Time is ticking for the Agent, when Ghost finds her, they collide in more ways than one.
---
15 minutes.
One on his left. He doesn't see him. Muscle and sinew split under sharp steel. His partially severed vocal chords drown in blood, Ghost's hand keeping his last noises within him.
Warm blood wets a spot on his mask, he can feel it seeping through the fabric, smearing on his skin. It's one in between many that have gone cold by now. His feet carry him down a corridor, they all look the same by now.
Another one stands with his back to him around the corner. The hilt of his knife seems to sear through the fabric of his glove, but it won't taste flesh again so soon. Another door opens before him.
10 minutes.
He catches his form in his peripheral vision, reflected on polished rock-crystal mirrors as he passes by the banquet table that life and death decisions have probably been made on. Arrhythmia thrums in his chest and throat at the thought of her image reflected back to her in the mirrors before him. They might've been the last ones for her.
He only saw the plans of the Palacio de Miraflores for a moment as she studied them right after the call for action came through. Her face had been unsure for only a second before her mind saw the way for her. Ghost curses himself for not looking longer. Not just at the plans, but most importantly, her.
His foot catches on a body, hidden away in the darkness under a side table. Anyone else passing through here, not trying to stay covert, clinging to walls and shadows, might've never found them until they flipped the light switch and started looking hard. Ghost pushes the arm of the corpse further under the table.
2 minutes.
His thighs strain from the crouched position he has to stay in until the guard's attention fixes onto something further down the corridor. A drilled through lock cylinder across from him caught his eye as he had turned the corner. The only thing keeping him from following her extremely subtle trail was the guard to his left. She must've passed through before he took position, the camera focused on the hallway hangs down, not moving.
30 seconds.
The crunch of glass from an overhead light she must've shot out resounds from under his boot, making the guy examining his unconscious colleague perk his head up towards him. Muscles memory pulls at his arm, ready to warm up the cooled down steel of his knife with more blood. He's a meter too short and the guard manages to draw his gun, the fired bullet grazing his shoulder. No noise travels through the air after the shot, the sting in his shoulder is ignored by Ghost as he slices his knife from right to left, taking another voice and almost decapitating the guard with the force. He's not like her after all, but her voice rings in his head.
"Killing may compromise secrecy, but the choice between leaving a witness or a corpse is no choice at all."
3.
2.
1.
The seventh hour ticks over. Six was the preset, she gets one more as a buffer. The NSA will contact her one last time. If she doesn't respond in any way, she's assumed lost. She stopped speaking after three, and after four, no noise at all came through from her end to the 141 as the connection terminated. She didn't want a line to them at all, only after Price promised her to only receive transmissions from her and not say a single word as to not distract her did she agree. Ghost doesn't know if the guys have caught on. But the longer she's with them, the longer her skills match so perfectly with what the 141's been missing before, the longer her voice gets warm and low when someone needs it, the thicker the thread between her and the guys gets.
When Ghost had pulled his vest over his head and removed anything from his person that makes unnecessary noise, none of them protested.
Soap had handed him his own black balaclava he carries, devoid of any print and with just two small eye holes to make himself as dark as possible, knowing that his physical mask could be seen better in the dark.
He feels so incredibly light without his gear when he moves but his muscles are constantly strained with the effort to suppress any noise out of him. How he has to squeeze his leg muscles for total control over every single fiber in them makes him wonder how she spends hours in these conditions, he's ready to stretch himself out on the ground after just about half an hour. He knows he's quiet, even for his build and weight, but he has only gotten this far because of her cleaning up before him. Another wave of recognition for her absolute skill flows through him, he can't imagine what it takes to get to this point.
A thump comes from behind the door in front of him. His heart rate spikes at the sign next to the door.
Despacho presidencial.
The presidential office. The thought of her body making the noise, or her not being here at all, threatens to suck Ghost into a vacuum. Either way, he has to see it for himself. His hand pushes open the door before he can even decide to do it fast or slow. His eyes have already adjusted to the darkness in the palace, the body slumped over the desk of massive wood is definitely male, a dark pool of liquid softens papers strewn about as it seeks its way to the edge of the table.
The window to his left is ajar, a breeze makes the papers not yet soaked in blood rustle. He takes two more steps into the room, closing the door behind him softly. She's not here, a wave of nausea cramps around Ghost's insides. Maybe she's made it out. But what if she's injured, lying somewhere and he just stands here, looking at a corpse. The nausea turns to acid, burning his insides with anger at himself, maybe also a little at her. His hand comes up to press his comm button to let Price and the others know what the situation is. But he never gets to.
"No hagas ruido o mueres."
The silencer of the gun pressing into the side of his head is warm, as is the hand that clamps over his mouth. Her grip holds him in an iron vice, her frame would never give away the strength that currently bends him back to push his head against her shoulder. He's never been happy about having a gun held to his head, hasn't even been scared of it for a long time, in certain moments, it suggests a way out when his demons turn on him instead of guiding his hand. Relief deluges him nonetheless, mixing into the adrenaline, forming an almost euphoric cocktail within him as she whispers to him hoarsely.
His muscles relax fully for the first time ever since she left, prompting her to soften her grip over his mouth.
"Gloss." he mutters.
She catches on right away, there's a hitch in her breath as she realizes whose body leans against her. But her grip tightens again, not giving him another chance to open his mouth. He feels her go ridgid behind him, the sour twinge of anger seeping into him through her gloves.
"What the fuck Ghost. What the fucking fuck." her strained whisper clenches through her teeth.
She shoves him away soon after a voice comes through the intercom on the president's desk. He knew she probably wouldn't be happy if someone followed her, but Ghost can't place the look in her eyes as he looks back at her own masked face. She stares him down for a good five seconds, and Ghost doesn't dare to speak another word. Her stature conveys nothing but stunned anger.
Her hand comes up to her neck, pressing down.
"Palencia expired. Preparing for exfil, stand by for report." she hushes, still not taking her eyes off Ghost.
She's receiving something in response, a small rustle in the deadly silent room buzzes from her ear. Another press of her fingers as the intercom buzzes again.
"Negative. My OPSAT's busted. Stand by."
Suddenly there's commotion outside of the room, it sounds far away, but Ghost knows it won't stay that way. She walks over to the window, letting her gaze travel over the inner courtyard. She turns her head back to him as Ghost steps up behind her.
"I don't want to hear a fucking word out of you. You follow me, if they catch you, I'm leaving you." she spits at him.
The venom in her voice almost cuts him. Almost. The years of his body experiencing short, but extremely high stress periods one after another have developed an automatic answering aggressiveness that rears its ugly head at her abrasiveness. He's gotten in here, he'll get out. See if she's still so fucking high and mighty when they're outside. If they weren't in a room in the presidential palace of Venezuela, a dead president next to them and a swath of guards on their way towards them, he'd almost grab her by the scruff to tell the little harlot to be thankful.
The way down out of the window isn't high and thankfully, the courtyard has enough strips of shadows for them to slip by without anyone noticing them. They file out of the yard through a long and dark archway when an alarm sounds around them, scattered voices and footsteps resound from all directions and she picks up the pace. They manage to climb the palace wall just before the first guards file into the courtyard.
Silence falls as the sounds of commotion are drowned out by the thick wall. She pulls the goggles off her face while simultaneously slinging her backpack around to her front. She's still not speaking to him, acidic anger rolls off of her in waves as she pulls the simple dark blue sweatshirt jacket and the pair of jeans that she left in out of the bag. Her braids fall on her shoulders messily after she slips the balaclava off her head to stuff it into the backpack alongside the goggles and gear belt.
"Gloss-"
"Shut up." she hisses back at him.
He can clearly see her distorted features now, a harsh line comes down between her eyebrows as she briefly turns her face to scowl at him. She stands up to pull her jeans over her legs, the boots she's still wearing give her a little trouble as she struggles to pull the fabric over them, and she stumbles a little as a result. She doesn't outright flinch away from Ghost's hand keeping her steady but throws him another sour look. He swallows down the urge to grip her arm tighter, this won't get him anywhere. The buzzing under his skin gets louder with every second she doesn't speak to him.
Besides her slightly messy hair, she just looks like a normal, albeit angry, woman when she finishes getting dressed.
"Take off your jacket and gloves. Give me all your weapons." she seethes at him as she looks over him in the dim light.
Ghost does as he's told wordlessly. The way she takes, no, rips the stuff out of his hands makes his bones vibrate. A thread in him rips, the seams keeping him together get weaker. The backpack stuffed to the brim paints a perfect picture for him.
