“Now what’re you going to do?” his voice sounds like it could cut. After his initial attempt, I quickly cornered myself between the wall and the dresser. Now Ghost fills the entire walkway between the dresser and bed, leaving me with nowhere to go. Everything about his posture tells me he’s only seconds away from trying again. I spare a glance at the weapon in my hands and my grip tightens around it. “Your trapped, y/n, what’s your next move?” What the hell kind of training is this?

But I don’t get much time to think. The ambiguous soldier in front of me slowly stalks forward. There’s a vertical slit in his eyes like those of a wild cat who has just identified its next prey.

 “If I wanted to kill you right now, how would you stop me?” he inches closer. My mind falters: the knife. The knife. But I can’t use it. I don’t know how. What if I end up hurting him? I feel my head start to shake, the word “no” at the tip of my tongue. He sees the fear finally catch up. “Use it, y/n,” Ghost urges me.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” the words are quiet on my lips. Tension fills my body.

“You won’t hurt me,” his words are immediate and almost cocky. The corners of his eyes crinkle from a cruel smile. Have I forgotten who he is? Don’t I know his reputation? He didn’t take his vest – his main source of protection off for no reason - I’m the furthest thing from a threat to him.

Ghost is done taking his time with me. He lunges forward with his arms outstretched. I make a last-ditch attempt at escaping by leaping toward the bed, but just as my foot touches the mattress a thick arm wraps around my waist and roughly pulls me flush against his chest. His other hand wrestles the knife from my grasp and as soon as the metal is gone from my hand, I feel the strangely familiar pressure of it against my throat.

“You’re not holding the knife properly,” he reprimands. Ghost’s chest pushes into me from behind and I can feel his arms flex as they constrict even tighter.

“Is this your idea of training me?” I bite back. Fear turns to frustration. How is it so easy for him to manhandle me like this?

“Come on, I know you can take it rough,” Ghost’s coarse voice brushes against my ear. “If you let the enemy touch you like this, you’re dead.”

“Then I guess I’m lucky it’s you,” thick sarcasm coats my tongue. I feel the hem of my shirt start to rise above my stomach as the electric heat from his body transfers through my skin. Then, just as fast as it happened, he lets go.

“Here,” he wraps my fingers around the handle in the proper position. “You’re not about to win a knife fight against a member of the task force. Your only goal is to create an opportunity to escape,” there’s a newfound seriousness to his voice. I turn around to meet his eyes. For a moment, I almost know what he’s thinking. If the Ultranationalist tries anything the next time he visits, Ghost won’t be there to protect me. I’ll be all on my own. This, and the wiretaps, are the best he can do.

“Okay,” I resign. “How?”

“You have to draw blood. Lots of it,” his lower lids squint as he gauges my reaction. How capable am I of violence? He hasn’t had the opportunity to witness that yet. If I’m being honest, neither have I. I’ve never been put in a position where I’ve had to hurt someone before. I don’t really know what I’m capable of. It’s a daunting possibility.

“Show me,” I force a nervous swallow as he closes the space between us. I feel my heart rate start to pick up.

“There are only two vulnerable spots that’ll slow him down when he’s wearing a vest,” Ghost starts to circle me. I don’t hear when he stops behind me. But I feel his large hand slowly snake around my hips, stopping on my stomach. His bicep flexes as he pulls me against his chest again. The back of my head is just level with his shoulders and I feel him bow down as the soft balaclava brushes against my hair. “His neck or his gut. Arms and legs won’t work, they’re not painful enough,” a shiver runs down my spine from his chilling words.

“They sound pretty painful,”

“Not enough. You need to do real damage,” the low vibrations of his voice against my skin makes the hair stand on the back of my neck. Ghost presses his fingers into the soft flesh between my hips and moves his hand back and forth in a straight line, tracing the vulnerable area. I can’t help the involuntary gasp that escapes my lips. “This is where you’ll aim. Drive the knife deep into his stomach and drag it across as far as you can. If he tries anything, I want you to spill his fucking intestines,” Ghost’s breathing deepens as he imagines the scene. His fingers press harder into my skin and some twisted part of me wants him to leave bruises, but not with his hands.

“Is that what you’d do?” the words are light on my tongue. Every part of my body he touches feels as though it’s about to combust.

“I will do so much fucking worse, y/n. When this is over and I get my hands on him, his own mother won’t recognize him. They’ll have to use his fucking teeth to identify him,” he growls. The pictures that flash through my mind are horrific. But some part of me likes it – knowing the extent that he is willing to go to for me.

