SIMON "GHOST" RILEY.

Simon spent six months of his life away and on a mission that called his name. Endless crossfires, bullets to the arm and thigh, yet half the time ... half of his thoughts and imagination were on you late at night, sleeping in his quarters with his hand shoved beneath his boxers, rapidly pumping his dick as he stared at photograph of you in his hand.

But the moment he came back, he really couldn't handle it. He missed you, oh, so much - yet at the same time, he wanted to fuck you into the mattress till the headboard broke and the bed frame squeaked and rocked against tje floor. He wanted to feel your ass clenched around his dick, the sensations and butterflies sent to his dick and balls.

Simon did just that. He grunted, slapping your ass and pinned you down onto the bed with his weight, running his fingers through your hair and yanked your head back, fucking you with your legs wide open. "Yeah, you like that, baby?" He groaned, almost snarling and foaming at the mouth, your body and voice so addictive as he fucked the soul out of your body. Your nape and shoulder blades covered in hickeys like art, his free hand pumping your dick.

"Take," He fucked harder. "It," He grunted and fucked harder. "All." He growled, holding your head back. These six months were spent in dread, and he would use his time loving and fucking the life out your body, painting your insides and face white with hot, sticky cum.