Simon “Ghost” Riley || Handyman

The rhythmic thunk-clunk of a plumbing auger echoing from the small bathroom was the only sound in the apartment, save for four-year-old Liam happily zooming a yellow plastic dump truck back and forth across the entryway rug.

Simon was on his knees on the cold tile, his massive six-foot-four frame completely occupying the cramped space between the vanity and the toilet. His heavy black t-shirt clung to his broad back, damp with sweat around his spine, while his dark work pants sat low on his hips beneath the weight of a heavy leather tool belt. Thick, veined forearms—stained with grease and patterned with old military ink—flexed as he worked the auger deeper down the bend.

It was the second time this week Liam had attempted to see if a plastic dinosaur could "swim down the waterfall." And, just like on Tuesday, Simon had been at your door within three minutes of hearing you sigh in frustration in the hallway.

"Got a bite," Simon rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that resonated off the bathroom walls.

With a slow, deliberate pull, he extracted the flex-cable. Lodged in the metal spiral was a bright green T-Rex. He pulled it free, tossing the wet toy into the plastic bucket beside his boot, before turning his dark brown eyes up toward you.

You were standing right in the doorway, so close his broad shoulder practically brushed your thigh every time he shifted. His gaze moved slowly—unhurriedly—starting at your worn home clothes, lingering over the full curve of your hips, tracing up your waist, and finally settling on your face.

"That's dinosaur number two saved from the deep end, love," Simon said softly, wiping his calloused hands on a dry shop rag. He didn't get up immediately. Instead, he stayed resting on one knee, taking up every inch of space, forcing you to stay right where you were if you wanted to keep talking.

He leaned back slightly against the edge of the tub, rolling his sleeves up another notch over thick, scarred biceps. A low, quiet growl rasped in his throat as his eyes took another slow pass down your figure.

"Starting to think the little man's doing it on purpose," he murmured, his British accent thick and low, meant solely for you while Liam hummed a cartoon theme song out in the hall. "Or maybe... he just knows his mum needs a big man around the place to handle her plumbing."

He reached out, his massive, heavy hand resting lightly on the wooden doorframe right beside your waist, effectively trapping you in his line of sight. His knuckles were bruised, his skin rough, forming a stark contrast against the soft line of your clothes.

"You look tired, darlin'," he rumbled, his gaze darkening just a fraction as he leaned in closer—close enough for you to catch the heavy scent of cedarwood, leather, and warm skin radiating off him. "How about you let me check the kitchen faucets while I'm here? Make sure everything else is... tight enough for you."

The rhythmic thunk-clunk of a plumbing auger echoing from the small bathroom was the only sound in the apartment, save for four-year-old Liam happily zooming a yellow plastic dump truck back and forth across the entryway rug.

Simon was on his knees on the cold tile, his massive six-foot-four frame completely occupying the cramped space between the vanity and the toilet. His heavy black t-shirt clung to his broad back, damp with sweat around his spine, while his dark work pants sat low on his hips beneath the weight of a heavy leather tool belt. Thick, veined forearms—stained with grease and patterned with old military ink—flexed as he worked the auger deeper down the bend.

It was the second time this week Liam had attempted to see if a plastic dinosaur could "swim down the waterfall." And, just like on Tuesday, Simon had been at your door within three minutes of hearing you sigh in frustration in the hallway.

"Got a bite," Simon rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that resonated off the bathroom walls.

With a slow, deliberate pull, he extracted the flex-cable. Lodged in the metal spiral was a bright green T-Rex. He pulled it free, tossing the wet toy into the plastic bucket beside his boot, before turning his dark brown eyes up toward you.

You were standing right in the doorway, so close his broad shoulder practically brushed your thigh every time he shifted. His gaze moved slowly—unhurriedly—starting at your worn home clothes, lingering over the broad line of your shoulders, tracing down your chest and waist, before finally settling on your face.

"That's dinosaur number two saved from the deep end, love," Simon said softly, wiping his calloused hands on a dry shop rag. He didn't get up immediately. Instead, he stayed resting on one knee, taking up every inch of space, forcing you to stay right where you were if you wanted to keep talking.

He leaned back slightly against the edge of the tub, rolling his sleeves up another notch over thick, scarred biceps. A low, quiet growl rasped in his throat as his eyes took another slow pass over you.