There’s a palatable tension in the air. I can taste it: metallic and salty like iron. Like the desire for violence. Like the static before lightning strikes. I feel it radiating off him in waves that wash down between my shoulder blades. I believe every word from his mouth.

“Let’s try again,” I suggest, changing the topic.

Sweat rolls down my skin as we practise again and again for hours. Ghost lays out several different scenarios, from trapping me against the dresser to pinning me against the bed. He is relentless. But with every touch, every grab and push and shove and pull of hair, every time he presses himself against my hot skin, the desire to feel him in me grows even stronger. Sometimes I think he’s doing it on purpose. Because I know how much he likes to see his hands wrapped around my throat. And I know how he was filled with a jealous type of rage after that man had a knife pressed against the same spot. Every time Ghost’s hands pull me closer, it feels like I’m being reclaimed.

My heart pounds in my ears after so long without a break. When he pulls away after another round I finally collapse onto the floor, just for a moment, just to catch my breath. Ghost looks even taller from this spot as he watches me with his arms crossed.

“Get up,” he huffs, not nearly as out of breath as I am.

“In a moment,” even my voice sounds exhausted. My face is hot and I’m sure it’s flushed.

“I don’t want you lying on the floor,” Ghost grumbles. I feel the corner of my lips twitch at the thought that pops into my head.

“No?” I feign innocence. “How do you want me?”

“Watch your mouth y/n,” he snaps. Ghost steps around me to pace the room, but I don’t miss how he takes the opportunity to adjust his pants when he thinks I can’t see. A warm sense of pride blooms in my chest. He feels the same tension. The same desire as the night in the cabin. Maybe even stronger this time.

“I need to rest for a moment,” I lie my head on the floor while keeping eye contact with him. I can just see the edge of the black paint around his eyes, peeking out from under his mask.

“Sweetheart, you’ve got more in you than that,” there it is again. Sweetheart. I can’t even hide the effect it has on me. I have to bite my lip to stop myself from outright smiling. And it works. He has me up on my feet embarrassingly fast.

“Fine. Let’s go, I’ll win this time,” there’s fresh determination behind my words, but even I know they’re not true. I can tell he’s smirking by the way the corners of his eyes crinkle. Ghost is enjoying this way too much. But I can’t lie, so do I. He knows.

Ghost comes at me fast. I know he’s holding back and yet his power is terrifying. He grabs me by the shoulders and whips me around toward the dresser. One of his hands tries to snatch away the knife, but I hold it just out of his grasp. Then he goes for my neck again as my back presses into the hard edge of the wooden dresser. Ghost is careful about the force he uses. He knows how easy it would be to seriously hurt me right now. His hands lightly hold my throat, just enough to immobilize me, but I know if this were any other man, I’d be in serious trouble right now.

With both hands occupied I take my chance and swing the knife toward his stomach. His eyes flicker down to watch the move. He still has time to stop me, yet his hands remain where they are. I let the tip of the knife gently drag across his shirt.

“You let me win,”

“It’s not ‘letting you win,’ it’s training you to take an opportunity when you have it,” Ghost’s eyes are back on mine, his hands still wrapped around my throat. He could’ve let go almost a minute ago and yet I feel his thumb gently rubbing up and down the tender skin just below my ear. “Besides, I was thinking about something else…” he trails off, a smug smile evident in his voice.

“And what’s that?”

“Places better than the floor,” Ghost keeps eye contact with me as he says this. I feel my stomach drop and that familiar ball of desire starts to form again.

“Better than the floor for what?” I furrow my brows in feigned confusion, but when he glances down my bottom lip is already drawn between my teeth. He knows he has me. There’s electricity in the air between us. Something magnetic simultaneously pulling us together, yet preventing us from connecting. I feel his hands twitch against my throat.

A low hum stems from his chest. “We could do this all night, sweetheart,” Ghost’s eyes darken. We’re close enough that I can see his pupils dilating and my reflection staring back at me in his eyes. I wonder what he sees as he looks at me.

“Yeah?” I murmur. “But we don’t have all night, do we? So, tell me what you want Simon,” my voice is low and seductive. Two can play this game. He pulls me closer. Our foreheads are almost touching as my hands find their place on the sides of his ribcage. The knife is still wrapped between my fingers.

