he clears his throat quietly as you grind against his cock. Your hand is cradling the back of his head, too, fingers gently stroking. Sighing again, you lean your head against his, lips close to his ear. It’s with a soft, breathy voice that you next speak.
“... You know… I could be all yours…”
He just can’t help his eyes from falling shut, your hips continuing to grind.
“… I could leave him… work with you, only you… serve you…”
His eyes open and he pulls his head back, arching it away. “Stop it.”
Drawing your own head back, you smile at him. “What’s wrong, Simon, darling? You don’t like the thought of me serving you? Only on my knees for you? Your cock being the only one I suck, the only one I cum on─”
You break off with a sharp inhale as he bucks his thighs suddenly, forcing you to grip his shoulders.
“Stop. It.” he gravels, and you exhale a laugh.
“Why? Getting you all excited? Can’t you control yourself?” Your hands glide down his shoulders to his chest, moving to the zip of his jacket. “Why don’t I help you with th─”
His thighs buck again, making you grip on, and he hisses, “Get your fucking hands off me.”
Tilting your head, you press your lips together, exhaling a breath through your nose.
“You know I could remove your mask right now, don’t you? I’m surprised they haven’t already, but, then again, Angelo loves mystery, suspense. But I could take it off now, bare your face to me, to him, to the world. But I’m not doing that, am I, Ghost. So give me something.”
He looks at you, brow furrowing a fraction.
“Why haven’t you? Why haven’t you ever?”
You smile. “Tell me something.”
“You tell me.”
You gaze at him.
He doesn’t say a word.
After a few moments, you exhale a laugh. “As much as I love playing this game with you, if you don’t tell me something, anything, then he’s going to come in here, and he’s not as charming as I am.”
“Send him in, think I’d rather him than you.”
“Big words from a big man.” You’re smiling, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Trust me, you don’t. Tell me.”
He realises then, suddenly, stupidly.
You’re scared of Vitale. Not just for yourself.
For him.
Pressing his lips together, he holds your gaze and murmurs, “If you get these ties off, I can get us out.”
You frown lightly, briefly, then your features shift into practised seduction, your head tipping back a little as you laugh.
“Oh, lovely. And where would we go, Ghost, hm? The Bahamas? No, I bet you’d love somewhere like Skeggy─”
“I mean it. You know we could both do it, together─”
“Stop it.”
The hissed words had left you so quickly, so quietly. Your lips barely move as you continue, “You can’t win this one, Simon. Don’t make me have to watch.”
He opens his mouth, when, suddenly, you’re off him. Sighing loudly, in one swift movement, you unbuckle your vest and drop it onto the table. Removing a phone from your belt, you blow out a loud breath as you tap away on it for a couple of moments, then you toss it onto the vest. Turning to him, you place your hands on your hips.
“Come on, then, the 141, what’s the 411 on that?”
“What─”
“What are you all up to at the moment?”
“You know I’m─”
“Why are you here?” Your eyes have narrowed suddenly, and you fold your arms as you step closer. “They’re just zip-ties, Simon, you could break them in your sleep. Is this all a ploy?”
“Stray─”
You sigh heavily and raise your eyebrows. “I can see you’re going to be stubborn. Though, having you all tied up here, all for me…” A slow smile lifts your lips. “... It really would be a waste.”
You step forward again, nearly infront of him, and he tips his head back, gazing up at you, and he hates─
There’s two hard knocks on the door.
“Stray,” a voice calls.
Vitale.
He snorts as your arms drop. “Go on, run to your master.”
Smiling, you turn your back to him, heading towards the door. “Enjoy the view.”
Unlocking the door, you open it and step out without another look at him. Moving into the corridor after closing the door, your smile lingers as you look at Vitale, his hands on his hips.
And he’s pissed.
Before you can speak, he does, eyebrows raised.
“What’s takin’ so fuckin’ long?”
“This is Ghost, sir. It’s not going to be like with others.”
“Oh, so you’re not the fucking best at what you do, then? You’ve lied to me, countless times? Why the fuck do I keep you around then?”
Whatever it was the merc had to show him, it’s rattled him, and you can’t have his mood escalating.
Not with Simon here.
Softening your voice, you step closer to him. “Sir, I only meant that it will take a little longer. It will happen, I will find out for you.”
He shrugs briefly, staring at you. “How long we talkin’, then? Couple minutes, hours? Days?”
“No, not days─”
“How long, then?”
“Within the hour.”
He sighs heavily. “You have half an hour. Fuckin’ do something.”
You nod. “Yes, sir.”
Pressing his lips together, he then tuts as he drops his hands. “Hey, hey, come here…” When you step closer, he cups your face, tone softer when he continues. “You are the best at what you do, all right. I didn’t mean to be a dick.”
You smile softly. “I know, sir.”
“Hm.” His gaze drifts over your face, thumbs moving slightly against your cheekbones. “You gonna come to my room tonight?”
You shift your smile to a gentle, kind smirk. “Sir, you know I don’t mix business and pleasure.”
He sighs heavily again, blowing out the breath as his thumbs continue brushing against your skin. “I know. I know that. You only fuck for business. Maybe I’ll put a job out on myself one day, then I’ll get what I want.”
You manage a laugh, an easy smile. “Maybe you should, sir.”