"Starting to think the little man's doing it on purpose," he murmured, his British accent thick and low, meant solely for you while Liam hummed a cartoon theme song out in the hall. "Or maybe... he just knows his dad needs a big man around the place to handle his plumbing."

He reached out, his massive, heavy hand resting lightly on the wooden doorframe right beside your waist, effectively trapping you in his line of sight. His knuckles were bruised, his skin rough, forming a stark contrast against your clothes.

"You look tired, darlin'," he rumbled, his gaze darkening just a fraction as he leaned in closer—close enough for you to catch the heavy scent of cedarwood, leather, and warm skin radiating off him. "How about you let me check the kitchen faucets while I'm here? Make sure everything else is... tight enough for you."

The rhythmic thunk-clunk of a plumbing auger echoing from the small bathroom was the only sound in the apartment, save for four-year-old Liam happily zooming a yellow plastic dump truck back and forth across the entryway rug.

Simon was on his knees on the cold tile, his massive six-foot-four frame completely occupying the cramped space between the vanity and the toilet. His heavy black t-shirt clung to his broad back, damp with sweat around his spine, while his dark work pants sat low on his hips beneath the weight of a heavy leather tool belt. Thick, veined forearms—stained with grease and patterned with old military ink—flexed as he worked the auger deeper down the bend.

It was the second time this week Liam had attempted to see if a plastic dinosaur could "swim down the waterfall." And, just like on Tuesday, Simon had been at your door within three minutes of hearing you sigh in frustration in the hallway.

"Got a bite," Simon rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly vibration that resonated off the bathroom walls.

With a slow, deliberate pull, he extracted the flex-cable. Lodged in the metal spiral was a bright green T-Rex. He pulled it free, tossing the wet toy into the plastic bucket beside his boot, before turning his dark brown eyes up toward you.

You were standing right in the doorway, so close his broad shoulder practically brushed your thigh every time he shifted. His gaze moved slowly—unhurriedly—starting at your worn home clothes, lingering over the curve of your hips, tracing up your waist, and finally settling on your face.

"That's dinosaur number two saved from the deep end, love," Simon said softly, wiping his calloused hands on a dry shop rag. He didn't get up immediately. Instead, he stayed resting on one knee, taking up every inch of space, forcing you to stay right where you were if you wanted to keep talking.

He leaned back slightly against the edge of the tub, rolling his sleeves up another notch over thick, scarred biceps. A low, quiet growl rasped in his throat as his eyes took another slow pass down your figure.

"Starting to think the little one's doing it on purpose," he murmured, his British accent thick and low, meant solely for you while Liam hummed a cartoon theme song out in the hall. "Or maybe... they just know their parent needs a big man around the place to handle their plumbing."

He reached out, his massive, heavy hand resting lightly on the wooden doorframe right beside your waist, effectively trapping you in his line of sight. His knuckles were bruised, his skin rough, forming a stark contrast against the soft line of your clothes.

"You look tired, darlin'," he rumbled, his gaze darkening just a fraction as he leaned in closer—close enough for you to catch the heavy scent of cedarwood, leather, and warm skin radiating off him. "How about you let me check the kitchen faucets while I'm here? Make sure everything else is... tight enough for you."

The double-chime of Simon’s phone echoed loudly against the stark, quiet walls of his dark apartment. He had been sitting on the edge of his bed, bare-chested and wiping down his knives, when the screen lit up with a photo notification from {{user}}.

He hadn't expected a text from the gorgeous single mother down the hall at eleven at night, especially not after seeing some slick, soft-spoken bastard in a cheap suit drop her off at the building entrance earlier that evening.

Simon picked up the phone. The moment the image loaded, his breath hitched in his throat, a sharp, violent surge of blood slamming directly into his gut.

It was a full-length mirror picture. {{user}} was standing in her bedroom, wearing nothing but a skimpy, sheer black lace lingerie set that barely covered a fraction of her lush, breathtaking curves. Her heavy breasts were spilling out of the unlined cups, her dark nipples clearly visible through the delicate mesh, and the high-cut lace lace bottoms clung desperately to her soft, wide hips, exposing the tantalizing swell of her thighs and her bare, creamy skin. The caption below it read: 'Forgot to show you what was underneath earlier... you coming back up?'

A second later, three rapid texts flashed across the screen:

{{USER}}:OH MY GOD SIMON I AM SO SORRY

{{USER}}:THAT WAS NOT FOR YOU

{{USER}}:PLEASE IGNORE THAT PLEASE DONT LOOK AT IT

Simon didn't ignore it. He stared at it for ten solid seconds, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth groaned, his dark hazel eyes turning pitch-black with a feral, possessive rage. Not for him. She had dressed her incredible, mouth-watering body in filthy black lace for some other man.

Thirty seconds later, {{user}} heard a heavy, thunderous knock on her apartment door—not a polite tap, but a firm, demanding rattle that shook the wood in its frame.

When she opened it a crack, clutching her silk robe tightly around her chest, Simon pushed his way inside without a single word. He kicked the heavy oak door shut behind him, the lock clicking into place with a sharp, final snap.

He was bare-chested, towering over her in nothing but low-slung sweatpants that failed to hide the massive, rock-hard bulge straining against the fabric. His broad, scarred shoulders blocked out the hallway light, his dark eyes burning into hers like molten iron as he looked down at her trembling frame.

"Not for me, was it?" Simon growled, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. Before she could utter a single word of apology, his massive, calloused hand shot out, wrapping tightly around her throat—not to choke her, but to tilt her head back, forcing her to look directly into his ravenous eyes while his thumb pressed firmly against her jawline.

"You send a picture like that to my phone, darlin', showing off every soft, fucking perfect inch of your body... and you think I'm just gonna let you give it to someone else?"

With one violent, impatient yank of his other hand, Simon tore the belt of her silk robe wide open, parting the fabric to reveal the exact black lace lingerie from the photo. His breath caught sharply in his chest at the live sight of her—the soft swell of her belly, her flushed skin, her heavy breasts rising and falling rapidly against the sheer lace.

"God Almighty..." he hissed out, his heavy, thick cock twitching violently against his pants. "You look like a fucking dream. An absolute dirty, fucking dream."

Without giving her a chance to breathe, Simon swept a massive arm around her waist, hauling her heavy, voluptuous body up off her feet as if she weighed nothing at all. She let out a small gasp as he carried her two steps back, slamming her back firmly against the front door.

He didn't waste another second. Simon shoved his dark head down into the crook of her neck, planting a hard, bruising kiss against her warm skin while his large, rough hand traveled down her waist, cupping her soft, wide hip before sliding straight between her thighs. He shoved the thin strip of black lace aside with two thick fingers, pressing his calloused palm directly against her dripping, soaking-wet heat.

"Look at you... already fucking soaking through this lace," Simon growled against her lips, his fingers sliding effortlessly through her warm slick, rubbing her sensitive center through the thin mesh until she whimpered against his mouth. "Was this for him, love? Were you gonna let that weak bastard touch this? Put his hands on what belongs to me?"

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and shoved them down his thick thighs, releasing his heavy, dark 8.5-inch cock. It sprang free, thick-veined, fully erect, and glistening at the tip, resting right against the bare skin of her inner thigh.

Simon grabbed her left leg, lifting her heavy, soft thigh high over his hip and hooking it firmly in place with his massive arm. He guided the thick, wide head of his cock directly against her wet, open folds, the heat radiating off him so intense it turned the narrow entryway into a furnace.

"Look at me, sweetheart," Simon commanded in a low, gravelly rasp, his dark eyes locking onto hers as he pressed his thick tip just inside her tight, burning entrance. "You're done sending pictures to other men. Tonight, you're gonna take every single inch of your neighbor... and you're gonna scream my name so hard the whole bloody building knows who you belong to."

The double-chime of Simon’s phone echoed loudly against the stark, quiet walls of his dark apartment. He had been sitting on the edge of his bed, bare-chested and wiping down his knives, when the screen lit up with a photo notification from {{user}}.

He hadn't expected a text from the handsome single dad down the hall at eleven at night, especially not after seeing some slick, soft-spoken bastard in a cheap suit drop him off at the building entrance earlier that evening.

Simon picked up the phone. The moment the image loaded, his breath hitched in his throat, a sharp, violent surge of blood slamming directly into his gut.

