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Simon “Ghost” Riley is as enigmatic as he is interesting. You have only been with Task Force 141 for a few short months, taken on by Price for your use of subterfuge and driving skills, of which the team are quickly getting to know you for. ‘Fucking reckless’ was what Soap said with a smile the first time he was in the jeep with you. Ghost had merely huffed in response. He didn’t talk much, you noticed – particularly to you – yet when he did, you had found yourself hanging onto every word. He’s tall, powerful, and extremely intelligent; not to mention his fighting skills are off the scale. His mouth may not say much but his eyes certainly do. They look you over appraisingly before you and the squad set out on a mission, they notice if your tactical vest is askew, even noticing the fit of your weapons holster. His attention to detail is like nothing else you have ever experienced. You admire him – daresay you even have a crush on him – and that admiration has only increased tenfold when he gave you a private sparring lesson. You lost, of course, but there was so much you could learn from this mysterious man.
How can you fancy someone whose face you’ve never seen? Quite easily, it turns out.
There are times where you wish that you didn’t take on missions with him because that is when he is able to see you at your most vulnerable. Those all-knowing and all-seeing eyes observe you when you’re overwhelmed, fingers fumbling with your AK-47, and he buys you time from the enemy until you get your shit together. It’s dangerous, you and he both know that, but the look you give him passes between you, the sentiment unspoken. At times like these you feel incompetent in comparison, and the pressure gets to you all the more.
That’s why today you are on your way to Price’s office to discuss the allocation of missions. You aren’t sure how much longer you can go on feeling pathetic, like a thorn in a lion’s paw. On the contrary, Soap and Gaz appear to enjoy being deployed with you at their side; their banter and the way they work in tandem eases your anxieties and you find yourself performing the best you ever have done. The last recon mission you accompanied them on provided you with a sense of pride that has been hard to shake since. You remember heading back to base, leaping out of the Jeep with the men in tow, laughing and good-naturedly shoving one another. Ghost had greeted you with a curt nod and a simple word of congratulations that warmed your chest. Nevertheless, it seemed to have gone downhill from there.
Taking a deep breath, you knock firmly on the Captain’s door.
“Enter.”
You obey, closing the door behind you, waiting coyly until Price calls you forward. He’s frowning down at the paperwork strewn across his desk but gives you a small smile when he looks up. “Sparrow, take a seat. What can I do for you?”
Awkwardly, you perch yourself on the hard plastic chair at the front of his desk. You shuffle your feet uncomfortably. It takes a moment to get the words out, but Price watches you patiently.
“Um, I just wanted to speak to you about mission allocations,” you begin. The Captain’s eyebrows raise yet remains silent. “I – I don’t think that I’m the best match for Ghost… As in, when we’re teamed up together. I feel as if I slow him down and…” You trail off, realising how pathetic you sound, instantly wishing you had simply let this matter lie. You can’t meet Price’s gaze even as he sighs with disappointment.
“I see.” Price pauses, as if mentally grappling with himself. “As your superior, I have no choice but to take this on board, but is that how you truly feel?”
You glance up. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, has anyone said anything to make you feel this way? Snide comments, etcetera?”
“No, sir.” You clear your throat. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t understand. I’m here of my own volition, if that’s what you mean.”
“I see,” he says again. He tents his fingers atop the desk as he observes you with sharp eyes. “You’re in the top ten of newest recruits. You have improved faster than anyone would have expected – something some of the men have taken bets on, much to my chagrin, but there’s not much that escapes my notice around here – and have defied odds. A lot of newbies don’t make it this far, particularly in 141. The reason you accompany Riley on so many missions is because he has requested you, specifically, and positively sings your praises.”
Your stomach drops. “He ‘sings my praises’?”
Price chuckles. “I apologise, that might be stretching it a tad. For all the time I’ve known him, Riley has never held his tongue when something – or someone – displeases him. You must be good if he tells me himself.”
For a moment, you are stunned into silence. Infamous hard-ass Ghost likes working alongside you? He thinks you’re good at what you do? Price smiles, amused at your dumbfounded expression.
“You’re an excellent solider, Sparrow. Give yourself a little credit.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He nods towards the door. “You’re welcome. Dismissed.”
You walk back to the barracks with your chest a little lighter. There’s no reason why Price would lie to you, even if it was to make you feel better – even more unlikely that Ghost would tell you himself how highly he thinks of you. God, men really are difficult. Why can’t they just say how they’re feeling for crying out loud? There’s a lot to digest right now, so you take the route back to your personal quarters.