“Hm.” He’s smiling, too. Then his brow dips a little, the smile lingering. “You don’t enjoy fucking him, do you?”
You’re quick, making your eyebrows rise. “Of course not. That’s just business. Certainly not pleasure.”
“Uh-huh…” His thumbs are still stroking your cheeks. “… and in all the times you’ve fucked him…” One hand moves, cupping the back of your head. “… you’ve not been able to give me a single piece…” The long fingers of his other hand have slipped down to your neck, where they squeeze. “… of useful information.”
You hold your ground, exhaling a strained breath.
“Sir…” you rasp. “… I gave you… the base location…”
“Oh, yeah. That was good.”
He holds you for a few moments longer, staring at you, then, he releases you, hands dropping to his sides.
You inhale quick breaths as quietly as you can, licking your lips, and he smiles widely.
“Let’s get somethin’ even better this time, huh. ‘cause you know what I’ll fuckin’ do to you if you don’t, all right.”
You nod, smiling lightly. “Of course, sir.”
“Don’t disappoint me. 30 minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
He waves a hand at you, his other pulling his phone out of his pocket as he turns away, heading down the corridor.
“Go on, go, be brilliant.”
Watching his retreating back, you then turn to the door, your smile falling the moment you do, and you swallow hard.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Think.
Opening the door, you step back into the room and close it behind you, locking it. Ghost’s eyes flick to you, his head lifting.
“You done sucking him off? That didn’t take long.”
You shove away the all too fucking familiar pang in your chest, the ache, the anger… No… You keep the anger.
“Yeah, actually, he likes to be edged all day. Then I let him fuck me at the end of it.”
He just grunts, disgust faintly in his gaze, and you just fucking…
Striding across the room, you sit down heavily in his lap again, straddling him, and drape your arms around his neck once more.
He’s pulled his head back a little, frowning. “Fuck off─”
“Where were we?”
Angling your head, you press a firm kiss to his lips through the material mask. You taste blood.
He grunts, trying to pull his head back further, and then you pull back, gazing at him.
“You’re fuckin’ mental, do you─”
You shove off his hard mask, gripping it in your hand.
It’s minute, but you feel him stiffen under you.
There’s a pang again. The one you hate the most.
Sadness.
Gazing at him, after a few moments you lean over a little, placing the mask on the table, and then you turn back to him. He’s silent now, watching you, stone-still.
Lifting your hands, you keep your eyes on his as you gently and slowly fold up the material mask until his mouth is exposed. There’s bruises already forming along his jaw. His split lips are parted a little, and you can feel the small, shallow breaths he’s taking. Almost like he’s holding them.
You lower your hands.
He doesn’t speak.
Neither do you.
Then, reaching forward, you kiss him gently.
Then again, then again, then again, capturing his lips in soft, short kisses.
Your eyes have closed so you can’t see if his have, and your hands settle on his shoulders, and you almost don’t want to look, anyway, don’t want to know. You just kiss him over and over and over─
He pulls his head back, practically recoiling.
“What’re you fuckin’ playin’ at?”
Opening your eyes, you gaze at him, hate the confusion and disgust you find again.
“We never do this, do we,” you murmur softly. “Just kiss. I think I’d like to, while I have you here.”
He stares at you. Then his brow furrows.
“Did he teach you this technique?”
Now you stare at him. And then you smile.
“Do you want me to show you what he’s taught me?” Suddenly you grip the back of his neck and lean closer, murmuring into his ear, “Do you want me to show you the filthy things I do for him? What I say? How I moan for him?”
He’s pulling against the ties, and it gives you a twisted sense of satisfaction.
Maybe this is your new technique.
Using his imagination.
Licking your lips, you continue softly, “I wait for him, naked, my legs spread. Pussy dripping. I ache for his touch, his mouth, his tongue. He buys me lingerie. Delicate little things that he likes to rip off my body. And then I let him use me however he likes, and I love it.”
“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, trying to put some distance between you both, but he can’t.
You angle your head even further towards him, lips caressing the shell of his ear. “Oh, do you not like hearing about this? Thinking about it? Picture it, Ghost, me spread on his bed, his cock inside me, me moaning his name─”
He bucks his thighs once more, forcing your head back so you have to look at him. Fire burns in his eyes, unfiltered, uncaring.
“Thanks for reminding me that you’re nothin’ but a whore. You fuckin’ deserve each other.”
You stare at him.
Your heart shatters.
Sadness slips from your bones… and it roils, contorts, burns itself into cold fury.
You lean closer.
“I think we do, Simon. Because I can touch his face. I caress it when he’s done fucking me, when his cum is leaking out of me I kiss every inch of it and I love him─”
It happens so quickly.
He grunts harshly as the cable ties securing his wrists snap and suddenly you’re off of his lap with a gasp, the ones securing his ankles also snapping, and then he’s surging forward and you’re surging backwards, almost stumbling over your feet until your back hits against the cold tiled wall, forcing another sharp gasp from you, and you’re trapped between it and him.
And he towers over you, staring down at you, chest nearly heaving as much as your own, and you hadn’t caught your expression in time.
Eyes wide, lips parted.
Startled.
Frightened.
You’d gone too far, and you know it.
Whatever happens next, you deserve it.
He’s still just staring at you, and you don’t dare look away from his gaze.
Waiting.
And then, finally, he speaks, voice so, so quiet.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
Swallowing, you inhale a slightly shaking breath.
