Phantom ~ [Simon Ghost Riley]

XXXV. A call

I swallow, but his hand is still near my throat.

"Don't get all nervous on me now," he hums, his voice low as always when he notices.

"-I'm not," I'm quick to reply to his assumption.

He chuckles sadistically as his hand reaches my face. His hand is once again covered by his skull-printed gloves. The texture of it is rough against my skin, but it feels weirdly good. At this point, I'll take anything if it means his touch.

As he looks down at me, he squints for a split second. I can tell he's thinking of a thousand things at once, but I wouldn't be able to tell a single thought of his.

In the dimly lit apartment, I find myself seated on the plush couch, my heart pounding in my chest. His towering figure looms above me, casting a shadow that nearly swallows the entire room. The air crackles with an electrifying tension, some sort of silent understanding between us.

His gaze is so intense it holds me captive. With each passing second, the distance between us diminishes, and I can feel the magnetic pull drawing us closer together. My eyes never waver from his as he moves with deliberate slowness, carefully closing the gap between us.

With one bent knee, he brings himself to my level, his eyes still burning into my soul. His gloved hands, rough yet strangely gentle, cup my face, their touch sending shivers down my spine. I search for stability, my fingers grazing the edge of the couch, anchoring myself in anticipation.

Time stands still as he slowly pulls up his mask to his nose and our lips hover mere inches apart. A quiver courses through my body, my breath hitching in my throat. I part my lips, silently inviting him to bridge the final gap.

In that quick moment, our lips touch, and everything else disappears.

I'm somehow surprised he gave in so easily. I'd half expected him to simply hover above me in an attempt to torture me in his sadistic ways.

Fireworks explode within me as his mouth moves against mine with a blend of hunger and vulnerability. I yield to the intensity, melting under his touch. My breathing gets heavier and my chest rises and falls quicker than ever.

His hands leave my face, entwining in my hair, tugging me closer, as if he cannot get enough. Our kiss deepens, a dance of trying to take the lead that he, ofcourse, eventually wins.

The present moment is all-consuming, an escape from the chaos that surrounds us. But as our lips reluctantly part, leaving me breathless and yearning for more. I know that this kiss is just the beginning and that he's not done with me yet.

As our lips part, a breathless silence fills the room, and I immediately find myself desperate for his touch. But he pulls away, his eyes filled with a mixture of desire and restraint, leaving me longing for more.

His retreat awakens a craving within me, a desperate ache for his presence. The absence of his touch leaves me feeling exposed, my heart beating with an unhealthy rhythm. The space between us feels vast, an agonizing void that demands to be filled.

I reach out tentatively, my hand suspended in mid-air as if pleading for him to return to me. "Please," I whisper, my voice barely audible, but filled with an urgency that can't be contained.

His hand snaps around my wrist as I reach for him, a sadistic chuckle leaving his throat before he speaks. "Please?" he says with a tilt of his head. "I think you can do better than that, darling."

He watches me, his gaze a combination of lust and patience. The expression etched on his eyes mirrors my own, and yet he remains steadfast, resisting the pull that draws us together. His voice, laced with both amusement and lust, resonates through the silence. "Come on then... Show me what you can do," he says, his tone weighted with a tease.