“You already know what I want,” his voice deepens as his volume drops to a whisper. His scent wraps around me and reels me in. The metallic musk is warm and inviting. The scent of gunpowder no longer so alarming, but simply rather a part of him. But there’s something new about him too, something sweet and spicy that I can almost taste, that makes me want to wrap my lips around him and savour every part.

“I want you to show me,”

“I want to,” he barely whispers. “I don’t want to hurt you,” his grip tightens enough that I can start to feel the effects of his hands. My cheeks are flushed and my head feels lighter than before.

“I trust you. Then and now,” I run my hands up his strong arms before tracing the tip of the knife against the mask and along the outline of his lips. Ghost takes the blade from my hand and places it on the dresser behind me. A warm sensation spreads throughout my body as his hands travel down the side of my abdomen, past my hips and thighs, before wrapping around the back of them and heaving me up onto the sturdy surface.

“Are you sure about that?” Ghost asks as he rolls the bottom of his mask up and tucks it out of the way at his nose. My lower stomach turns to static as my eyes latch onto his lips. His tongue darts out across his bottom lip. I think about how soft they’d be as they glide across my own.

Ghost rubs the outside of my thighs as he presses himself between my legs. There’s that unmistakable twinge of desire from the soft pressure. It’s like every time I look at him, the sensation grows and clouds my better judgment. This is dangerous. Everything about him is dangerous. And yet he’s so alluring. When I stare into those dark eyes it feels like someone is draping a velvet curtain around me, completely blacking out the rest of the world. The only thing left, is him.

“Yes, sir,” I don’t hide the teasing smile that crosses my lips. I know how crazy it drives him to hear those words drip from my tongue. My hands travel across his broad chest as Ghost loops his arms around my back. His lips brush against mine tantalizingly slowly. I dwell on the sensation of his warm, damp skin moulding against my own. A fuzzy feeling encases me everywhere until I feel the familiar sharpness of his teeth skirting my bottom lip, revealing what he really wants.

He’s like a dog with a taste for blood. Once Ghost took my flesh between his teeth for the first time, he knew there was no going back. I feel that same hunger now as his sharp canines move from my lips to my neck. The serrated sensation is startling as he attaches his lips to the tender patch of skin just under my ear.

“Simon,” his name escapes as a breathy gasp. My mind starts to slip, but I can’t let him mark up my neck. “Not there.”

He hums against my throat, sending pleasurable sensations through every nerve. I want him to keep going so damn bad. But he can’t.

“He’ll see,” I can barely make out the words.

“Good,” Ghost mumbles against my skin.

“That can’t happen,”

“I know sweetheart,” he croons, slipping his hands under my shirt. “But you’ve no idea how much I want him to,”

“What?” I lift my arms as he slides the shirt over my head and drops it to the floor.

“When I think of those dirty fucker’s hands on you all I see is red. I want to bash his fucking head in until his skull is dust,” Ghost presses a delicate kiss to my collarbone with those vile lips. His hands gently caress my shoulder blades and run down my back, stopping at my bra strap. “If they knew you were mine, no man would dare touch you,” my lungs freeze from his words.

“Yours?” I ask and his head rises. Ghost’s hand leaves my back to cup my face. His charcoal eyes meet my own with an indescribable intensity. They’re incredibly dark and thrilling and full of desire. And there’s nothing like them - nothing like Ghost. The feeling he stirs within me is so unique, so completely irreplicable, that no other person will ever compare.

“My asset,” he rasps. “Mine,” his thumb brushes against my lips.

“Just your asset?” I already know his answer, but I want to hear the hushed words fall from his mouth.

“So much fucking more than an asset,” Ghost presses his lips against mine. I’ve witnessed the violence he’s capable of, so to feel him handle me with such a level of tenderness is all the more significant.

“Show me,” I whisper against his mouth. I feel the sharp breath he draws in and the accompanying hunger.

Ghost’s hands return to the back of my bra and skillfully release the clasp. I let the fabric slide off my shoulders, before dropping it to the ground. It’s almost as if I can physically feel his eyes rake down my body and take in the sight before him.

Ghost hands press against my back, arching me towards him as he bends over to attach his lips to my sensitive skin. I slide a hand up the back of his neck and under his balaclava and wind my fingers through his thick hair. The heat of his wet tongue glides around my nipple and goosebumps rise across my chest. Then I feel that familiar sharpness that causes my breath to hitch and I know he’s about to leave bruises. If anyone ever sees below the hem of my shirt, they will immediately know I’ve been marked - no, branded as his.

