Ghost had never planned to act on the filthy images that flooded his mind whenever you were near. He'd buried those thoughts beneath layers of discipline, telling himself you were off-limits; too young, too bright, with a life stretching ahead of you.
He could be your friend. Or better — your LT.
He could ignore the way you reacted when he caught you staring, the way your laughter danced in the air when you found his deadpan humor unexpectedly funny, and the goddamn wet, rhythmic sounds that seeped through the thin wall each night when you thought no one was listening.
It began innocently enough. Almost. One night, drifting toward sleep, the first soft mewls reached him. Your fingers working that tight little cunt, the sound of your desperate whimpers piercing the darkness. He'd pressed his pillow over his ears, trying to drown you out, but the wet squelching sounds and your soft whines painted vivid pictures in his mind. You, naked and writhing, legs spread wide, your slick glistening on your fingers as you plunged them deeper.
His cock had thickened against his thigh, demanding attention. He kicked off the blankets, palming himself through the thin fabric of his boxers. The more you moaned, the harder he gripped, the wet sounds from next door driving him mad. You cried out — a high, broken sound— and his control shattered. He came hard and fast, soaking his boxers like a fucking teenager. He'd had to sneak to the bathroom to clean up before sleep could claim him.
Now he found himself anticipating these nightly performances. You had no idea, but he began to prepare, laying out a towel to catch his release so he wouldn't have to leave his bed. He'd strip down, his body already humming with anticipation as the first sounds drifted through the wall. He'd take his time, edging himself to the rhythm of your pleasure. His hand would wrap around his thickening cock, stroking slowly, so slowly, imagining what your pussy looked like. Did you keep it bare and smooth, or did you have a neat little thatch of hair he could twist around his fingers while his tongue explored every inch of you?
He'd learned your patterns. The way your breath hitched when you first touched your clit, too sensitive at first. That little humming sound you made before you could handle more pressure. He wondered if he could make you come with just his mouth, if you'd sit on his face and grind against his tongue until you were drenching him. The thought made his cock ache, pre-cum beading at the tip as he imagined you riding his face, your thighs trembling around his head, your sweet, musky scent filling his lungs.
The next morning, Ghost was halfway to the kitchen when your door creaked open, revealing you bathed in the hallway's dim light. He froze mid-stride, his eyes locking onto you tracing every detail of your face, those deliciously swollen lips, glistening as if begging to be claimed. When your tongue darted out, a deliberate, slow sweep across that plump lower lip, his spent cock stirred with immediate interest, thickening against the rough denim of his jeans. You lifted your gaze to his, offering a smile that was both sweet and impossibly shy, a glimpse of the innocence he'd been pretending not to notice. His throat worked, but no sound emerged.
Words felt dangerous. Too raw, too honest. If he spoke, he knew exactly what would spill out: "I listened to you finger that pretty cunt last night, and the sounds you made had me coming in my own fucking hand."
So he ducked his head, jaw tight, and forced himself to keep walking, the image of your tongue seared behind his eyes.
After that, it became a delicious torment. A game of silent acknowledgment. Would he catch you in the hallway after hearing those soft whimpers through the wall? Could he maintain composure as he watched those same fingers that had brought you to pleasure curl around your fork at breakfast, the memory of their slick movements making his own hands tremble? Would you notice the way his pants strained, the rigid outline of his cock betraying the thoughts racing through his mind as he imagined those fingers elsewhere?
It had been two months of this exquisite torture; two months of listening, watching, and wanting without a word exchanged. But that was about to change.
You'd been louder than usual the previous night, so much louder that he'd had to bite down on his fist to muffle his own desperate cry as he spilled all over himself, ropes of thick cum painting his stomach and chest. He'd cleaned up with shaky hands and dressed, despite the ungodly hour, driven by a singular purpose: to see you.
You stumbled into the kitchen, bleary-eyed and deliciously disheveled, your oversized shirt pulled up just enough to reveal the lace tops of your thigh-high stockings. You hadn't noticed him yet, sitting in the shadowed corner. His hand moved instinctively to his already aching cock, stroking through the rough fabric as you reached up into the cupboard for that favorite mug of yours.
You stretched up onto your toes, and your shirt rode higher, exposing the perfect curve of your bare ass. You were wearing nothing but a tiny scrap of lace, a thong so thin it barely deserved the name. A low, guttural sound escaped his throat, primal and possessive, making you spin around with a startled gasp.
"Lt?" you squeaked, frantically yanking your shirt down as if to cover the evidence of your own vulnerability.
"Morning," he growled, the word thick with unspoken desire as he took a deliberate sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving yours.
Your fingers toyed nervously with the hem of your shirt, twisting the fabric as if it could anchor you against the storm brewing in his gaze.
"I— I didn't know you were up," you mumbled, turning your back to him to make your tea, your movements suddenly clumsy.
Oh, he was up. His cock was straining against his pants, so hard it bordered on painful, the outline clearly visible in the dim light.
"I'm always up when you are," he said, the double meaning so thick you could almost taste it, a dark chuckle rumbling in his chest.
"Oh," you breathed, the sound barely audible. "I don't know if— I mean— I—"
"It's okay," he reassured, his voice dropping to that deep, husky register that made your thighs clench involuntarily. "You sound lovely. Absolutely fucking beautiful."
"You can hear me?" you squeaked, slapping a hand over your mouth as if that could somehow erase the truth.
"I can hear everything, sweet girl” he said, rising from his chair, his shadow falling over you as he towered above you, forcing your head back to meet his intense gaze.
Your eyes went wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"I- I- Lt. I didn't mean to-"
"You don't have to explain yourself. You're a grown woman. I'm a pervert. It's fine." He said, running his thumb over your bottom lip.
"I didn't know you could hear me." You whispered, pressing a kiss to his thumb. "I would have been- quieter."
"No." He growled. "Don't be quiet. Not on my account." His thumb pressed into your mouth and you instinctively closed your lips around it.
"I think about you when I-" you trailed off, cheeks burning.
Ghost groaned, bucking his hips forward to press his hard cock against your belly.
"You have no idea what you do to me." He mumbled, pressing a second thumb into your mouth.
You moaned and swirled your tongue around his thumbs, wishing it was his cock. You felt yourself pulse, your cunt drooling into your panties. You wanted to beg him to touch you. To push you down to the ground and fuck your little pussy with his fingers. But he just held your face and stared at you with his dark eyes.
"When you go back to your room, I want you to touch yourself. But this time, I want you to say my name." He ordered, pulling his thumbs free with a pop.
"Yes, Lt." You nodded, leaning forwards to lick at his palm.
"I'll be listening. Don't worry, I'll come get you if you're a good girl." He smirked, stepping back.
You whined, a desperate pout on your lips as he walked away. You knew you'd do as he asked. Knew you'd moan his name into your pillows as you came on your fingers.
But as you sunk to your knees on the cold kitchen floor and pressed your thighs together, you wondered what he would do if you were a bad girl.
What if you made so much noise he had no choice but to come and shut you up?
