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You’d been pushing boundaries for months now: leaping gaps that had safer routes, engaging enemies when stealth was an option, taking shots that were just a little too risky. The thrill sang in your veins, made you feel alive in a way nothing else did.
Ghost noticed.
“Reckless,” he’d mutter after each mission, jaw tight beneath his mask.
“Effective,” you’d counter, adrenaline still buzzing.
But last week had been different. You’d cleared a room alone, ignored his order to wait for backup. You’d made it out, but barely; an enemy had grabbed you from behind, and only a lucky elbow strike saved you from a knife to the ribs.
Ghost hadn’t spoken to you since. Not one word during exfil. Not during debrief. Just that cold, furious stare that followed you everywhere.
Now you were back in the field, clearing an abandoned warehouse compound. You’d already bypassed two of his careful, methodical approaches in favor of faster, flashier entries.
“Slow down,” his voice crackled in your ear, tight with warning.
You ignored it, rounding another corner-
A gloved hand shot out, yanking you backward with enough force to knock the air from your lungs. Your back slammed against a concrete pillar, Ghost’s body caging you in before you could even process the movement.
His hand clamped over your mouth, firm and unyielding.
“Don’t. Fucking. Move.” Each word was gravel low, spoken directly against your ear.
Your eyes went wide. You could hear it now- footsteps. Multiple hostiles passing directly in front of your position, maybe ten feet away. The pillar hid you, barely, but you weren’t behind a door or wall. One wrong sound, one shift in shadow…
Ghost’s chest pressed against yours, his breathing controlled despite the sprint he must’ve made to reach you. His other hand gripped your hip, holding you completely still.
“This is what happens,” he breathed, so quiet you almost missed it, “when you don’t fucking listen.”
Your heart hammered from the close call, from his proximity, from the barely leashed fury radiating off him. His hand on your mouth was uncompromising, thumb pressed against your jaw to keep your head exactly where he wanted it.
The footsteps slowed. Someone barked an order in Russian. They were searching the area.
Ghost’s fingers tightened fractionally on your hip, a warning. Stay. Quiet.
You were acutely aware of every point of contact: his thigh between yours, pinning you to the pillar. His tactical vest pressed against your chest. The heat of his palm on your mouth. The way his eyes, visible through the skull mask, burned with something between rage and something far more dangerous.
“You almost got caught,” he whispered, voice like broken glass. “Because you weren’t paying attention. Because you thought you were invincible.”
The footsteps moved closer. You could see the sweep of flashlight beams.
“So now you’re going to stand here.” His hand pressed harder against your mouth. “Completely still. Completely quiet. And feel what it’s like when you can’t control the situation.”
Flashlight again. Closer this time. Russian right in front of you, two men, maybe three, something about “second floor,” something about “south corridor.” One of them snorted, boots crunching over glass. You could smell their cigarettes.
Ghost’s hand on your hip tightened, fingers digging through tac pants to meat. His thigh pushed higher, forcing your legs apart around it. You felt the rough seams of his pants drag over the place between your thighs that was absolutely not supposed to be awake right now.
Your body did it anyway.
He felt that, too.
“Christ,” he whispered, and the word was a growl. “You really are reckless.”
Your eyes snapped to his. It wasn’t reprimand- that was there, yeah, simmering- but it was layered now with something darker, hotter, a there you are that made your stomach drop.
The patrol paused. One guy lingered, beam cutting back toward your direction.
Ghost’s palm pressed firmer over your mouth, thumb along your cheekbone, keeping your head facing him, not the danger. His other hand slid from your hip to the inside of your thigh and squeezed.
“Here’s how this works,” he breathed, not taking his eyes off yours even while listening to the footsteps. “You don’t get to run off, clear rooms alone, and then pretend you’re not running hot when I pin you. You wanted danger? This is it. You wanted to feel it?” His fingers inched higher, dragging the fabric of your pants with them. “You’ll feel it. With me. While they’re right. Fuckin’. There.”
Your pulse jumped so hard he could probably feel it through the glove on your mouth.
The guard said something louder now, annoyed. Someone else answered from further down the hall. The beam swung away.
Ghost took the opening.
He dropped his hand from your thigh to your waistband and popped the button one handed, knuckles fast and precise. You squeaked against his glove. He smirked.
“Quiet.”
He pulled your fly down. Cold air slipped in. So did his hand.
He didn’t waste time hunting. He shoved his gloved fingers past your underwear and straight between your legs. His fingers met slick and he actually hummed.
“Knew it.”
You shook your head, wild: no, no, no, not here-
He tutted, soft. “You listen now, since you wouldn’t listen earlier.”
He jammed his thigh up further so you were perched on it, hips tipped, his hand between you and concrete. The position trapped you completely. If you twisted, you’d knock his arm. If you pushed his hand away, you’d make noise. If you came, you’d have to do it silent.
“Hands behind,” he mouthed.
You glared.
He pinched your clit.
You jolted and put your hands behind you, fingers clawing at the lip of broken concrete to keep your balance. He nodded, satisfied.