“Simon, I─”
Gunshots break out in the distance, echoing.
Both your heads snap to the door.
Gunfire. Fighting. This you can handle.
It’s enough for you to pull yourself together.
Just about.
Looking at him, you inhale a quietly trembling breath. “Aren’t you a lucky boy.”
And then you’re darting past him, shoulder knocking into his arm, striding for the door, grabbing your vest and phone on the way.
And he lets you leave.
Your heart pounds as you unlock the door, yank it open and step out. The lights are flickering even more, parts of the corridor in darkness, but you stride down it without another thought, swiftly pulling your vest on and securing it.
Keep going, get out.
Think later.
Feel later.
You stride past doors and the place the mercs had been, cards scattered across the crate, the chairs on the floor. You can hear the gunfire coming from below, from the warehouse floor, but you carry on, shoving your phone back onto your belt.
Vitale will already be gone, his bodyguards, the nastiest of the fuckers here, will have got him out. They never come for you.
Turning a corner, you think of the nearest and quickest roads, which safehouse will be best, or wheth─
You sense him a second too late.
A hard body rams into you, shoving you back, a forearm against your throat pinning you against the wall.
“Where is he, Stray?” Soap hisses.
You sigh, lifting your chin to try and take in a full breath.
“Is that your gun or are you just happy to see me, gorgeous?”
He snorts, pressing his gun harder into your stomach. “Don’t flatter yourself. Where is he?”
“Room down at the end.”
“In one piece?”
You flash a smile. “If you’re quick.”
Pressing his lips together, he then releases you, stepping back.
“Funny.” His jaw moves as you rub at your neck. “Suppose I should be cordial and thank ye for the coordinates, saved us a lot of time.”
You drop your hand, inclining your head. “You’re welcome.”
“He’ll be fuckin’ thrilled ye─”
“Don’t tell him.” You’d snapped the order, eyes darting to lock with his.
He lifts both hands in a gesture of surrender, eyebrows high. “All right, all right. Jesus. Something wrong with ye. Both of ye.”
“Thanks, you’ve saved me a lifetime of therapy.”
Suddenly, a door slams open around the corner from the way you’d come, gunfire spilling into it.
You look at him, and he steps aside, jerking his head to the way he’d come. “Go.”
You treat him to a small, genuine smile.
“Thanks.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Suppose we’ll be seein’ ye again soon.”
“If you’re lucky.”
Striding past him, you break out into a jog, hearing him do the same as he heads towards the fighting.
Shoving a door open, you move down some backstairs as you press your lips together, pangs thudding through your ribcage.
Yeah, if you were lucky, and I wasn’t so fucking stupid, you’d never see me again.
─
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Characters: Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female Reader
Rating: E, 18+ ONLY
Words: 5k
Summary: Ghost has a fine time making you admit you need want him.
A/N: Chapter One of Six. A chapter posted every Monday!
Entire Story Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, enemies are lovers, porn with plot, they're not nice people, but are they
Chapter Tags: Dub-con, only because reader says no when she really means yes, slight degradation, affectionate degradation if you will, praise, praise kink, biting, marking, use of love/ma’am/kitten/slut/good girl, belt around back of neck but no choking, cock-drunk, MDom, maybe even a bit of gentle MDom, rough, dirty talk, man-handling, gloves, fingering, blow-job, deep-throat, unprotected sex, slight possesiveness, permission to cum kind of, creampie
Read on AO3
Stray Masterlist
Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites. I do not consent to my work being used for AI purposes.
─
Chapter One - The Safehouse
His boots thud on every step of the wooden stairs, echoing a little in the stairwell.
Bone fucking tired, he's opted for the nearest safehouse; a flat in a crumbling, shitty block. It's one of the smaller ones in the area, but it's quiet, got some good escape routes.
Still, habits being habits and training being training, he'd scoped out the surrounding area anyway, finding it quiet, not a soul around. No threats. Not really a place you'd want to be out in after dark, anyway.
You might bump into someone like him.
He softens his steps as he approaches the front door, pulling the key out a pocket on his trousers. Nothing on the seal suggests interference, and there's no sign of tampering on the lock so, really fucking ready to put his head down, he unlocks it, opens it, steps a boot inside─
And pauses.
Music.
There’s fucking music.
Coming from down the hall, in the kitchen.
It couldn't be one of the others, this is one of his safes.
Fuck.
It's the last thing he fucking wants or needs, whatever this is.
Silently, he steps fully through the door, closing it behind himself. Unholstering his largest knife and a handgun, he squares his shoulders and moves down the hall. Entering the kitchen, his eyes dart about the small space. There’s the battered radio, his radio, sat on the centre of the circular table, soft jazz music playing from it. It’s so old the sound is slightly distorted, the instruments crackling.
There’s pots in the sink, too.
What the fuck…
Someone's made themselves a nice fucking meal.
And the shower's running too.
Lifting his eyes to the door ahead, his jaw moves as he stills.
A distraction or someone's actually having a fucking shower in his safe house?
Adjusting his grip on his weapons, he nears the door─
The water stops.
There's the distinct, faint squeaking of the taps as they're tightened shut, and then the sound of the curtain being pushed aside.
He decides to wait instead of barrelling in, not knowing what he could be facing.
Could be a civilian squatting.
Could be a fucking psychopath.