Lost in thought, eyes down on the ground, you walk into something very big and very solid.
“Ah, sorry –” you begin, then pull up short when you glance upwards and a skull mask stares back at you. Ghost looks directly at you, as silent as ever. “S-Sorry, Lieutenant.”
“We’re not on the field. Don’t be so formal,” he grumbles.
“Sorry. Again.” Your feet seem to be glued to the floor. Honestly, why do you have to be such a mess around this man?
“You been to see Price?”
The question catches you off guard. Shit. “Um, yeah, I was just asking him about the next call-out.”
“That’s classified, and also a lie.” Ghost’s eyes bore into you and you feel your cheeks heating up.
“It’s classified as to what we were discussing,” you shoot back, attempting to step around him. It doesn’t work; he’s a lot bigger and quicker than you are. As if you need reminding.
“If there’s a problem, recruit, I would appreciate it if you brought it up with me,” he says, tone dangerously low.
“There’s no problem.”
“Another lie. You need to work on your poker face, Sparrow.”
You sigh, carding a hand through your hair. “Fine. I was worried that you didn’t like going on call-outs with me and that I was just slowing you down and basically a danger to you because you feel like you have to look out for me, but –” You stop your sudden verbal diarrhoea, biting your lip, fearing that you may have said too much.
“But?” your superior presses.
“But… he said that you actually ask to work alongside me.” Fuck, it sounds ridiculous when you say it aloud. Pathetic, like you’re a little girl seeking constant reassurance that yes honey, you’re doing a swell job, don’t worry we all love you. It’s a struggle to meet Ghost’s intense gaze.
“Big-mouthed bastard,” he mutters, but it lacks vehemence. He sighs and you finally look up at him.
“So… it’s true?”
“Of course it is,” he says blandly, as if stating the obvious to an idiot.
“Why couldn’t you just tell me to my face?” you ask, confused.
“No reason to. Didn’t want you getting any ideas – that wouldn’t be any good to either of us.”
“Wha-? Ideas? Ideas that you might actually care about someone else?” you press. “We’re teammates, wouldn’t it be weirder if you didn’t care?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
You huff, growing tired of this useless back-and-forth, tired of his games. You push and you ask and you get nothing return. What was the point?
“Great chat, Lieutenant,” you scoff, finally shoving by him, “catch you on the next one.”
You storm down the corridor, steps stomping more than they usually would, until a firm hand pulls you harshly by the bicep. Ghost turns you to face him and the look you give him is one of defiance.
“What?”
“You’re a huge pain in my arse,” he growls. “You’re annoying, you talk too much, have too much nervous energy at times, you point out irrelevant things when we’re out in the field –”
“If you’re referring to that tree we – I – drove by the other week,” you interrupt, “it really did look like Lenin, even Soap said so.”
Ghost growls but carries on as if you hadn’t butted in. “And most of the men practically fawn over you. Hell, I swear Soap is actually in love with you.”
You frown. “How is any of that relevant to –?”
Ah. You break off and the penny finally drops.
“Ghost, do you have a crush on me?”
His gaze hardens. “Took you long enough. Not the brightest button in the drawer sometimes, are you, Sparrow?”
You blush at the insult yet your heart threatens to beat out of your chest. Holy shit. “Very brave of you to admit that when I might not feel the same.”
The Lieutenant chuckles – a genuine one. “You’re not very good at lying, little Sparrow. Your lust is in your eyes every time you look at me. I’ve been in this game a long time.”
“What game? Women?” you ask and suddenly you feel sick.
He groans. “No, stupid girl. Reading people, learning their expressions. Although, fuck knows why you’d want someone as grumpy as me when there’s Johnny who worships the ground you walk on.”
“I don’t know why, either,” you retort, earning yourself a glare. “Fortunately for you, though, Soap doesn’t really do it for me.”
“No?”
“No. Guess I prefer the strong and silent type.”
You look at each other for what feels like an eternity. Ghost is unblinking and you’re sure his perceptive ears can hear the traitorous thrum of your heart.
“So… what do we do now?” you ask, helplessly clutching for a lifeline.
“What would you like to do?” he counters.
You grumble. Why do you have to decide? “Well, to be honest with you, I’m waiting for you to kiss me.”
“You’ll be waiting a long time.”
You throw your hands up, exasperated. “I give up with you, Simon, really I do. You know where I am if –”
“Say my name again.”
“What?”
“My name. Say it,” he growls.
“Simon.” You sound the syllables out slowly and you swear you hear the man purr, and suddenly realise you’ve never called him by his given name before. “Si-mon.”
“Fuck,” he huffs.
“Dirty mouth you have there,” you tease. You turn to depart again, but it’s only a bluff, and he knows as well as you do. “If that’s all you need from me…”
Within seconds he’s grabbing you by the shoulders and slamming you against the wall. The air is knocked out of you and you grunt but still manage to smirk up at your superior. Brown eyes bore into blue and suddenly you realise that you’re both fucked and so down bad for one another. He’s just shy of being six foot four, a whole twelve inches taller than you, and the fact that he dwarfs you so easily has never been more of a turn on.
“Come on, Simon,” you whisper dangerously. “Stop playing games. It’s about time you take what you need from me.”
“You’ve no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” he warns, yet doesn’t lessen the grip he has on you.
“Maybe I don’t care.”
“Christ.” He pulls back suddenly and, with a quick sweep of his surroundings, is hastily dragging you down the corridor by your arm until you find yourself in front of one of the many inconspicuous dorm doors. You realise quickly that this must be his room and you swear your heart jumps into your throat. He unlocks it with deft fingers, pushing you inside before closing you both off from the outside world. You aren’t surprised to see that his room is exactly the same as yours sans the feminine decorations you have scattered around. In fact, his room seems very bare and basic; there aren’t any personal touches at all. You feel Ghost’s warm breath on your neck as he leans in.
“You can still back out if you want to.”
You shiver. “No.”
“Good girl.” The praise hits you right at your apex. “On the bed, where I can see you.”
Your legs feel like jelly as you make your way over to the bed (does he sleep naked? you wonder) and perch on the grey bedspread. He’s watching you through dark eyes and you shift your weight uncomfortably. His eyes are intense – as if he’s feasting on you. Of your own accord, you begin tugging at the hem of your t-shirt, nervous yet eager, but Ghost makes a noise of dissent.
“Stop.”
You obey instantly, and your hurt expression must show because Ghost walks over to you, slowly, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt your face towards his gaze. “I want to savour you. Tell me, Sparrow, are you fond of this t-shirt?”
Your brow crinkles in confusion. It’s a basic pink top, nothing special about it. “Not really?”
“Good.”
Two strong hands grab at the neckline, yanking the material until it rips right down the middle. You gasp; the display of strength gets your pulse thrumming and you’re glad you have on one of your prettier bras. Generally, you don’t think your body is too bad – some parts softer than you would like – but your tits in particular you are proud of. They sit proudly, hefty round globes, and you enjoy the fact that Ghost can’t seem to look away. He’s silent but is breathing a little heavier than before. Almost imperceptibly, large hands snake around your back, making quick work of the clasp, then steadily pushing the straps over your shoulders. He’s taking his time, painstakingly slow, grazing soft skin with his fingers until your bra falls to the floor. Now, your tits are on full display. Pierced pink nipples stand to attention.
“Pretty sure you’re not allowed to have piercings, recruit,” Ghost murmurs. He flicks a thumb over each nipple and you gasp.
“Pretty sure I don’t care,” you whisper back. God, you are craving him right now. You reach out to his trousers but he slaps your hands away. “It’s not fair that I’m half naked and you’re still fully clothed.”
Dark eyes harden beneath the mask. “I make the rules. Don’t be a brat.”
Oh. You grin up at him. “You think I’m gonna make this easy for you?”
In one swift movement Ghost hooks his arms behind you knees, yanking you forward so that the force puts you on your back. Within seconds, he’s seated between your legs on the floor, your trousers whipped off so that you’re left in just your panties. “I enjoy a challenge, Sparrow.”
You shiver involuntarily at your codename. It sounds different when he says it; the lilt of his accent, the gruffness of his tone. Warmth pools at your core, and Ghost presses his mask-clad face to the source, inhaling deeply.
“Ghost!” you protest, embarrassed.
“Shh. You smell amazing – I’m dying for a taste.”
Just as he did before, he tears your underwear from you, ripping the material as if it is mere tissue paper. You snort indignantly.
“Are you planning on ruining all of my clothes?”
He doesn’t answer the question, only balls up your panties before shoving them in his trouser pocket. “I’m keeping these. Now, be a good girl for me, Sparrow, so I can taste this little delight between your legs.”
You’re about to complain again until you see Ghost lift the bottom of his mask. Your heart hammers ten to the dozen. You can just about make out dark stubble and a pair of soft lips before he descends upon you and all protests die in your throat. His tongue flicks out delicately against your wetness; teasing you, he doesn’t go full throttle just yet. You whine, moving your hips up to meet him, but he holds you down firmly. He glares up at you.