He revisits the faded hickeys from the night at the cabin while also adding to the growing collection. The large bruises from all those weeks ago have faded from my torso and legs. So, he paints over them with his own.

As Ghost works his way lower and lower, I reach for the neckline of his long-sleeve shirt and tug it upward.

“Use your words,” his cool breath fans against my hips.

“Please?” without answering me, Ghost pulls his shirt off in one swift motion, baring himself all to me. Last time the only light I had to see was from the glow of the fire. Now, every inch of ink, every freckle, and scratch and scar littering his upper body are exposed. Not a single mark diminishes his magnificence. And while his beauty is altered from war, he is more stunning than any man I’ve crossed paths with before. The power he holds is almost beyond comprehension. Time and time again he leaves me in utter awe.

My eyes drag across the artwork painfully etched into his skin as his lips tease even lower on my hips. The throbbing between my legs intensifies with anticipation. The pictures tattooed on him are a brutal reflection of the horrors he’s witnessed and committed - of the people he’s lost. Like some part of him was afraid of forgetting and this was the only he could ensure he’d remember. My hand is cold against his warm skin as I run it up his arm.

At the same time, he reaches for the button of my pants, unhooking it with just one finger. Careful eyes glance up for permission before sliding them down my legs. Then, he quickly loops a thumb around my underwear and pulls them down immediately after. Ghost rests on his knees as his arms wrap around my thighs and pull me to the edge of the dresser.

The warmth of his lips lightly brushes over the faded bruises on my inner thighs and just when I think he’s about to add more, I feel the heat move up between my legs and press hard against my clit. The mask and black paint frame his eyes as he peers up through my legs with a half-drunken gaze.

“So fucking wet already,” his deep voice vibrates against the sensitive bundle of nerves. “Is that all for me, Sweetheart?”

“Yes sir,” the words escape as a whimper. He has me wrapped entirely around his finger. In this moment I would do anything for him. Anything just to feel him touch me, to feel him pulse inside me with as much need as I have for him.

“Atta girl,” Ghost hums and then presses his tongue against my clit in wavelike motions. The pleasure from his movements consumes me as my head is thrown back and I gasp for air. “Look at me, sweetheart. I’ll stop if you don’t look,” and when I do, every feeling intensifies even more.

Ghost traces a wet finger around my entrance before slipping it in as his tongue continues to work in circles. He gently teases another finger before adding it as well, slowly stretching me even more. Simon worries about all the ways he could hurt me; thinks of all the reasons he shouldn’t be trusted and yet I’ve never had someone take the care he does to make me feel so damn good.

The waves of pleasure coursing through my body intensify as he picks up pace.

“Simon,” I plead. “I-I’m close,” the words feel like prayers on my tongue and only one god can answer them.

My knuckles whiten as my hands desperately grip the edges of the dresser. He curls his fingers and hits that perfect spot. Tremors travel through my legs and I feel myself climbing closer and closer.

Simon presses his other hand onto my stomach and adds to the thrilling sensation even more. His starving eyes never leave mine. The vibrations of his soft groans against my very core are almost enough to send me over the edge.

The waves of pleasure grow stronger and the only things I can focus on are those reflective pools of desire. The rest of the world blurs and all that matters is him.

Simon’s fingers curl against me again and every muscle in my body tightens all at once before simultaneously releasing. Yet he doesn’t stop. Even when my legs latch around him and cage him in as I ride my high, he doesn’t stop.

My heart races and with every breath I take, the air feels cleaner, purer. My head feels lighter and a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. And as my body relaxes, Simon stands from his knees. His forearm brushes against my bare chest as his hand wraps around the back of my head and his lips press into mine. I can taste myself dripping from his mouth.

“You’re mine,” Simon murmurs against my skin. The addictive spice of his cologne fills the air. It lingers closer to the nape of his neck and mixes with the heat of his skin.

“Yours,” I confirm. As he pulls away, there’s something different about his eyes, something undeniably possessive.  

Simon wraps his arms under my thighs and lifts me up with ease as my legs wrap around his back. My hands rest between his neck and shoulders. I let my gaze drop to the section of his tattoo that covers his shoulder and half his chest. There’s a collage of objects and events, a line of barbed wire seemingly wrapped around a man in a field. The sudden feeling of falling overtakes my senses and my entire body tenses as my back lands against the mattress.