Steeling himself either way, next comes the sound of the door unlocking, then the handle's being pushed down and it's opened and─
You stand there.
Paused in the doorway, unsurprised.
In a robe. A fucking plush white, looks like it came from a spa, too fucking big for you, robe. Of course it's not fucking his, which means you actually brought it here yourself. He'd've laughed if he wasn't so pissed off.
And then you smile.
Fucking psychopath it is, then.
“Hello, Simon.”
“Stray.”
Of course it fuckin’ is.
Short for Stray Cat, you’ve been so named through the channels, and never supplied any other, because you belong to no unit, are loyal to no one, instead aligning with the highest bidder.
Should be because you just fucking turn up when you like and use other people's shit.
“The fuck are you doing here?”
You shrug. “I was in the area. You can put those down.”
He's not sure he can yet, but he does. Holstering both weapons, he remains where he is, watching you move into the kitchen, grabbing the kettle and filling it with water like you fucking own the place.
“Cup of tea?”
“Nah.” His eyes don’t leave you.
You, on the other hand, have your back to him. “Sure? I found some bags of Earl Grey─”
“I'm sure. Why are you here.”
Flicking the tap off, you shut the lid of the kettle and settle it back on it’s holder. “I needed a shower.” You glance at him, lips twitching. “And I like the head on that one.”
He grunts. “How'd you get in.”
“Reveal my secrets?” You flick the kettle on and turn to him, folding your arms as you lean back against the counter. “You know better than that, Simon.”
He presses his lips together, an action you can't see but can practically sense at this point. Your lips twitching again, you tilt your head.
“You're looking well.”
He doesn't answer.
“Tough job wasn't it?”
His eyes narrow a fraction. “What do you know?”
You tut lowly as the bubbling of the heating water grows louder. “I asked first.”
“Actually, I asked first, and I'll ask again: What the fuck are you doin’ here?”
The kettle reaches its boiling crescendo and flicks off, and you smile as you turn to it.
“Sure you don't want Earl Grey? There's no milk and even you surely can't stomach milkless Builder’s.”
“I don't want one,” he grunts as you set two mugs down.
You glance at him over your shoulder, the robe sliding off it a little as you drop a bag into each mug. “I'm not going to poison you, Simon, not intimate enough for me.”
He opens his mouth to snap a retort, when his gaze catches the drop of water that slides down your neck. His teeth grit momentarily as he follows it, watching it disappear under your robe, most likely about to slide down to─
His brow twitches into a frown as he sees it.
“What's that?”
Placing the kettle down after pouring water in each mug, raising your eyebrows, you look over your shoulder again, then tilt your head down to where his gaze is.
“Oh, nothing.” You grip the robe, pulling it back up. “Don't suppose you have any lemons hidden away?”
His eyes are on the back of your head, and you feel it.
“That's new.”
“And?” Scooping the bags out of the boiling water with two fingers, you half turn, tossing them into the sink.
And you've forgotten how quick he can be.
Before you can turn back, he's closer, grabbing your extended arm at the bicep with a gloved hand.
“Ghost─”
His other hand yanks the robe off your shoulder again, lower this time, giving him a full view of the fresh, jagged, angry scar that stretches the length of your shoulder blade.
He exhales a harsh breath through his nose, mouth in a thin line.
“What─”
“Get off.”
He lets you shove him away, the hand that had pulling the robe up once more. He watches you as you adjust the cord at your waist, tightening it. All humour has vanished from you now as you tear your gaze from his, turning back to the mugs.
You’re pissed off now and he doesn’t even want to start fucking analysing why.
Silence descends as you shove the mug you’d prepared for him along the counter, water sloshing over the sides, and lift your own to your lips, taking a small sip from it.
He releases a long breath, hands settling on his belt.
“Was it from one of his jobs.”
“I'm fine, Simon,” you mutter, taking another sip.
“Why have you come running to me, then.”
You scoff, setting the mug down and turning suddenly to him, an incredulous smile on your lips.
“You think that's what this is?”
His head tilts minutely. “I know it is.”
You laugh, folding your arms as you lean back against the counter again. “You're so cute. I was just in the neighbourhood.”
“You're never ‘just in the neighbourhood’, Stray.”
“‘cause you're the authority on me, are you?”
“I know what can make you cum, that tells me everything I need to know.”
You stare at him. Then, you snort, a wide smile spreading across your lips as you reach for your mug.
“Very cute, Simon.”
He watches your lips settle over the rim of the mug, watches your throat move as you swallow.
Well, seeing as he won’t get the sleep he wants…
“You know…” Exhaling a breath, he pulls his headset off and sets it down on the circular table. “... You’re still a fucking shit liar.”
“I’m not, I do think you’re cute.”
You’re smiling again, pleased with your funny little quip, you’re always pleased with them, and it doesn’t falter as he moves closer.
“Well, now I know that is the truth…” It does falter slightly as he takes the mug from your hands, places it on the counter behind you, where his hand then rests, arm nearly brushing against yours. Tilting his head down to look at you, you have to tip yours back. “... That’s why you’re here, isn’t it. He can make you dance to his tune, but he can't give you what you need. What you crave.”
Your smile has eased, but he sees the darkening in your eyes. “Your presumptuousness is grating.”
“Leave then.”
You don’t move. Predictably.
