Simon “Ghost” Riley

Control was the one thing that Simon needed to have at all times. At work. In his daily life. He needed to control every aspect.

He preferred his team the way it was, before her. At least he could usually predict the actions of the others. On missions, they moved as a team, taking on unexpected challenges together.

Cohesive.

But she never moved the same way twice. She was wild. Untamed. Uncontrollable.

He hated how she made decisions seemingly with very little contemplation. Very little outside influence. He wanted to call it luck, but he couldn’t deny that luck had nothing to do with it. She had pure skill. “Predictability is the cousin of death.” She’d once explained after he confronted her. And damn it he hated that it made sense.

That’s why he hated her. She made sense.

She made usable thread out of the knots of his mind, and he couldn’t fucking stand it. He wanted to yank the invisible hold she had over him out of her hands, but it was wrapped tightly around her fingers just like he was.

Many nights he would blame her for keeping him up, running laps in his head until he was dizzy when all she’d done that day was have a better plan than him. After weeks of sleep deprived nights, he couldn’t count the times on all his fingers that he’d ended up right outside of the door to her bedroom.

Four doors down from his. Across the hall. Right next to Johnny’s.

A strange jealousy roiled in his gut when he thought of Johnny getting to hear any sort of noise of hers through the wall they shared.

Those noises were supposed to be his. She was his.

And every night he’d wandered out of bed, he’d wandered right back to it empty handed. Seething in his own twisted thoughts of her until his hand made him empty headed.

Until tonight.

They’d gone to the bar after another successful mission thanks to her split second change of route. Drinks poured all around, music playing from speakers in the corners of the room. A specific song that changed his entire trajectory. The words of the song falling from her whisky stained lips like a request.

Touch me. Feel me. Make me whatever you want.

And so... He would.

He slipped into her room past two in the morning, the rest of the team piss drunk and knocked out in their own rooms. He’d made sure she hadn’t drank too much, just the few shots he’d allowed her. He was stone cold sober.

Saliva pooled in his mouth as he looked over her sleeping form. Her skin bathed in moonlight, looking like the purest thing in the world. He wanted to sink his teeth into her. Mark her. Ruin her for anyone else but him.

His cock twitched in his pants at the thought of seeing her made his. She didn’t wake up even when he used the spare ties from his dress uniform to bind her wrists to the headboard. He pulled his mask off, holding it in his hand while his eyes drank in the sight of her like this.

His knee sank into the bed next to her hip, the other caging her body under his on the mattress. She stirred at the feeling of her body shifting, eyes snapping open for a fraction of a second before he slipped his mask over her head, bunching the fabric up to cover her eyes.

She whispered his callsign, wrists pulling against the bindings, body writhing beneath his thighs.

“Simon.” He corrected. He wanted to hear his name on her pretty lips before and after he ruined her. “Do you want this?” He’d make it very easy for her. One word and he’d free her, leaving her room without complaint.

To his delight, that word didn’t come.

“Come on. Give me an answer.” He leaned forward, slipping a hand up to squeeze her cheeks between his fingers.

Her shaky nod felt like a confession he’d been waiting his whole life to hear.

Without a word, his lips were on hers. Tasting, discovering, conquering.

He broke the kiss, his lips trailing a path of featherlight grazes along her jawline, down her neck, and towards the swell of her breasts. His tongue dipped into the hollow between her collarbones, leaving a wet trail in its wake.

Her shaky breaths rustled his hair as his mouth’s attention tunneled on her breasts. A soft moan as his hands slipped beneath the fabric of her shirt.

“I knew you’d make such pretty sounds for me.” He murmured against her skin, still damp from his tongue. His hands devoured her just as much as his mouth, working over her soft skin with less restraint than should be expected of him.

He removed the barriers between them slowly, watching her squirm as his tongue grazed over newly exposed flesh. Each new sensation making her body arch toward him or shy away.

Her mind, never knowing his next move, began to try to predict his touches and caresses. Simon used this to his advantage, seemingly following a path right toward a sensitive area and then changing course just as she began to react to him prematurely.

He wouldn’t give her what they were both so desperate for, not just yet. He wanted to take his time. To torture her for all the sleepless nights she’d unknowingly caused him. For all the times his cum didn’t end up inside her where it belonged. For all the times he had to wipe it from his skin instead of watching her swallow it.

His fingertips traced from her low stomach down to her inner thighs, his blunt nails grazing against her skin making goosebumps erupt along his path.

“Open.” He breathed against the skin just below her navel, pressing his thumbs into her inner thighs.