His hands are still wrapped around my legs as he towers over the bed.

“Fucking hell,” Simon muses to himself. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

I feel that familiar pit in my stomach as he reaches for his belt. The quiet, clinking sound of metal fills the room and my heart rate starts to pick up. The tension in my lower stomach grows again as he moves to undo his pants and smoothly steps out of them.

I never thought I would enjoy allowing someone to have so much control over me. But as he stands over me and climbs onto the bed with a definitive goal in mind, I am willing to submit to whatever he wants.

The heat of his legs spreads to my sides as he straddles my waist. Simon has all the power in the world over me. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Soft hands rest against his thick thighs as he considers the expression on my face. Wild hair frames my flushed cheeks. My lips are chapped as I draw them between my teeth at the sight of him. As his eyes continue down my frame, they proudly skirt across the marks garnishing my chest, past my hips, until he finally lingers on my hands gently rubbing circles into his meaty flesh.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Simon’s head tilts as he asks this. He grabs the tops of my hands and leads them up his thighs.

“I’ve a few ideas,” my voice cracks as I speak. I almost feel nervous again. As we reach the hem of his underwear, he slows but doesn’t stop.

“Every day,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “After every meeting with you, every time you grab my arm or whisper my name or look at me with those fucking eyes, this is what you do to me y/n,” he places my hands over the large bulge in his underwear.

I feel him throb under my hands as he strains against the fabric, aching to be freed.

“Every day I wrap my hand around my cock and imagine it’s yours,” Simon holds my hands in place as his hips subconsciously grind against the friction. “I think about what you felt like wrapped around me that night,” his voice is thick with desire. I feel myself gripping tighter as I long for his touch against my feverish skin. “No one’s ever done that to me before, y/n.”

“Simon,” my voice is unsteady. His eyes flicker up from our hands. “I need you.”

He leans down and cages me in with both arms, yet my hand never leaves his pulsing length. Simon’s breathing deepens as I stroke him above his boxers. He pauses, searching my eyes for something I’ll never understand. When our swollen lips meet and his tongue brushes against mine, I slip my fingers just past the band of his underwear. A low growl vibrates through his chest as my hand inches closer and finally grasps him.

“Fuck, y/n,” he groans as I pump his cock in my hand. The needy sounds escaping from his chest make me want him even more. As I trace my thumb around the head of his cock he starts to grind against my hand. “y/n.”

Simon grabs himself and slides his length along my entrance. I revel in the feeling of being trapped under him.

“Please Simon,” I whine as he teases me back and forth. The need to feel him is overwhelming. Fuck, he’s all I can think about.

“Look at me sweetheart,” Simon mumbles and as our eyes meet, I feel him push his throbbing tip in. “Does that feel good?” he whispers.

There’s a distinct tightness as he stretches me out perfectly around himself. Already I feel my walls clenching around him and he hasn’t even started thrusting. Simon slowly adds more length. He bites his bottom lip as he watches my expressions. He revels in knowing how feral he makes me.

“Oh, fuck,” the breathless words graze my lips. So damn good. Every small movement sends jolts of pleasure through my core.

Simon grabs my waist with his hands and starts to pick up speed. Each thrust feels like he’s reaching deeper within. And every time he hits that tiny bundle of nerves and I clench even tighter around him I feel like we grow even closer.

The muscles in his back flex as I wrap my legs around the vast space and pull him closer. My hands grasp his forearms cemented into the bed beside my head. My fingers and knuckles turn white from holding onto him so tight as his thrusts grow harder and harder. Fuck is he thrusting hard. Each stroke is so damn powerful that I can’t help the whines and whimpers that echo throughout the room.

As his intensity grows, so does the volume of my cries. Until a large hand wraps itself around my mouth and stifles the sounds. “Shh, can’t have anyone hear how good I make you feel,” Simon’s hot breath brushes against my ear.

His quiet grunts fill my ears as he picks up his pace even faster and he bows his head to the crook of my neck.

Every nerve in my body is overwhelmed with pleasure. His compelling scent fills my lungs. His desperate sounds reverberate through my ears. The pressure and friction of his body against mine are all too much.

I already feel another high coming.

Simon’s fiery lips latch onto my collarbones. As his head is bowed, I slip my hand behind the mask and feel his thick hair between my fingers. It's every small detail about him that drives me over the edge. His heavy breathing. How his hand presses hard against my mouth to stifle my moans. How hot his skin is against my own. Beneath my fingers, he feels so real.