Sirens howl out as they start the descent down a slope into the park behind the building. Branches tickle his exposed arms as they make their way through the bushes onto the main walking road that leads back up to the main street in front of the palace. Laswell had pulled them back into Caracas after they'd finally found a weapons cache, specifically telling the Agent to stay alert, the CIA was making big moves and she was the back up. All she did was sit in front of her laptop in her hotel room, eyes scanning over news and traffic from the agency alike. Soap was the one who had decided to always hang out in her room while they waited, she didn't seem to mind. Neither did Ghost, the job is always a little easier if you don't have to sleep on a dirty floor in a shack where rats nibble on you.
Her walk through the park isn't rushed, soft light bathes her in a yellow glow beside him. She fiddles with her hair ties, combing her fingers through her braids until her hair cascades down her back in small waves. There's a small leaf that her fingers didn't catch. Ghost picks it out and shows it to her before she can spit more venom at him for touching her.
She comes to a stop at the bottom of the ascending hill, looking upwards at the blue light that flashes down from the main road. His eyes fix on her face, bathed in rapidly changing shadows that shift when her face twists as she thinks.
The whole palace is probably surrounded now, loud voices travel down towards them from above.
A figure, obscured by all the light behind it, comes down towards them.
He sees a feeling rising in her, not quite panic, but deep concern as the shadow draws closer. The whole fucking mission, every impulse of pain, every drop of her blood, could go to shit right now.
"I'm never on the fucking books. The government will deny any knowledge of my existence."
Her body instinctively turns more toward him as the man shouts something in Spanish at them. Gears are twisting and clicking in Ghost's head, the machine whirring at full force. The sentence that echoes in his brain, the reminder that she's alone without him, abandoned by the people she puts her life on the line for every fucking day, pulls at something deep inside of him. If she's to be caught now, she'll be gone. The remnant of anger within him shifts. Ghost will never hear her voice again, never feel her hands on his face, he will bury the soft parts of him again, this time under cement and not just dirt, never to be let out again.
It's this knowledge that forces his hand. He just hopes it's not too late.
An insubstantial echo of surprise passes through her eyes, so meager that even Ghost almost doesn't catch it, as his mask comes off his face. It's the only reaction he can come up with as his brain fights with itself over what to do. Ghost banks on the fact that they're obscured by shadows, the person coming towards them missing what just happened seconds sooner, before he bends down to capture her lips with his.
He can feel the surprise in her, but it melts away in a split second as she catches on to what he's doing.
Even if their ruse doesn't help at all, even if they're pulled apart by the cop, Ghost has to do this. One last time, he puts forth what he can't tell her with his words when his hand comes up to the back of her head. His thumb presses into her hip as he pulls her close when her arms sling around his waist. How warm she's against him, the feeling of her small frame in his hands as she shuffles closer, it burns in his mind, searing itself into his neural pathways to never forget until the day he dies. He can't tell if she feels it too, he hopes the way his lips move against hers conveys what he can't say.
The cop has stopped shouting as he draws closer, seeing two people intertwined in a deep kiss. This has to work, it has to.
"¿Qué estás haciendo aquí?" the man asks.
They break apart, the fake look of surprise alongside embarrassment is perfect on her end as Ghost looks down at her. The flush isn't fake though, he knows that.
Ghost stays silent, but never takes the hand off her hip, as she sputters at the cop, broken Spanish mixed alongside English, putting on the perfect masquerade of them being tourists, not knowing what's going on, just trying to share a moment between them. The cop can't decide if he buys it or not, stopping to listen to his radio in between her stuttered sentences. His eyes roam over Ghost's face for a while, he has a hard time not to turn away or twist his face into a dark mask that will make the cop back away from staring at him for too long. She'd be outraged if she knew that he still has a knife on him, hidden away in a sewn in pocket in his jeans that currently screams out for him to draw it. But he wasn't about to give his last safety line over to her. Another thread in his seam bursts at the man's stare. He's small, Ghost sees all the ways he could bend and break him with just his hands if he wanted to. His eyes communicate the message of bloodlust, thankfully he can disguise it as concern for the woman on his arm as he pulls her closer into his side.
A man, looking decidedly more suspicious than them, is their savior as he hurries past the three of them. The cop's arm shoots out to stop him, spewing a torrent of language at him, the man answering back hastily and unsure. She looks up at Ghost, searching for confirmation from him to try and leave. Ghost nods at her.