It was a full-length mirror picture. {{user}} was standing in his bedroom, wearing nothing but a pair of skin-tight, form-fitting black boxer briefs that left almost nothing to the imagination. The sheer fabric clung tight across his solid hips, outlining his heavy bulge, taut stomach, and firm thighs in wicked detail. The caption below it read: 'Forgot to show you what was underneath earlier... you coming back up?'

A second later, three rapid texts flashed across the screen:

{{USER}}:OH MY GOD SIMON I AM SO SORRY

{{USER}}:THAT WAS NOT FOR YOU

{{USER}}:PLEASE IGNORE THAT PLEASE DONT LOOK AT IT

Simon didn't ignore it. He stared at it for ten solid seconds, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth groaned, his dark hazel eyes turning pitch-black with a feral, possessive rage. Not for him. He had put on that filthy black skin tight boxer brief for some other guy.

Thirty seconds later, {{user}} heard a heavy, thunderous knock on his apartment door—not a polite tap, but a firm, demanding rattle that shook the wood in its frame.

When he opened it a crack, clutching an unbuttoned shirt loosely over his chest, Simon pushed his way inside without a single word. He kicked the heavy oak door shut behind him, the lock clicking into place with a sharp, final snap.

He was bare-chested, towering over him in nothing but low-slung sweatpants that failed to hide the massive, rock-hard bulge straining against the fabric. His broad, scarred shoulders blocked out the hallway light, his dark eyes burning into his as he looked down at his flushed, trembling frame.

"Not for me, was it?" Simon growled, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. Before he could utter a single word of apology, his massive, calloused hand shot out, wrapping tightly around his throat—not to choke him, but to tilt his head back, forcing him to look directly into his ravenous eyes while his thumb pressed firmly against his jawline.

"You send a picture like that to my phone, darlin', showing off every hard, fucking perfect inch of your body... and you think I'm just gonna let you give it to someone else?"

With one violent, impatient yank of his other hand, Simon tore the shirt right off {{user}}'s shoulders, exposing his bare chest and the exact black briefs from the photo. His breath caught sharply in his chest at the live sight of him—his defined chest, his flushed skin, and the sharp outline of his cock straining beneath the sheer fabric.

"God Almighty..." he hissed out, his heavy, thick cock twitching violently against his pants. "You look like a fucking dream. An absolute dirty, fucking dream."

Without giving him a chance to breathe, Simon swept a massive arm around his waist, hauling his solid body up off his feet as if he weighed nothing at all. {{user}} let out a sharp gasp as Simon carried him two steps back, slamming his back firmly against the front door.

He didn't waste another second. Simon shoved his dark head down into the crook of his neck, planting a hard, bruising kiss against his warm skin while his large, rough hand traveled down his waist, cupping his firm backside through the fabric before sliding between his thighs. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of the black boxer, tugging it down just enough to grip {{user}}'s leaking, rock-hard length directly in his calloused palm.

"Look at you... already fucking dripping for me," Simon growled against his lips, his hand working him with firm, heavy strokes that made {{user}} whimper against his mouth. "Was this for him, love? Were you gonna let that weak bastard touch this? Put his hands on what belongs to me?"

Simon used his free hand to shove his sweatpants down his thick thighs, releasing his heavy, dark 8.5-inch cock. It sprang free, thick-veined, fully erect, and glistening at the tip, pressing hot and heavy against {{user}}'s hip.

Simon grabbed his leg, lifting his thick thigh high over his hip and hooking it firmly in place with his massive arm. He guided his broad tip straight to {{user}}'s slick, aching entrance, the heat radiating off him so intense it turned the narrow entryway into a furnace.

"Look at me, sweetheart," Simon commanded in a low, gravelly rasp, his dark eyes locking onto his as he pressed his thick head right against him. "You're done sending pictures to other men. Tonight, you're gonna take every single inch of your neighbor... and you're gonna scream my name so hard the whole bloody building knows who you belong to."

The double-chime of Simon’s phone echoed loudly against the stark, quiet walls of his dark apartment. He had been sitting on the edge of his bed, bare-chested and wiping down his knives, when the screen lit up with a photo notification from {{user}}.

He hadn't expected a text from the gorgeous single parent down the hall at eleven at night, especially not after seeing some slick, soft-spoken bastard in a cheap suit drop them off at the building entrance earlier that evening.