“Good girl,” he said, so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. “Knew you had the ability to follow orders somewhere in there.”
The patrol was still within earshot, voices bouncing off metal, one of them coughing. You could feel them. And while they searched, Ghost started working you.
Two fingers sliding through your slick, circling your clit in tight, mean strokes that he could hide with the grind of his thigh. You tried to arch; his chest flattened you. You tried to gasp; his glove took it. Your body lit up, adrenaline and arousal tangling until you couldn’t tell which was which.
“Could’ve got yourself killed,” he reminded you, every word punctuated by a stroke. “Could’ve had you on the ground bleeding out. Instead, you get this.”
You whined into his palm.
“Yeah?” His eyes glittered. “You like this better, don’t you?”
You nodded, a tiny, embarrassed, furious nod.
“Thought so.”
He shoved a finger into your cunt.
You weren’t ready; your knees almost buckled. He caught you with the arm above your head, forearm a bar you couldn’t slip. He kept his finger in, deep, curved just slightly. Then he added a second.
You made a high, desperate sound. He swallowed it with his hand.
“Shh.”
The Russian voices started to fade down the hall, toward the loading docks. You two were safe for the moment, but not cleared. Any second they could double back. Any second they could radio for a second sweep.
Ghost knew it.
He took advantage of that.
“Gonna teach you,” he murmured, picking up speed with his fingers, thumb rubbing hard circles now. “How to stay still. How to let me handle it.”
Your thighs shook. You could not believe you were doing this now, here, backed against a pillar in a hostile warehouse, but your body didn’t care. Your body had been humming on edge since the grab last week, since his silence, since that look. This was exactly what it wanted: heat and command.
“Eyes on me.” His voice was a leash. “Not on them. On me.”
You locked onto his, pupils blown. The skull print around them made him look feral.
“Good,” he said, and fucked you on his fingers harder.
He used the heel of his hand to grind your clit in against the pillar, turning the concrete into leverage. Each stroke forced a breath out of you, and each breath died against his palm. You could smell leather, sweat, gunpowder. You could taste it.
“Remember this,” he whispered. “Next time you think about runnin’ off. Remember how easy I can have you shaking.”
Your orgasm came fast- too much adrenaline, too much closeness, too much him. You tried to warn him; he felt it first. Your walls clamped around his fingers, your hips jerked, and he pinned you harder, body a cage, hand a gag.
“Now,” he ordered. “Do it. Right fuckin’ now.”
You came hard.
You screamed into his palm and no one heard. You flooded over his glove, thighs trembling, head thunking back on the pillar. He rode you through it, fingers slowing only when your eyes went glassy and your knees threatened to give. He didn’t let you drop. He held you there, pulsing little aftershocks into your clit until you were whimpering.
Then because he’s cruel when he needs to be, he slid his fingers out and pushed your underwear back into place like nothing happened. The wet was yours, trapped against you. His hand went back to your hip, gripping hard, possessive.
Down the hall, a radio crackled. “Чисто. Возвращаемся.”
Clear. Returning.
Ghost waited until the boots retreated properly, until the flashlight beams disappeared around the corner, until the building settled back into stillness. Then, finally, he eased his hand from your mouth.
You sucked air like you’d been drowning.
“Fuck-!”
The gloved fingers that had just been inside you pressed to your lips, cutting you off. They were wet. With you. His eyes burned.
“Taste,” he said.
You did.
He watched, rapt, while you sucked your own slick off his glove. His breath hitched. You felt the hard line of his cock through his pants at your hip- he wasn’t as unaffected by this as he pretended to be either.
“Reckless,” he said again, but now it was deeper. Rougher. “You wanna play in dangerous places? Fine. You do it with me.”
You licked his fingers clean, eyes daring. “You gonna punish me?”
He huffed something like a laugh. “Not here.”
Your grin was wicked. “Why not?”
He pushed his hips into you, slow, letting you feel how much he wanted to, the slow grind of his cock against your belly. “Because if I fuck you here, loud, they’ll come back,” he said, voice like gravel. “And I’ll have to shoot them. Then Price’ll shout at me. Then Laswell’ll shout at him.”
You bit your lip. “So?”
“So,” he said, leaning in, mask brushing your cheek, “you’re gonna follow me out of here, nice and slow, and when we’re in the exfil truck or that dark room two buildings over, I’m gonna put you on your knees and make you do it again. This time for as long as I want.”
You shivered.
He pulled his hand from your mouth, wiped the last of you on your thigh, then fixed your fly like he’d never undone it. His professionalism snapped back on like a switch: check corners, listen, move.
But as he stepped back, he snagged your comm wire and tugged you forward.
“Stay on my six,” he said, back to command voice. “No more heroics.”
You nodded, breath still uneven, thighs still slick.
“Good.” He glanced down at your mouth, at the flush in your cheeks, at the way your pupils still hadn’t shrunk. “And next time you need a thrill,” he added, moving off, “you ask me. I’ll give you one that won’t get you killed.”