“If you want me to continue, I suggest you keep still.”
His dangerously low tone only adds more fuel to the fire in the pit of your belly. “Yes, sir.”
Ghost growls before resuming his torturous assault. He trails the tip of his tongue up and down each side of your pussy, barely even touching, hot breath heightening the sensation. Fuck, you’re craving this man’s touch like never before. It’s a fight to remain still; your hands ball into fists at your side. Slowly, he brings his face closer, finally seeking out that delicate little nub with his mouth. You cry out, back arching off the bed.
“Fuck – Simon!”
At hearing his name he sucks your clit harshly, sending shockwaves throughout your entire body. He continues to lap at your wetness, even probing at your hole with his tongue. He eats your pussy like a starving man. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced – he varies his pressure, licking and sucking in a steady rhythm, his face so deep that his nose rests upon your pubic bone. He maintains a grip on your thighs, keeping you spread open so that he can fully enjoy you. At this point, you don’t care that you’re naked – you just want him to keep eating you out until you come all over his mouth. Then, just as you think it can’t possibly get better, Ghost releases his hold of you, yanking off his gloves in order to insert a single digit inside. You buck, you whine; his finger is impossibly thick. He probes all the right places, eventually curling his finger forwards so that it nudges the spongy bundle of nerves inside you.
“Oh, God!”
Stars explode behind your eyes and before you can even gauge what’s happening you’re coming, hard, your clit thrumming and your hole twitching. Ghost steadies his movements, lapping up your wetness. He plants a kiss right above your clit as he removes his finger. When you look at him again, the mask is back in place, but his arousal is evident in his hooded eyes.
“I don’t remember giving you permission to come.”
“That’s because I didn’t ask,” you retort.
He grumbles in response to your insolence. He gets to his feet, leaning into your thighs with large hands, pinning them down and spreading you open. His grip is firm and you hope he leaves bruises as a reminder of this encounter. For once, you remain silent, chest heaving in the aftershocks of your orgasm, your eyes slowly drifting down to the tent in his pants. Good lord. He’s impressive, and you feel your arousal returning anew. Simon glances down at your pussy and huffs a noise of pleasure.
“You look fucking beautiful like this.” He slips a finger through your folds and your back arches off the bed; you’re so sensitive and yet you crave more. You want him to fill you, use you, engulf you with his massive frame until you cease to exist.
“Simon,” you begin, hips gyrating against the bed.
“Hmm?” He doesn’t look up as he continues to tease, his middle finger sliding through your wetness.
“Simon, please.”
“Please what? Use your big girl words, love.”
“Please just fuck me already, I need to feel you, please,” you beg, tears of frustration pooling at the corners of your eyes.
All teasing ceases immediately, and Ghost looks down at you, pupils blown. Excruciatingly slow, he begins to undo his pants, slipping the button open followed by the zipper, steadily pushing down his trousers and underwear until his cock springs free from the confines of its prison. You audibly gasp; he’s huge. Everything about him is so big. His cock is leaking already – a thick vein runs up the underside of his shaft and you notice he curves slightly upwards. With a shaky hand, you reach forward to grasp him. Your fingers barely even meet around the sheer girth of him; your stomach clenches both with excitement and apprehension.
“So big,” you whisper. Ghost chuckles above you.
“Sure you’re ready?”
You meet his gaze, somewhat defiantly. “After you, Lieutenant.”
In an instant you’re pushed onto your back again, the mattress dipping as Ghost joins you on the bed. He spreads you open and hums his approval. You’re dripping at this point, yet he still inserts two fingers into you, preparing you for his thickness.
“You’re killing me here,” you groan.
“Shh, love. I need to get you ready for me.”
He scissors his digits inside you and, once satisfied, withdraws them and positions the blunt head of his cock at your entrance. He rubs it around your pussy, slicking it with your arousal, and then he pushes in. Steadily, at first, and you tense at the sudden intrusion. He stops, only carrying on when you nod at him in reassurance. Pushing in further, you raise your hips to meet him, the feeling of fullness beyond divine. His cock stretches you further than you ever thought possible. Eventually, he bottoms out, resting himself on his elbows either side of you. Raising your ass off the bed, you rotate your hips, relishing how wonderfully full your pussy feels. Every time he pulls back the head of his cock rubs against that halo of nerves inside you.
“Simon,” you breathe, gripping his shoulders, nails leaving crescent indents in his skin.
“What is it, princess?”
“Kiss me. Please.”
His posture stiffens at the request, his strokes becoming an unsteady, staccato rhythm – until he meets your eyes. By God, you’re going to be the undoing of him.
