Midnight Lips | Ghost

𝐂𝐇. 31

𝐕𝐀𝐋
༻❁༺

      A groan slipped past my lips as soon as I woke up. I didn't want to open my eyes yet. I was so comfortable. I had slept like never before, so deeply that I didn't dream about anything. I finally didn't dream about those pale green eyes again. I didn't want to move. I didn't want to start my day. Shit, I didn't even want to wake up in the first place.

But I had to. Today, I needed to get my work done. I needed to finish the job, the reason why I was here. Perhaps not finish it, but I had to get something done. Something good done. And I knew the road I had to take. I knew it deep within my veins. I could bet on it.

Something gripped my thigh when I tried to get out of bed, and my stomach fluttered in butterflies as everything that happened last night settled in. I looked beside me, at the man that was on his back still asleep, and my heart skipped a beat at how peaceful he looked. He had one arm thrown over his hip, the other one was clutching my thigh like he was scared I'd disappear if he pulled away.

We had made each other feel so good last night and did not stop until late hours, when I couldn't fight the sleep taking over my body. I tried to get out and return to my room, but Simon pulled me to his chest and whispered in my ear, "Stay." I fell asleep with a smile on my face and the sweet melody of his heartbeat.

Simon. What was I going to do with him? I didn't know anything, yet there was this thing. Not exactly a thing. More like a feeling, like a pressure that pulled me towards him. I wanted to know everything about him. I wanted to figure him out. I wanted to understand why his eyes always looked so sad, so empty, so numb.

And now... holy shit. Now that I was looking at him, really looking at him, I noticed his mask. Why? Why does this happen to me? Simon's black mask wasn't set in a good place. And of course, I suspected it was weird for him to be sleeping with his mask on, but this was different. The edge of his mask was turned upward as if he had moved it up to scratch the skin there and didn't bother to pull it back down. I could see most of the right side of his neck (left for me) and jaw.

Jaw. How could a man's jaw take all of the air out of my lungs? Pale, sharp, well-defined, the exact same way Simon was. A subtle shadow of dirty blonde stubble, as though he had forgotten to shave or let a few days pass by, and I instantly felt the urge to trace my fingers down it, kiss it, feel it. Simon was in fact blonde, and the idea that his eyes were mirroring the color of his hair had me gasping for air. I think I liked it too much for my well-being.

My eyes lingered there until I noticed the scar on the side where his jaw meets his neck. Simon's entire body was embraced with tiny scars that I never paid much attention to them, but this? This scar was different. It was dark and large. Painful, even. It started from his Adam's apple and rounded his neck, disappearing down his back to where I couldn't find the other end. I wondered how he could have gotten it, what was the purpose of it, if he was supposed to be dead by now, and who was the bastard who dared to put him in such a condition.

Before I could stop myself, my hand was already on his naked chest. Simon sighed, his body twisting and his hand squeezing my thigh as if to make sure I was still there. He was still asleep, though his breathing deepened. I ran my fingers across his chest, feeling the heat travel through my body before I started trailing up. I was testing my luck, at this point. And I was right there, getting to the pointy end.

But Simon was faster. I didn't get too close to touching his neck. His arm shot out just in time and he grabbed my wrist, twisting it in a tight grasp. In a blink, I had both of my wrists pinned above my head and Simon was hovering over me, wary eyes looking down at me. His breathing had changed. His naked chest was pressed to mine and I could feel his crazy heartbeat, though I couldn't differentiate it from my own.

I was right when I said I didn't know Simon very well because right now I had no clue what he was going to do to me. Still—somehow—I wasn't scared of him, I was just curious, and turned on by his roughness, which I knew I shouldn't give it my full attention to right now but it was impossible to ignore this living fire between us.

I didn't know what Simon was thinking. Until his black pupils expanded and it was easier for me to understand this Simon, to see him, read him. He freed my hands only to grip my elbow and flip me on my stomach, my gasp was swallowed by the pillow. "Tell me this is okay," he said, his voice holding a desperate tone. "Tell me it is okay to fuck you right now."

"Yes," I gasped, a pool of wetness between my thighs. It wasn't even a minute and I was already a mess, my mind blank except with that vision of Simon working on me. And that simple word. That small simple word; three letters that held so much meaning. It was all it took.

Simon's fingers found my pussy to make sure I was ready and I so was, before he parted my cheeks with the head of his cock and plunged in with one hard thrust that had us both groaning, me into the pillow, him into the crook of my neck. He pulled back and then slammed hard into me, my nails digging into the sheets.

"Why do you insist so much, Valentina?" he whispered in my ear. "You won't like what you'll find behind the mask."

My lungs forgot how to work. I don't understand, I wanted to tell him, I don't understand what you are saying. I don't understand what I am thinking. I don't understand why I am hesitating so much about this when I don't even know anything about your persona and I wish I could ask you but I am scared to push you and I hate making people uncomfortable.

"Simon," I said instead, over and over again until every second thought faded away from my mind, and every thrust of Simon's hips sent shock waves throughout my body that had me tumbling over the edge. I clenched around him, couldn't help it. But I figured out he liked that so much to follow me shortly after, softly moaning my name as he spilled deep inside of me.

Simon laid on top of me, careful not to crush me by putting most of his weight on his elbows. His chest moved rapidly, his breath heavy on my neck. His body was so hot, I loved to have it pressed against mine. I could lay here all day, feel his weight, his breath, the proof that he desired me, and I wouldn't mind at all. But Simon had other plans.

He pulled out of me and got off the bed, didn't even glance back when he walked into his bathroom and shut the door behind him. I heard the lock turn, and I knew I was no longer welcome here.

You won't like what you'll find.

I couldn't believe him. Did he seriously throw those words at me while fucking me from behind, and then left me to myself without even giving me half of an explanation? My mind confused me. I didn't know what to think, what to do, what to feel. All I knew was that I had to get out of here or else I was getting consumed. So I crossed the room, picked up my clothes, and left with no hesitation.

I just... I knew what I should be feeling, what I should be thinking, what I should be doing. But why was my own brain sabotaging me? First of all, I was not here, in Las Almas, for this. I was not recruited by Task Force 141 to put a face to one of its members, Simon "Ghost" Riley, and get lost in the process. I was here to find the traitor, to help Task Force 141, Los Vaqueros, and the CIA find the stolen missiles.

And so far...
I was doing an awful job.
I should get fired for it.

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𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐄𝐃...