Simon Ghost Riley

Sleeping your way to the top would be one way to put it. If anything, your lieutenant was the one who was sleeping his way to the bottom, with how many times he had decided that behind an unlocked office door would be the best time to indulge in the cute little medic on their first week at base.

You’re not sure how many times you’ve had to whine out "L—lieutenant Riley, someone will hear," and you’re also not exact on how many times he’s only grunted in response, burying his face in your cunt.

It was the sweet sounds, the taste, the smell, the slick wetness practically pouring out of you that made him crave you every minute of every hour. Ghost didn’t even say hello before he got down on his knees, pushing your office chair backwards enough for him to fit between your legs that hung off of said chair. Getting your underwear off was easy, spreading your thighs, his lips trailing up from your ankles in his palm to your banged up knees from the linoleum floors.

Lieutenant, Sir, Ghost, all of the titles dropped from your lips like a waterfall, but what he needed was husband. Baby. Dear.