Your arms are by your sides, and he’s already noted the quickening of your breath, your chest rising and falling a little faster. And your smile’s gone.
He shifts his weight to one foot, leaning more on the hand behind you, leaning closer.
“Go on,” he murmurs. “Play your little game, mouse. We both know how it's going to end. Or I could just…”
You inhale sharply as suddenly his other hand is at your inner thigh, making your hands flatten against the counter door behind you.
Movement around his eyes suggests he’s smiling.
Fuck, you hate being too easy.
Gritting your teeth, you lift your chin a little more, silent.
He releases a sound, almost a chuckle. His gloved fingers glide against your sensitive skin, tracing up and down, and you hate that he can probably see how tight your jaw is.
“Tell me you want it,” he murmurs.
You lick your lips. “No.”
“No?”
His fingers inch higher, so close to your aching pussy.
Your lips part. “No…” You lift a hand to his face. Then, you grip the material of his cloth mask.
Instinctively, his hand darts up from your thigh, gripping your wrist tightly.
You still, gazing at him. After a moment, you lick your lips again.
“Just want your mouth, Ghost. Please,” you murmur.
He stares at you.
Then, his grip loosens.
“Did you just fuckin’ say ‘please’?”
“Shut up.”
Pushing his hard mask up and off, and the material one up off his mouth, you then claim his lips. He groans against your mouth as he hears his mask clatter to the floor, your arms wrapping around his neck. Sliding his arms around your waist, he tugs you against him, making your lips part with a gasp.
“Always so fucking needy, aren’t you,” he rumbles as you bite at his lower lip.
“Funny, I thought that was your hard cock I can feel…” you breathe, trailing off with another gasp and a smile as he tightens his grip on you.
“Shut up.”
He kisses you fiercely, so hard it’s almost bruising.
You love it.
Rising up on your toes, you press as hard against him as you can, and he holds you there, but it’s not enough.
“… stupid, fucking vest…” you hiss as you draw back suddenly, and then your hands are fumbling with the fastenings. He just watches you, hands gripping at your waist.
“Thought you liked feeling it against your tits.”
“Not today.”
Shoving it off of him, it joining his mask on the floor, you return to your position, and… yes… it will do.
He’s never gotten entirely naked with you, and it drives you insane sometimes, but you don’t dare to push, lest he make you stop completely, so you don’t try today, just let him take the lead.
And he does.
He captures your lips in one, long, firm kiss that nearly steals all the breath from your lungs before he’s kissing down your chin, jaw and neck, making your head tip back.
Well, kissing is generous, it’s more like he’s biting and sucking.
Trapped between him and the counter, all you can do is arch against him as he mouths at your skin, your eyes closed, mouth open, harsh breaths escaping you.
“Beg for me,” he mumbles against your skin.
“No…” you breathe, and his hand is suddenly between you, pulling at the robe cord.
Parting it, his gloved hand glides from your stomach, up over your tits and down to your hip
“Beg.”
“No…” Even you would admit how breathy and pathetic the single word sounded.
He bites down where your neck meets your shoulder, making you cry out softly, and then his fingers are tugging at your hard nipple.
“Beg for me, then I’ll give you what you want,” he murmurs into your ear.
All you do is moan, gripping at his biceps.
“Mmh… I…”
“Beg, love, then I’ll play with your needy, puffy little cunt.”
Turning your head closer to his, you bite hard at his jaw, your saliva slicking the skin and stubble there as you moan, and he knows he nearly has you.
“You want that, don’t you, love… Want my fingers stroking your aching little clit… My cock stretching your hole open…”
You would be embarrassed at the moan you release but you don’t care.
“Simon…” you breathe, and he presses an almost soft, open-mouthed kiss to a bite-mark that’s forming, and you crumble. “… Please, I want that, I want you, please─”
Snarling, he grips your waist and spins you, walking you backwards swiftly and shoving you against the table. Gasping as your hip bumps against a chair, you gaze up at him with half-lidded eyes as he shoves you up, making you sit on the table. Falling back onto your forearms, you send the radio and his headset clattering to the floor.
One of them sounds like it breaks, probably the radio from how the music suddenly cuts off; you don’t care.
“You’re gunna fuckin’ pay for those,” he rumbles as he unbuckles his belt, eyes fixed on yours.
“How would you like me to do that?” your murmur, corners of your mouth lifting as you rub your ankles against his hips.
“You know.” Pushing your legs further apart, he stands between them. “You want my fingers first, want to be stretched open for my cock?”
Licking your lips, your chest rises and falls swiftly as you look at him. “Yes.”
“Want the gloves on or off?”
“Off. Want to feel you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Removing his right glove, he settles his left hand on your hip, before he runs the other straight down your inner thigh, to your pussy, where he slides his forefinger right into your slick hole.
You cry out as your back arches, eyes falling shut.
“Yeah… That’s good, isn’t it…” he murmurs as he starts to fuck you with it “… Tell me that’s good, kitten.”
Lying back, your head nearly hanging off the table, you don’t want to give into him fully too quickly, so you just moan. And he allows it, for now.
“So fuckin’ wet already… Were you drippin’ from the moment you fuckin’ saw me… I bet you were, weren’t you, you needy little slut… Bet you could take another finger already…”
He eases a second, long finger in so easily, and you fist the robe that’s spilled around you.