She asks him meekly if they're allowed to leave and the cop gestures up the road with his head, still focusing on the man in his grip. Once they find the corpse in the office, Ghost's sure he'll be fired when his superiors find out he let two people leave from a crime scene. They take two steps before his hand shoots out, mimicking them to give him something.
"Dinero. For keeping you gringos safe." he states to them in a thick accent.
"Yes, yes, thank you." she answers and digs in her jean pocket to hand him a few bills. Ever the prepared fucking agent she is. If Ghost's hands can't break him, he hopes the ones of someone else do.
A feeling so entirely alien that it scares him prickles under his skin as they pass the sea of cars and people, a few stares catch on them as they turn to walk down the street. The lights are too bright, the noises too loud, not slightly muffled like he's used to. The air on his skin feels sharp, smells assault his senses in a way that makes repulsion bubble in his stomach. His legs want to stride faster, get back into a space where he can shut out the stimuli of the world and get away from the blurred images of his face in windows. It takes everything in him to not turn into an alleyway and pull out the blood soaked mask from his back pocket.
Her hand intertwines with his and all the vibration flows down to focus on where they're connected. Her touch reels him back. Back to the fact that they just barely made it past that cop and that they have to appear as unassuming as possible while they walk along the sidewalk. Her face looks straight ahead, any discerning emotion absent from her features, so Ghost can't figure out if she's doing this to help him or keep up the picture of them just being a couple walking back to their hotel. A thought crosses his mind. One where they're actually just two people walking alongside each other, no guns in her backpack, no blood staining any of them. Just the two of them walking freely, taking a vacation together, trying local foods, going to museums, whispering words of adoration into the sheets when they get back in the evening.
Ghost never indulges himself in scenarios that will never happen, life has taught him too many lessons. The images dissipate as the entrance to their hotel comes into view.
She still hasn't really looked at him, her glances before looked right through him, still focused on escaping a situation. More police cars pass behind them as they walk through the sliding door into the lobby. Gaz and Soap had fist bumped each other over it being a nice accommodation for once the first time they walked in, the guys sitting down while she checked them in under the front that they all worked for INTERPOL. Ghost just pulled the hood of his sweatshirt deeper over his face to hide the mask from the concierge that was the only person in the lobby with them fortunately.
It's the same one that absentmindedly greets them while they walk past him to the elevators in the back. The doors close in front of them and all the air and tension leaves her body as her hand slips from his. She slumps down into a squat as the elevator pulls at them, head buried in her hands.
"What the fuck Ghost?" she echoes her sentence from before.
He says nothing as he looks down at her. The uneasiness of his bare face mixed with her volatile words swirls in his chest again, turning a darker red by the second. They're safe, she can give up the childish anger at him coming after her just about now. Before he can give her a piece of his mind, she straightens her legs to turn to him.
"What. The. Fuck. Ghost?" she almost yells at him.
The line between her brows is back, making her features dark. Ghost feels a faint scratching somewhere in him at her look of animosity. A whisper in his ear tells him to wipe the look off her face, straighten her out until she stops being a bitch about him putting his life on the line for her. Another whisper, from a far darker corner in his mind, tells him to put her over his knee and plunge his fingers into her while his other hand stings on her sensitive skin until she cries. Another thread goes and heat creeps up Ghost's neck.
The door of the elevator dings on the 6th floor and she rushes out of the doors down towards her room.
"Gloss, wait a fucking second." he bellows at her.
"Fuck you!" she spits back at him, continuing down the corridor.
His teeth grind in his skull from how hard he clenches his jaw. Their yelling has prompted someone to open their door, and Ghost catches Soap's head sticking out, Price and Gaz appearing alongside him another second later. Surprise is written on all three of their faces at his absent mask, but he pays them no mind. His gaze is still trained on her pacing towards her room that's further down from all of theirs.
"You guys hurt?" Price tentatively questions as he sees Ghost's dark features.
"No. You stay here." his words are clear and he knows that none of them will set a foot outside the room until Ghost tells them that they can.
Even Price's higher rank is buried when Ghost's voice gets like this.
He takes off to catch the door before it falls into the lock behind her. She's drawing the curtains as he flips the lock on the door after slipping in behind her. All the previous stinging feelings about his bare face and the adrenaline from getting out by the skin of their teeth fuse in him, igniting his veins and intensifying the scratching. He's going to fucking eat her alive if she doesn't stop being a pouty child.
Her backpack unceremoniously clanks to the floor as she throws it. She pulls out her busted OPSAT to start fiddling with it as she sits on the bed.
"Take your shit and get out." she tells him, not looking up once.
His hand twitches by his side.
Make her shut up. Make her submit. She doesn't get to talk to you like this.
"Bloody fuckin' hell, what are you so angry for?" he asks, his voice a calm sea with the promise of a storm on the horizon.
Her face twists again, to his surprise, she huffs out a laugh. The fire in him crackles louder.
She gets up to rummage through the backpack herself, pulling out his clothes, alongside his pistol and two knives. Ghost doesn't step back as she shoves the bundle into his chest, he doesn't lift up his hands to take it, everything clatters to the floor.
"Leave it here if you want, I don't care. Get the fuck out." she barks in his face.
Ghost's mouth stays shut as her stare burns into his, his face mirrors his inside, he knows. She turns around again as he doesn't make a move, leaving him standing next to the bathroom door in the tiny hallway of the room. His seams finally burst. He's had enough.
Take her. Make her apologize. Ruin her.
His hand bunches into the fabric of her sweatshirt on her shoulder, pulling back. Her back crashes into his chest, but he still doesn't yield. The singe of dominance shooting through him hardens his bones and pulls at his muscles until he's a wall that won't be moved. His raw strength is greater than hers will ever be, and she knows that. Her futile attempt to wring herself out of his grip pulls deliciously in his abdomen, her struggle amuses him even.
"You wanna know what that cop would've done to you if I hadn't come for you? Don't you think I deserve at least a thank you?" he gruffs down at her.
He lets up on her a little so that she can turn towards him.
"You want me to thank you for almost making me shoot you? You want me to thank you for almost compromising my assignment? For fuck's sake Ghost, what if they had caught you?"
Bold of her to assume that he would've let anyone see him. She's not the only one that can stay hidden, does she think he's a fucking rookie? He didn't get into the position he's in now by twiddling his thumbs until someone promoted him to Lieutenant. His jaw is clenching again at her words, and he sees the smallest fraction of anger drain out of her, replaced with something else he can't put his finger on.
His eyebrow draws up at her words, a sneer threatens to find its way onto his face. He has to remind himself that she sees him. All of him. And now she's looking. Now she finally looks at him. Not through him. He welcomes it. She finally gets to see the face of the man that will break her desire for anyone else.
"You wanna know why I'm angry? It's you putting yourself in this high and mighty position as my savior. I've gotten myself out of worse shit than this." she clenches bitterly through her teeth.
His grip tightens again, he's a hair's breadth away from exploding. He knows she's had worse. He fucking knows, but it's not his fault that her eyes and warm touches had wormed their way so far under his skin that he got sick with worry for her. Feelings are a tough thing for Ghost to navigate anyways, which is why he shuts them out, but that wash of dread as her connection went dead sent him down so far that it scared him. Can't she see that?
"Let me go." she says as she wiggles.
"No." he answers. His jeans are straining already, the need to show her what he can't say is overwhelming.
Her elbow punching into his gut snaps off the lock on the door that keeps the depravity away. Ghost welcomes it, wrangling the beast into something he can work with to fully submerge her into it. She's going to drown in all of him and only he will be able to pull her back out again. But not before he takes her apart, split her open and fill every empty space within her with him.
She manages to wind out of his grip and take a few steps into the room. His hand moves out of its own volition, closing around the hilt of the knife in his jeans.
He's a blur as he darts forwards to catch her by the scruff, pushing the edge of the blade under her chin just light enough to not break any skin. The realization is slow to settle in her face as her expression bleeds from something hot and defiant into obedience as her eyes find Ghost's own hard expression staring down at her.
"We were worried. I was worried. I told you we look after our own. So patch up your hurt fuckin' pride, ya git. We're safe, you did the shit you were supposed to do, and if I have to hammer this shit into that thick skull of yours, I will Gloss."
The blade moves as she swallows. She's stiff in his grip, trying to decide if Ghost would actually go as far as to physically hurt her to get his point across, slight fear and something darker mix in her big eyes as she stares up to him. Blood rushes through him at the sight, his head cocks to the side as he drinks in how the little mouse went from angry and defiant to quiet and attentive with just a flick of his wrist.
He adjusts his grip and the blade moves again, she sucks in a shaky breath as she closes her eyes. The edges of a memory become clear through the haze in his head, a flash of something hot in her eyes the last time he pulled out his knife. His mind pushes him to get confirmation before he can't stop himself. His thigh pushing between her legs results in her grabbing at his arm as she mewls.
Bingo.
A grin pulls at the edges of his mouth as he continues to rub his thigh up and down.
"This shit turns you on? Getting a knife held to your throat? Really?" his voice drips with his sardonic grin.
She looks at him from under her lashes, her vision glazed over and suddenly so full of humiliation it punches him right in the gut. She tries to shake her head, but his leg between her thighs forces more noises out of her and now she can't even pathetically try to deny the power Ghost holds over her. He backs her into the edge of the desk that's pushed up to the wall to grind his hard muscles into her even more.
"Tell me why you took so long. I'll report back to Laswell later." he mutters at her.
She doesn't dare to move her head over to him, the blade still sitting idly on her skin.
"I- I can report back, Ghost." she weakly tells him.
"Not after I'm done with you." he grunts into the side of her head and she curses under her breath.
"Your mouth has a lot of apologizing to do for cursing at me sweetheart." he continues as he pulls at the zipper of her jacket, revealing her dark suit underneath.
"Start talking."
She tells him everything that happens up until she snuck into the president's office through an air vent. She stutters as Ghost's fingers work on her jeans, a hand slipping inside to replace his thigh rubbing over her clothed core.
She had to dart underneath one of the couches as the door to the office had opened, and that's where she busted her OPSAT, cutting the written connection to the NSA.
"I was lying underneath that- ah, fuck Ghost - that couch for hours, not being able to say a thing." she whimpers.
Ghost listens to her as he retracts the knife from her skin to turn her over on the desk to pull on the zipper of her suit. Planes of rippling muscle reveal themselves to him the further down he pulls. Deep breaths expand her chest as he peels her out of the tight fabric, a flush has spread over her shoulders already. He presses himself alongside her back, grinding himself into her for relief before the last links in his brain are fried.
Her head perks up to look at him through the mirror over the desk, and there's that look again. The one that screams at him to take her, to do with her as he pleases just so long as he keeps touching her.
Her pleading stare burns into his dark eyes, full of longing and adoration, the one only he ever gets to see. Ghost basks in the feeling of having the power to sway her from anger into pathetically pleading looks so quickly, no trace of her stupidly defiant face is left on her.
"I shot him when he was finally alone." she mumbles as she looks at him, her body rocking along with his as he grinds his hips into her harder.
"And?" he asks, still looking at her.
"And then you came, Lieutenant. Looking for me."
Fucking right he did. He leans back up, pulling on her bra to slice right through it. The snapping of the fabric makes her whimper again, if Ghost keeps this up they might have to buy her new clothes soon. Her panties follow soon after nonetheless, the cut fabric falling onto the floor between her legs.
He can't keep his hand from roaming over her smooth skin, mapping it out to see where his hands fit the best.
A pull from him turns her around, the tip of his knife slotting under her chin, pushing her head up.
"Thank you for telling me." he tells her, following his words with a long kiss pressed to her lips.
"I'm sorry for yelling at you Lieutenant. And for being ungrateful." she mumbles when he draws back slightly.
Fuck, he's so close to pushing her down onto the bed and just sink home, the pride in his chest at her meek little apology makes his cock strain even harder in its confines. He won't leave her without a reward for finally being nice to him though.
"Sit on the edge of the table sweet thing, legs apart." he instructs her with a pat on the head.
She does as she's told, struggling to hold his gaze as she reveals herself to him completely. The sight makes him fucking salivate, she's already soaked beyond belief, her cheeks turning a deeper shade of red as he drinks in the sight of her completely unashamed.
The knife clatters onto the desk next to her as he kneels down, coming face to face with her sopping cunt.
"Look at me." he instructs her.
His hard gaze locks with hers, so needy and destitute. Her mouth falls open as he licks a broad stripe through her folds, a breathless moan flowing out of her, but she keeps her eyes trained on his. Ghost doesn't want her to miss a single second of what he's doing, he showed her his face, he's eating her out while showing her his face, she'd better fucking see every flick of his tongue and appreciate it.
He continues lapping at her slowly with the flat of his tongue until the edges of her gaze turn hard with frustration. Her hands ball into fists behind her, he knows she wants to plead with him, but he's quicker.
"This not enough for you?" his voice is hard, she shivers as his breath ghosts over her.
"More Lieutenant, please, I need more." she whines miserably.
Ghost would love to tease her, make her beg, but she has to come at least once before he can think about splitting her open on his cock.
His hands grab her ankles to bend her legs at the knees, pushing up so far that she has to lie back onto her elbows. They come further apart as Ghost pushes, exposing her before him. He takes one last hard look before leaning back down, flicking his tongue over her clit at a brutal pace. The first time taught him what she likes and he's abusing every single one of her weak spots with pleasure. He starts to suck and nibble when her legs tremble in his grip yet again, one of these days he'll tie her up to do this for as long as he wants, tasting her for hours on end, not caring how often she comes, her overstimulation won't matter to him if she can't push at his head.
One of her hands tangles in his hair again, pulling so fucking hard the edges of his vision start to swim. Her voice above him gets frantic, keening with moans and sharp breaths as her body winds itself tight. She can't squeeze her thighs around him this time, Ghost's hands keeping her open as she nears her first orgasm.
He feels his cock leak as she tells him she's about to come, babbling and hiccuping just like last time.
Her orgasm ripples through her even harder this time, it punches the air out of her lungs as she throws her head back, legs shaking in his grip.
"Thank you Lieutenant, thank you, oh my god-" she babbles as the wave finally breaks and she comes down.
He's fucking done waiting now. Before her breathing has even normalized, he picks her up by the waist, turning around, and throwing her onto the king sized bed. She yelps as she bounces on the mattress, Ghost catching a glorious image of her tits bouncing along with her.
He pulls his shirt over his head, using it to wipe his mouth afterwards, tossing it to the side. Her eyes are full of anticipation as they rake over his body, Ghost doesn't mind her eyes catching on his scars, they can trade stories someday.
What does really get to him is the way her mouth hangs open again as he rids himself of his pants and briefs in one fell swoop. It's her turn to salivate as she stares at his straining cock, by now an angry red. Not even his hand palming himself gets him any relief, it's do or die now.
"You want this?" he brashly asks her, his eyes focusing on his prey.
Take her. Make her yours. Fuck. Her.
"Yes Lieutenant." she breathes.
The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels on it. She's sitting back on her arms again with her legs drawn up. Ghost curses under his breath as he crawls towards her and she opens them up, fucking inviting him to get between them.
His heart hammers in his chest but he can't suppress a small smile when her eyes flit down and he sees worrying lines on her forehead.
"Don't worry, I'll open you up nice and slow sweetheart." he whispers before slotting a hand around her neck to keep her still while he plants a deceivingly sweet kiss on her lips.
His hand pushes her down on her back, he keeps it there as his cock comes to rest on her abdomen. He looks so fucking big like this, but he knows her cunt is utterly perfect for him. His fingers push past her lips, wetting them with her own spit before he pushes them inside her already fluttering cunt. The wet noises resound through the room as he fucks her open, scissoring and twisting his fingers before pushing a third digit in, smiling at the way her head tries to tip to the side. She's already so fucking lost and drunk on his fingers, where the fuck is this going to end?
She's unable to form words by the time Ghost's fingers draw out of her. The fingers around her throat come up to squish her cheeks, drawing her attention back to him as he shakes her head a little.
"Don't tap out now, you wanted this." he tuts at her.
He spits in his hand to slick up his cock alongside her juices on her fingers and lines himself up. He nudges the head at her clit, drawing out a weak whimper from her.
"Ghost please- want 'chu so bad." she mumbles at him.
Tight. So fucking hot and tight. It's all that resounds in his head as he breaches her. Every single last fiber in him screams, she feels so fucking good. The monster clawing at his throat begs him to thrust forwards, finally take her, split her open, make her cry out.
He comes down to lean over her as he pushes forward, inch by inch.
He can't, he just can't keep the noises within him, grunts leave him at every twitch of her tight walls giving way for him.
Fat and salty tears run down the side of her face, Ghost smears his fingers through them, rubbing them into her skin. His whole body is wound so fucking tight, her tears make him want to fuck into her with abandon until she can't stop crying, until all she can say is his name, over and over, like a mantra, praying to him.
"I don't think- Ghost, you're s'fucking big, oh god, s'not gonna fit." she slurs at him.
Her voice tips him over, so tiny, so wanton, just for him. He rams forward, bottoming out while she cries and slings her arms around his back. Her nails digging into his skin spur him on, all he sees is her in front of him, begging to be fucked, crying out for him.