Every thrust strokes that perfect spot so deep within me. I slip a hand between my legs and circle my clit. Behind my eyelids, stars explode with pleasure. I try and tell him how close I am, but the words don’t make it past his hand.

“Such a good fucking girl,” he moans into my ear. “I know you’re close,” Simon’s lips press against my ear. His sharp teeth gently tug at my lobe. Despite his hand, my moans grow even louder. He maintains a steady, powerful pace that rocks the bedframe and stirs my soul.

My hand circles around myself even faster to keep up with him. Every muscle in my body grows tenser and tenser. Inching closer and closer to a complete release.

I so badly want to close my eyes, but I know if I look away from him now, he’ll stop. I feel them well wet with tears from how fucking intense he makes me feel. The rest of his room, the base, and the world all disappear. All that matters is him. All I need is him. Simon. Fucking hell, Simon. My vision blurs and my walls tense harder than ever before.

Stars explode behind my vision as I stare into his eyes and I feel like I can reach out and touch his soul. White light blinds my vision and I feel my entire body freeze like I’ve been possessed by something otherworldly. Everything releases all at once and I ride the waves of pleasure that course through my bones. Simon replaces his hand with his swollen lips.

“You did so good sweetheart,” he rasps. But I know his mind is elsewhere right now. I sense how rock-hard he is in me. How his cock throbs with every thrust. I know he needs this as much as I did. How desperate he’s feeling right now.

“Don’t hold back, Simon,” I whisper into his ear. He pulls his head back to look me in the eyes. Being intimate with him has taught me just how much he values eye contact. This is how he connects. It’s not about sex, it’s about vulnerability. And this is a state he doesn’t let others see him in. Whether he’ll admit it or not, he trusts me.

I stroke his jaw and lock my legs around his waist as he quickens his pace. His breathing deepens and his hands tighten around my waist as he uses me as leverage and thrust even faster.

His lips part as quiet grunts and moans work their way through his chest. The soft sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. My walls clench around him. After my second, high every part of my body is even more sensitive. Feeling him inside me is borderline painful, but watching the look in his eyes is all that matters.

Simon’s thrusts begin to falter. His chest brushes against my breasts as he leans down and brings himself closer. His hands move to cup my face as his eyes bore into my heart. One last desperate moan escapes his lips as he presses his forehead into mine. He pulls out and finishes on the duvet before collapsing directly on top of me.

“Fucking hell, y/n” he mumbles into my neck. My hands wrap around his broad back and rest there as we both catch our breath. “You’re something else.”

A comfortable silence settles over us in the moments afterward. Simon gives me a Henley to wear and slips on his pants before settling back on the bed. His hands gently wind themselves through my hair as I lean against his chest.

I expect him to pull the balaclava back down almost immediately like he did last time. But he doesn’t. Simon leaves the fabric rolled up and his jaw exposed. As he rests his head against the wall, looking up at the ceiling, I gently trace my fingers along the sharp feature and down his neck.

My mind drifts to all the possible reasons why he wears it all the time. Why none of his soldiers know what he looks like. Why even after being so vulnerable with me, he choses to keep it on. But I won’t ask. I know if I’m ever going to find out it’ll be because he feels the time is right. But I don’t think I’ll ever find out. Because I don’t think I’ll know him long enough.

The time on his watch reads 17:04. There’s just under an hour before I have to be back in my room.

The soothing motion of his hand brushing along my hair is almost enough for me to dose off. His breathing is slow and even. His heart thunders strong and healthy behind his ribcage. There’s something so sure about him. Something safe.

“Simon?”

“Hmm?”

“Will you read to me?” I think of his copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn that I skimmed across the other day. About the story of a boy who escapes an abusive childhood. Who finds freedom. And I wonder if he sees himself in the story. If he feels like he escaped.

“Would you like me to?” his low voice almost sounds tired.

“I would.”

He sighs as he reaches for the old beat-up book. Simon flips the worn pages open to a dogeared spot just over halfway through. He clears his voice and then pulls me further up his chest so his arms can wrap around my waist and hold the novel at the same time.

Simon’s voice is quiet and thick and comforting as he starts at the top of the page. I don’t know what events led here, but the characters sound troubled. My entire body relaxes and wishes we could stay like this forever. The looming threat of returning to my own room hangs over my shoulders, yet I try my best to push it away. Instead, I focus on the feeling of his warm skin against my cheek. Of the strength of his heart. I allow it to lull me almost, but not quite asleep.