“Oh, God…”
“Not quite, love.”
When his thumb moves from your hip and starts to slowly circle your clit, you’d happily call him so.
You rock your hips into his hand as you moan, almost mewling like your namesake.
“That’s it, fuck yourself on my fingers…”
Gazing up at him, you could cum just from the sight. His eyes flick from your own to your cunt, his shoulders loose, relaxed, and, looking at his chest, you can see his breathing has picked up. You love what you can do to him… but you know you can do more.
Locking your ankles at his lower back, you drop your knees down to the side, giving him better access, and a better look, at your soaking cunt.
“Why don’t you get on your knees, Simon…” you purr. “... Why don’t you taste how wet you’re making me…”
He grunts, though it almost sounds like a groan.
“Now that’s really cute…” Suddenly, his hands are off of you, and before you can whine at the loss, he takes the fronts of the robe in both hands and pulls you up and forward until you’re on your feet, held between him and the table. “... You think you can give the orders here, love? Don’t fuckin’ think so.”
Then, he releases you, and takes a step back.
“On your knees.”
Lips parted, your body thrumming with pure fucking lust and adrenaline, you smile.
And then you sink to your knees.
“Good girl,” he gravels as he unbuttons and unzips his trousers.
“Fuck you, Simon,” you murmur, your smile lingering and your thighs squeezing together as you tip your head back and open your mouth.
Creases appear around his eyes again; he’s smiling, too.
Pulling his cock out, his groans in the back of his throat as he strokes it a few times with his ungloved hand before he places his heavy tip on your outstretched tongue.
“You know what to do.”
His hand falls away as, instantly, yours takes its place, and you start to stroke, squeezing lightly, as your mouth closes around his cock and you suck hard.
“Oh, fuck…” he hisses, fingers flexing at his sides as his hips buck.
You let his cock sink in deeper from the action, and then you take him all, his tip hitting the back of your throat.
You’re used to it. Or, rather, used to him.
“Christ…” he grits out, a hand flying up to grip your shoulder.
He never touches your head when you suck his cock, unless you ask.
You draw your head back, and then take him all in again, then again, then again, until, looking up, you see his eyes have closed. As if sensing you looking at him, his eyes snap open, and he tightens his grip on you.
“Yeah, you look at me with those big fuckin’ eyes while you suck me off… I’m gunna empty that pretty fuckin’ head of yours until all you’re thinkin’ about is my cock.”
Drawing your head back, you use your tongue to push thick globs of saliva out of your mouth and down his cock before smiling. “You think I’m pretty?”
“Shut up. Put your mouth to better use.”
Exhaling a laugh, you then take him all the way in again, keeping your eyes fixed on his. He grunts and watches you, drawing in sharp breaths. You fucking love sucking his cock, feeling the ridges and veins with your tongue; it’s thick to the point where your jaw will have a delicious ache tomorrow if you carry on for too long, and, well… On your knees, sucking the cock of the feared Ghost and having him grip at you for it?
That’s pretty fucking intoxicating.
When you have him all in once more, nose brushing against his trousers, you then still, holding all of him in your mouth and throat.
“Yeah, get it all wet for your cunt…” he breathes, voice tight as his eyes flutter, trying to keep them open.
You nearly have him. He’s so very close to the edge.
And you want to push him right over it.
Pulling your lips back, squeezing them around him, until you reach his tip, you suck hard at it, swirling your tongue as your hand strokes up and down his thick shaft swiftly. He gives a strained gasp, quickly gritting his teeth as he hisses out breaths, and you moan against him.
“Cum in my mouth…” you murmur, gazing up at him. “... Cum down my throat…”
You suck at his tip again, swirling and swirling your tongue and─
He steps back, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet, unceremonious ‘pop’.
“What─”
He’s gripping the front of your robe again, hauling you up, and shoves you against the table once more.
“What did I say…” he half-pants, gripping the backs of your thighs and making you sit up on the table. “... about givin’ fuckin’ orders.”
Your heart pounds with excitement and a smile pulls at your lips as he shoves the two chairs either side of you away, sending them toppling to the floor.
“I can’t remember…” you breathe as he stands between your open legs, his wet, heavy cock pushing against your stomach. “... All I can think about is how much I want your cock inside me, Simon…”
He makes a sound akin to a growl, and then his gloved hand is between your breasts, pushing you down. Lying back on the table, you place your heels on the edge of it as he grips his cock, other hand gripping your knee.
“Say it again.”
“Want your cock in me…” you mewl, rolling your hips as you run your hands from your stomach up to your breasts, tugging at your nipples and drawing a soft moan from yourself. “... Want you deep inside me, want to cum on your cock…”
He’s staring at you, your eyes, your fingers, your tits. He’s at the edge of his control… but he’s also a bastard.
“Magic word.”
You exhale a short breath through your nose, rolling your nipples between your fingers. And then you lift a leg, settling your ankle on his shoulder.
“Come on, Simon…”
His hand slides from your knee, up your shin to your ankle, cupping it, and he turns his head to it.
And then he presses a soft kiss to the skin there, keeping his eyes on yours.
Oh, fuck you.
Inhaling a ragged breath, the word sounds like it’s almost punched out of you.
“Please.”
He smiles.
“Good girl.”
You’re moaning before you even feel his tip. When he sinks into you, your eyes fall shut and your head tips back… and it’s bliss.