His brain actually shuts off as he starts thrusting. Her cries and hiccups of 's'too much Simon, please, fuck, wait, I can't ' fall on deaf ears as he pistons in and out of her, taking what he wants.
The hunger within him finally satiated. The need to claim turning into a hot searing iron, burning him from the inside.
He rises, hooking a leg of hers over his shoulder as he continues his brutal assault. His hands grab at her tits, pinching and rolling her nipples for another cry, another moan, any noise, out of her. Her hands close around his wrists with the struggle to meet his thrusts as he pushes her further and further up the bed. The darkness from the edge of his vision finally starts to draw back when his own moans and grunts reach his ears, mixing with her whimpers and the sound of wet skin slapping.
The images that pierce through the drunk haze threaten to push him over the edge right there. Her flushed face, alternating between where his cock disappears between her legs and his face, tears now freely falling from her eyes with her mouth hanging open.
"Look at me while I ruin your little cunt. Look at me." he grits out at her.
The woman that held a gun to his head, the woman that kills presidents, the Marine, they're all absent as she begs him to fuck her harder, make it hurt, make her forget.
Her cockdrunk eyes roll back into her head as he takes her other leg over his shoulders and leans forward, reaching even deeper into her.
His thrusts get slower as he applies more force into them, each one of them punches the air out of her lungs as she bounces on the mattress under him.
"I said look at me while I fuck you." he spits at her, his hand coming down on her throat again, a lingering threat of what could happen should she take her eyes off him.
A threat that is none at all. Her hand pushes his wrist further down, silently begging him to press down harder, her eyes almost pleading with him to cut off her oxygen.
It's hard not to give into the urge that rises in him, he could so easily make her pass out, she's at his complete mercy and it turns her on to no end, knowing that Ghost has complete and utter control about what happens to her. She gives in to him, handing herself over willingly, so unlike everybody else he forces to bend to his will.
His own orgasm is pulling tight in his abdomen. Her breathless moans push him further towards the edge, he has to pull back, placing her hand on her shin right below her knee, a silent command to keep her legs folded and hold herself open so can chase after his high. Her other hand immediately flies to her other leg, spreading them even more. His rhythm falters as he drives his hips forward hard enough to bruise her.
"Come inside me Si, please." she begs as if she can read his mind.
The little slut actually wants him to stuff her full, the angels are calling out to him again.
"Say my name." he demands, his voice harsh and raw as the coil in him winds tighter.
"Simon! Ah- Simon! Want your cum Lieutenant, please, please, please- " she blubbers.
Even when there could be no possible way to get deeper into her, not without the fear of completely breaking her body, he finds one. A change of angles makes her wail and the hand on her throat pushes down harder as he ferociously bucks into her, the edges of his vision starting to turn white as the coil in him snaps and his orgasm washes over him.
"Such a good fucking slut, you'll take every last drop, nothing's gonna go to waste, you hear me?" he moans out between clenched teeth as thick white ropes coat her quivering walls.
His cock's still twitching as he slows, drawing in and out of her lazily to prolong the euphoria for a bit longer.
He looks down at her and swears he sees hearts in her eyes as he fucks his cum into her.
His hand comes off her throat and he peels hers off her legs as she pants at him but doesn't pull out of her just yet. Warmth settles in his bones at the sight of her fucked out face, it's better than anything that his head could ever possibly come up with. She smiles weakly at him as he rubs circles into her hip with his thumb.
"All good?" he asks lowly as he comes down to capture her lips in a kiss.
She nods into the kiss, her hands finding their way into his hair, raking her fingers through it.
Ghost has to catch his breath for a moment as the last minutes come back to him, how the fuck does she manage to take him from seething anger to the uncontrollable urge to fuck her and then back to this warm feeling?
His chest feels light, the debilitating, crushing weight he carries everywhere he goes, is gone.
She took it. Not forever, but for now.
Ghost tries to rise, but she won't let him.
"Can we stay like this? Just a little bit longer, it feels so nice." she meekly whispers into his ear.
A small mewl follows soon after as Ghost turns them both over, his cock still buried in her. He hitches up his legs to slide back deeper into her again, pulling a blanket over both of their rapidly cooling off bodies.
"Can't promise you to not get hard again when you keep me warm so nicely baby."
The look on her face tells him she wouldn't mind.