“I couldn’t bear to think about it; and yet, somehow, I couldn’t think about nothing else. It got darker and darker, and it was a beautiful time to give the crowd the slip; but that big husky had me by the wrist,” Simon slowly reads the pages, leaving himself time to picture the scene.

My head moves with his chest as he breathes deeply. He’s like an anchor, holding me here, keeping me safe as the storm wages on around us.

His words fade and the room gets darker and darker.

When I wake up, I recognize my quarters.

And I recognize the looming shadow. His husky hand wraps around my wrist and demands my attention.

I haven't seen my ex since we broke up. Probably 'cause he didn't wanna grow up.

It was a classic military man scenario. Big air-headed Marine, stationed far away from you and tempted by the eyes and body of a sexy German woman. When he came home with an itchy crotch and a face red with embarrassment, you knew exactly what had occurred overseas.

You left him and on your way out, he went off on some rant about how the German pussy was better than yours. He said so as he adjusted his boxers to scratch his STD-ridden dick.

Since then, you had worked on your mind and body. You had researched special forces and within a few months, you had made it past selection and into special forces. It was a new chapter in your life which proved to be very beneficial for you in more ways than one.

Now I'm out and wearing something low-cut. 'Bout to get attention from a grown up.

It was one of the first nights where you had been stationed in a city for a mission. You had made friends with one of the Austrian soldiers and decided to head out for a drink as a “let’s drink before we die” kind of celebration. Upon walking in with him, you saw a few of the British SAS soldiers sitting up at the bar.

The pub was quiet, but still filled with a little chatter. As you and the Austrian man walked over to some American soldiers in a booth, you felt a pair of eyes burning on your body. Given, you had worn one of what you called “human tops,” which was just a low-cut top that made you feel human and not like a soldier.

You had dealt with creepy older men before, but the eyes on you from the older man were not creepy. They were intense and bold (plus a beautiful shade of blue). You looked over and met the eyes of the older man. He smiled at you, his crows feet crinkling up as he turned back around, making his attraction and attention known, but not weird.

'Cause you hold me like a woman. In a way I've never felt before.

It was the night after he had pointed those intense glances at you. He watched you like a hawk the rest of the night, and after finding out that you both were going on the same mission tomorrow, as well as both single, you both agreed to have a fun “potentially final night” together.

Despite both of your minds being a little fuzzy, what you felt that night was different than anything you’ve ever felt before. The emotions, the overwhelming pleasure, and the feeling of actually being desired was new to you.

When his face was between your legs making you cum a second time that night, you couldn’t help but think back to the time where your ex of one year couldn’t even make you cum once no matter the level of communication. The person between your legs at that moment was a complete stranger. He was taboo… this was taboo.

And as you bucked your core up against his mouth, he didn’t make some cocky joke, but rather a grunting noise that brought your attention back to him. He was getting off to you getting off on his tongue. Thankfully it was likely your last night here because you had made noises of pleasure that you didn’t even know could exist.

And then morning came. He laid next to you, scratching your back and massaging your thighs. He even brought you a cup of coffee from the base’s shitty coffee machine. It was black and bitter, but with him, it tasted so much sweeter.

And it makes me wanna hold on. And it makes me wanna be all yours.

You couldn’t help but think about the man when you went on the mission. His Lieutenant fought alongside you while he was off somewhere with his sergeant. He had given you a kiss the morning before the mission that seemed to have a little bit more than a sexual “come back I want your body” message to it. Or was it just you getting too cozy with the feelings he made you feel last night? Were you being crazy? Obsessive?

You shook away your thoughts as you did your work for the rest of the mission. You can home that night and laid in your barracks with extremely conflicting thoughts. You had lived another night and so did he. Meaning you had to see him drink another cup of coffee from the same shirt coffee maker every morning.

You’d have to see his white shirt cling to his chest after he got out of the showers. You’d have to see him give quick trainings to younger soldiers shirtless. You’d have to hear his booming voice throughout the dining hall. And despite that night being just a hookup, you’d cling onto those little moments.

Except… it wasn’t just a hookup for him. Your body merged with his so well that he can’t help but lay awake at night alone in his bed and touch himself, desperately trying to replicate the wetness of your pussy with his spit. He’d see the way you laughed with the tall Austrian man and would hope that the Austrian man wouldn’t make you giggle the way that he did himself. He wanted you to belong to him and vice versa once this all was over, but realistically, that probably wouldn’t happen, so he held himself back the best he could.