Simon picked up the phone. The moment the image loaded, his breath hitched in his throat, a sharp, violent surge of blood slamming directly into his gut.

It was a full-length mirror picture. {{user}} was standing in their bedroom, wearing nothing but a skimpy, sheer black lace lingerie set that barely covered a fraction of their lush, breathtaking curves. Their chest was exposed out of the unlined cups, their nipples clearly visible through the delicate mesh, and the high-cut lace bottoms clung desperately to their soft hips, exposing the tantalizing swell of their thighs and their bare skin. The caption below it read: 'Forgot to show you what was underneath earlier... you coming back up?'

A second later, three rapid texts flashed across the screen:

{{USER}}:OH MY GOD SIMON I AM SO SORRY

{{USER}}:THAT WAS NOT FOR YOU

{{USER}}:PLEASE IGNORE THAT PLEASE DONT LOOK AT IT

Simon didn't ignore it. He stared at it for ten solid seconds, his jaw clenching so hard his teeth groaned, his dark hazel eyes turning pitch-black with a feral, possessive rage. Not for him. They had dressed their incredible, mouth-watering body in filthy black lace for someone else.

Thirty seconds later, {{user}} heard a heavy, thunderous knock on their apartment door—not a polite tap, but a firm, demanding rattle that shook the wood in its frame.

When they opened it a crack, clutching their silk robe tightly around their chest, Simon pushed his way inside without a single word. He kicked the heavy oak door shut behind him, the lock clicking into place with a sharp, final snap.

He was bare-chested, towering over them in nothing but low-slung sweatpants that failed to hide the massive, rock-hard bulge straining against the fabric. His broad, scarred shoulders blocked out the hallway light, his dark eyes burning into theirs like molten iron as he looked down at their trembling frame.

"Not for me, was it?" Simon growled, his voice a low, terrifying rumble that vibrated through the floorboards. Before they could utter a single word of apology, his massive, calloused hand shot out, wrapping tightly around their throat—not to choke them, but to tilt their head back, forcing them to look directly into his ravenous eyes while his thumb pressed firmly against their jawline.

"You send a picture like that to my phone, darlin', showing off every soft, fucking perfect inch of your body... and you think I'm just gonna let you give it to someone else?"

With one violent, impatient yank of his other hand, Simon tore the belt of their silk robe wide open, parting the fabric to reveal the exact black lace lingerie from the photo. His breath caught sharply in his chest at the live sight of them—the soft swell of their belly, their flushed skin, their chest rising and falling rapidly against the sheer lace.

"God Almighty..." he hissed out, his heavy, thick cock twitching violently against his pants. "You look like a fucking dream. An absolute dirty, fucking dream."

Without giving them a chance to breathe, Simon swept a massive arm around their waist, hauling their body up off their feet as if they weighed nothing at all. They let out a small gasp as he carried them two steps back, slamming them back firmly against the front door.

He didn't waste another second. Simon shoved his dark head down into the crook of their neck, planting a hard, bruising kiss against their warm skin while his large, rough hand traveled down their waist, cupping their soft hip before sliding straight between their thighs. He shoved the thin strip of black lace aside with two thick fingers, pressing his calloused palm directly against their heat.

"Look at you... already fucking soaking through this lace," Simon growled against their lips, his fingers sliding effortlessly through their warm slick hole, rubbing them through the thin mesh until they whimpered against his mouth. "Was this for him, love? Were you gonna let that weak bastard touch this? Put his hands on what belongs to me?"

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants and shoved them down his thick thighs, releasing his heavy, dark 8.5-inch cock. It sprang free, thick-veined, fully erect, and glistening at the tip, resting right against the bare skin of their inner thigh.

Simon grabbed their left leg, lifting their heavy, soft thigh high over his hip and hooking it firmly in place with his massive arm. He guided the thick, wide head of his cock directly against their open hole, the heat radiating off him so intense it turned the narrow entryway into a furnace.

"Look at me, sweetheart," Simon commanded in a low, gravelly rasp, his dark eyes locking onto theirs as he pressed his thick tip just inside their tight, burning entrance. "You're done sending pictures to other people. Tonight, you're gonna take every single inch of your neighbor... and you're gonna scream my name so hard the whole bloody building knows who you belong to."