“Fu-uck…” you breathe out, and you feel his grip tighten on your ankle.
“Fuckin’ hell…”
The groans he releases, so fucking low, so carnal, has you instantly starting to rock your hips, feeling his thick length slid so easily in and out of you, stretching you. Hissing out a breath, he suddenly grips your other leg and lifts it onto his shoulder, taking over and thrusting into you, already setting a hard and fast pace.
The table creaks beneath you with each snap of his hips, but you can barely hear it, all that’s left of your mind focusing on the pleasure that’s pulsing through you.
“How does that fuckin’ feel…” he grunts, hands locked on your shins.
You gasp out moans as you hold his gaze. “... So fucking good, you feel so… so fucking good…”
Shoving your legs off his shoulders, he leans down, settling his arms over your head, mouth hovering over yours.
“Again.”
“So good, so fucking good, so fucking good, fuck, Simon…”
You try to kiss him, lifting your chin an inch, but he moves his head away, instead ducking it to your neck and fixing his lips there.
And then you hear him take a long, deep inhale.
“Fuckin’ Christ…” he breathes.
He thought he’d smelt it earlier.
You smell of the basic, shitty, own-brand soap he keeps here, and it’s driving him fucking wild.
You smell of him.
He thinks of you gliding the bar around your body, soaping your tits up…
“Fuck…” he groans against your skin, spreading fast, sloppy kisses there, sinking his teeth in.
He chuckles darkly when you cry out, your slick walls clenching around his cock.
“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that, don’t you… Like when I mark up your pretty fuckin’ neck?”
He bites down again, revelling in how you instantly clench again, hard, a ragged moan torn from you. Pressing his lips to your ear, he rumbles, “I’ll be on you for days.”
Fucking hell…
Your hands gripping at his jacket, fisting and tugging, you cling to him as he bites and bites and bites, always covering each one straight after with a lick or a sloppy kiss. And he just keeps fucking you hard through it.
When he suddenly pulls back, you actually whine, hands falling from him.
It takes you a moment to realise what he’s saying.
“... Look at me… Look at me…”
Your eyes snap open, and he fucking loves the almost blankness he sees there, how cock-drunk you are.
Yeah, only he can do this for you. Only him.
“Come here…” He slides an arm under you and pulls you up so you’re sat on the table, his cock continuing to spear into you. The angle allows him to plunge deeper and your eyes almost roll back as they close.
“Nah, keep those pretty eyes open, and stay up, look at me as I fuck you open…”
Pulling his belt out of the loops with a snap, without breaking rhythm he wraps both ends around his hands, and then wraps the shortened length around the back of your neck, keeping you up.
Keeping you looking at him.
“This is why you’re here, isn’t it…” he murmurs, nearly panting. “... To be fucked and spread open by my thick cock, to cum on it over and over and over again…”
You’re gasping in your breaths, hands now gripping his forearms, nails digging in, his words probably circling round and round your empty mind.
“… Say it, love… Admit it…”
Your mouth is open, hurried little breaths and moans all that leaves it. “... I…”
“Go on… Say it… It’s why you’re here, isn’t it… Say it.”
“Y… Yes…” you gasp.
“Good girl.”
You clench hard around him.
He growls. “Yeah, that’s it… Squeeze my cock like a good fuckin’ girl…”
You clench again, releasing a ragged moan.
“You need to cum, don’t you, you need to cum on my fuckin’ cock.”
You can’t take your eyes off his. “Ye-es.”
“Beg me for it.”
You’re talking before he’s even finished, words breathless and moaned.
“Please, please, let me cum, wanna cum on your cock, please let me, please…”
He chuckles, the sound catching in his throat with a groan. “You think you fuckin’ deserve it, huh… Think you can break in here and ruin the quiet fuckin’ night I wanted…”
You don’t know how, but you smile, and manage, “Don’t tell me… you don’t prefer this…”
“Well, now I’ll never know.”
Using the belt, he yanks you closer and claims your lips in a fierce, bruising kiss. You give back as good as you can, but you soon falter as an orgasm starts to build and twist in your lower stomach, making your muscles clench.
And he can feel it.
“Go on,” he mumbles against your lips. “Cum for me, rub your little clit and cum on my cock, let me fuckin’ feel you, squeeze me, make me cum…”
The moment he had said it, your hand had flown between you, fumbling, finding your clit and rubbing swiftly as well as you could. You cry out as the pleasure rises and rises, hurtling closer, your hips bucking.
He tears his lips from yours, pressing his cheek against the side of your head, murmuring into your ear, “Cum for me, fuckin’ do it, cum now, cum on my thick cock, let me feel you, love.”
Your orgasm erupts through you.
Body jerking, you release a strangled scream as you cum, nails digging through his jacket nearly to his skin. He fucks you through it, grunting nearly incoherently in your ear now as your pussy squeezes him so fucking deliciously.
“... Yeah… Good fuckin’ girl… Fuckin’... Good… Tight pussy… Squeeze me… Take it… Take it… Take my fuckin’ cum… Yeah… Yeah… Oh, fuck…”
He thrusts hard and deep once, twice more, and then he cums inside you with a guttural roar, his grip tightening on the belt. Weakened, blissful moans fall from your lips as you feel him fill you, your back arching.
So fucking good, every single fucking time.