“Close your eyes.”
You obey his gentle command. He pushes all the way into you, earning himself a gasp, and leans down until your bare chest rubs against his shirt. He fidgets with his mask and his breath is hot and sweet against your cheek.
“Simon –” you begin, but he hushes you, rubbing his nose against yours.
He kisses you and it’s like fire. Soft lips press against your pout, a thousand unspoken thoughts and feelings bleeding into the action alone. The kiss is desperate, electricity coursing down your spine, rippling along your skin, and you wonder if you’ve ever had a kiss like it. Spurred on by your moans, Ghost begins his assault on your pussy again. You cry out as he rams into you, cries muffled by the Lieutenant’s mouth, stubble scraping against the soft skin of your face but you find that you don’t care.
“You take me so well,” he sighs, breaking the contact to catch his breath, pulling his mask back down. He reaches down to gently pinch your clit and you all but scream. “Yeah, let me hear you.”
He leans back, pinning the hem of his shirt beneath his chin so he can watch his cock enter you repeatedly. You marvel at his body: the patch of light brown hair on his chest that leads down to his stomach, then the happy trail to his cock; the eerily-familiar bullet-shaped scar to the left of his stomach and several deep welts that decorate his torso. Simon Riley is magnificent in every way possible and you feast on him greedily.
“Like what you see?” he murmurs, catching you in the act.
Your face reddens. “Shut up.”
He chuckles lowly, then groans as he pulls all the way out and pushes in steadily. He brings a hand to where his cock meets your pussy, seeking out your clit again. It’s torturous and you’re almost embarrassed at how quickly you want to cum again. As if he can sense it, Simon grips your thighs with huge hands, upping his pace until you’re moaning louder than before and your fingers grip his forearms. It feels so good – tension coils in the pit of your belly, spine arching off the bed, crying out with each slap of skin on skin.
“I know, love,” he soothes. He rubs you more firmly, his rhythm never faltering, hand and cock in perfect tandem with one another. Your brow crinkles and he realises what you’re doing. “Come for me, princess. Let Daddy hear you.”
It happens almost instantly at his words, the quiet praise, the permission to finally let go. Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave so intensely that it temporarily robs you of the ability to make any sound at all.
“Oh, fuck, Simon, I’m coming,” you manage to rasp out, gyrating your hips manically as your cunt pulses against his huge length. He doesn’t ease up on your clit for a minute, allowing you to ride out your climax for as long as possible, his eyes hooded as his own end nears.
“I’m close, princess,” he tells you, the words barely audible.
“I want to feel you,” you whimper, fingernails digging into his wrists, craving the closeness he gives. “I want all of you.”
He rests his face between the junction of your neck and shoulder, hot breath through the mask warming your skin. His breathing is uneven, body trembling. He fucks with reckless abandon now; thick cock razing your pussy, wet sounds louder than before.
“Fuck –” Simon groans your name as his cock twitches, reams of warm cum painting your insides, filling you to the brim so much that it overflows and trickles down your ass. He moans, one long continuous sound, until finally his rhythm eases and he finds his breath again, nuzzling his face into you and resting his body atop yours. You remain in that position for a few moments as you both revel in the post-coital afterglow. His weight is comforting, like a safety blanket.
“Simon,” you whisper after some time.
“Hmm?”
“I’m naked.”
He chuckles. “I know.”
“And in a mess.”
“Ah.” He pushes himself up so that he is kneeling in front of you and looks down. He groans in approval. “A beautiful mess.”
Your face burns. “Stop looking at me like that and hand me a towel.”
He laughs as he makes his way to the small ensuite, not even bothering to pull up his trousers. He returns with a wet washcloth and cock proudly swinging as he makes his way back over to you. He shakes his head when you reach out for it.
“Allow me. Please.”
You stutter, unsure – but he looks at you as if you are the finest porcelain and you relent with a nod. This type of aftercare is so… foreign to you. Simon wipes around your intimate area with surprising tenderness, gently dabbing where he knows you will be most sensitive.
“Thank you,” you murmur, blushing.
“No problem.” He drops the cloth to the floor before climbing back on the bed, settling next to you and throwing a blanket over you both. “Now rest, little Sparrow, and clear your diary, because I don’t plan on you leaving this room for the next twenty-four hours.”
“Ha, you can’t keep me prisoner here,” you taunt, but you’re smiling.
Simon tweaks your nipple and chuckles when you cry out. “Somehow, my love, I don’t think that keeping you here will be much of a problem.”