When he stills, his hands fall down to the table, taking the belt with them.
Swallowing hard, in turn your forehead drops down onto his chest, and you close your eyes, just focusing on trying to slow your breathing.
Your hand has softened on his arm, your other gently against his thigh.
His chin rests atop your head.
Neither of you speak, for how long you don’t know, and you almost hope neither of you ever do.
Suddenly, enough to startle you a little, his head lifts.
“Suppose you won’t be polite and fuck off now.”
You exhale a laugh, rolling your shoulders as you lift your head, arching an eyebrow. You find his cloth mask is back in place.
“No, I was here first.”
He just grunts out a sound that might be a chuckle as he pulls out of you, making you inhale sharply. Pulling the robe up over your shoulders as he steps back, you slide off the table with a small groan, rolling your shoulders again. His gaze drops down to your thighs, lingers, then meets yours again, and you give him a slow smile.
“Is that my cum leakin’ out of you.”
“Yes it is, Simon.”
You note the way his shoulders drop as his back straightens.
And he jerks his head towards the bedroom door.
“Get in there. I’m gunna shower off.”
You give him a faux-pout, your brow dipping as renewed lust surges through you. “You don’t want company?”
You know he doesn’t.
He’ll give you everything but his face. And you give him everything but your heart.
He closes the distance between you, lowering his head to you. “You just get on that bed and keep those legs spread for me.”
A corner of your mouth rises higher than the other as you gaze at him. “Don’t tell me what to do, Simon.”
Letting the robe slip from your body to the floor, you turn from him and step over a fallen chair and the radio, moving into the bedroom.
Watching you go, his jaw moves as he releases a long, slow breath.
Fuckin’ hell…
─
Reblogs and comments make my day in a way I can’t describe.
Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or removed in my future works! (Note: I'll only tag if age is in your bio)
I just started reading “The Fire In Your Eyes” And my god it’s so so good!! How this fic didn’t get more popularity is crazy to me because it’s truly amazing and you write so perfect! 🤗
EeeeeeEEEEEE, thank you so much!! 🥹
This really means a lot, thank you so, SO much, I hope you enjoyed the rest of it! 🥹❤️
The Dungeon Master and The Drama Club President Masterlist
A/N: This is a little mini-series dedicated to @herb-welch and inspired by a mini-series @irrelevantwriter has just posted, go and check it out!! A chapter will be posted every other day, and let me know if you’d like to be tagged! (I’ll only tag you if your age or ‘Over 18+’ or something adjacent is in ya bio).
Tags: Enemies to lovers, swearing, alcohol, talent kink? if that’s a thing (it is), sweet little series, sexual references, sexual things in the last chapter, and implied shitty childhood in chapters five and six.
Rating for series: E, 18+ ONLY
Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites; credit does not count.
─
Chapter One ─ The Deal
Chapter Two ─ The Hideout
Chapter Three ─ The Sitzprobe
Chapter Four ─ The Ticket Stand
Chapter Five ─ The Performance
Chapter Six ─ The After Party
─
Reblogs and comments make my day in a way I can’t describe.
Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or removed in my future works!
Even though I haven’t been active much, I’ve been reading some Eddie fanfics and so excited to see one of my fave writers wrote for everyone’s favorite metal head!
The Dungeon Master and The Drama Club President Masterlist
A/N: This is a little mini-series dedicated to @herb-welch and inspired by a mini-series @irrelevantwriter has just posted, go and check it out!! A chapter will be posted every other day, and let me know if you’d like to be tagged! (I’ll only tag you if your age or ‘Over 18+’ or something adjacent is in ya bio).
Tags: Enemies to lovers, swearing, alcohol, talent kink? if that’s a thing (it is), sweet little series, sexual references, sexual things in the last chapter, and implied shitty childhood in chapters five and six.
Rating for series: E, 18+ ONLY
Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites; credit does not count.
─
Chapter One ─ The Deal
Chapter Two ─ The Hideout
Chapter Three ─ The Sitzprobe
Chapter Four ─ The Ticket Stand
Chapter Five ─ The Performance
Chapter Six ─ The After Party
─
Reblogs and comments make my day in a way I can’t describe.
Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or removed in my future works!
This is one of the very best series I’ve read in a while, I’m obsessed as somone who took theatre in high school and loves music!!!!!!!! Also enemies to lovers is one of the best and my favorite tropes so A+++ in my books!!!!
The Dungeon Master and The Drama Club President Masterlist
A/N: This is a little mini-series dedicated to @herb-welch and inspired by a mini-series @irrelevantwriter has just posted, go and check it out!! A chapter will be posted every other day, and let me know if you’d like to be tagged! (I’ll only tag you if your age or ‘Over 18+’ or something adjacent is in ya bio).
Tags: Enemies to lovers, swearing, alcohol, talent kink? if that’s a thing (it is), sweet little series, sexual references, sexual things in the last chapter, and implied shitty childhood in chapters five and six.
Rating for series: E, 18+ ONLY
Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites; credit does not count.
─
Chapter One ─ The Deal
Chapter Two ─ The Hideout
Chapter Three ─ The Sitzprobe
Chapter Four ─ The Ticket Stand
Chapter Five ─ The Performance
Chapter Six ─ The After Party
─
Reblogs and comments make my day in a way I can’t describe.
Let me know if you’d like to be tagged or removed in my future works!