Guys my age don't know how to treat me. Don't know how to treat me.

It was after a few more exchanged knowing glances. The two of you had caught the eye of the other, knowing that the hookup was more than just a one time thing. Over time, he’d let his hands linger on your back as he tried to scooch past you in the weapons room. “‘Scuse me.” He’d say in a seductive tone against your ear when no one was in the room with you.

These little actions had encouraged him to develop… something for you. What that was he didn’t know, but he did know he had to be careful. He needed to make sure he wouldn’t scare you off and leave you breathless in the bad way.

He had broken every single one of the rules mentioned above though when he heard you had gotten hurt on a mission. Your shoulder was sliced by shrapnel and you’d have to take a week or so off to fully heal and be ready to get back to work. He kept his nervousness quiet when he heard about your situation. Instead of making a scene, he simply went out and picked some flowers, tied them up with some thread and left them on the nightstand in your area in the medic bay while you slept.

Previous men you’ve been with wouldn’t have even send you a get well soon text…

Guys my age don't know how to touch me. Don't know how to love me good.

It was one of your first showers back after your injury. Being taken care of by doctors in a very public place had created a bit of build up in you. After having a week to think over and over again about the Captain’s fingers knuckle deep in your cunt, you were so excited to finally get out and feel the sweet relief.

You had been showering in the woman’s quarters after making sure that no one would walk in. The warm water cascaded down your body and you were finally able to touch yourself. You fingered your sopping core, trying to replicate the way the Captain did just weeks before.

The water pressure was high enough to disguise your moans. Or at least you thought…

Thankfully, it was only John who had walked past the showers. Everyone was either in bed or hanging out together with music already. The Captain wanted to do a walkthrough of the place and maybe visit his men before they were off on another mission in a few days. But he stopped when he heard the strangled moans of a woman in the showers. However, they were familiar. They were the same ones that had been screaming his name just a few days ago. His eyes widened as his pants tightened.

He took a deep breath and started on one foot to walk away and contain himself, but he heard the familiar sound. He heard another deep moan followed by the strangled sound of his name. His gaze darkened and the fingers that had been digging into his palm dug deeper.

He walked right into the women’s showers and tore open the only curtain that had been shut, revealing you with your fingers toying at your clit. Your eyes widened at the sudden noise and once you saw the tall figure you tried covering yourself. But then you saw the man you were fantasizing about just a few moments ago. You were still breathing heavy, and all they’d sounded like was pants of pleasure.

He just walked into the shower, clothes, boots, and all and quickly shut the curtain behind him. He grabbed your face roughly and pressed his mouth to yours in a short second. His tongue invaded your mouth almost instantly and your legs nearly gave out at the feeling. Noticing this, he picked you up and placed you against the wall, placing his hand behind your head so it wouldn’t smack against the concrete.

He pulled out his cock out of his now very wet sweatpants and looked up at you for permission. You nodded eagerly and felt the push of immense pleasure. You groaned and leaned against his shoulder as he postponed into your body against the wall. You cried out, knowing that with your previous playing, you weren’t gonna last long.

He felt the way you clenched and felt himself nearing his high (he had been on a dry spell give him a break). He reached between your bodies and rubbed your clit in a heavenly way, keeping you up with his other arm and your legs wrapped around his waist.

You shook as you came, clawing at the wet white t-shirt that revealed the Captain’s Grecian muscles. “Fuck.” You moaned out as you both caught your breath after your releases.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since the day you left my barracks.” He placed another sloppy and lazy kiss against your lips as he tried to settle his racing heartbeat.

Guys my age don't know how to keep me. Don't know how to keep me.

CONT. You smiled into the kiss. “You can have me anytime you want.”

And he would.

All he ever wanted was to go down. What we supposed to do with all his friends around? Smoking weed, he'd never wanna leave the house. Got an empty cushion on that sofa now.

You were brought back to a memory with your ex where you had just been sitting uncomfortably on the couch with him and his friends. Your boyfriend took a hit of his vape and blew it basically in your face. “Jesus Nick.” You groaned.

He just giggled and sat with his friends watching you as you left to go hang out alone after being promised a fun date with your boyfriend. That date involved his marine buddies coming over and playing video games, completely excluding you.

“Hey, what’s going on that mind of yours?” A soft voice interrupts your thoughts. You look up to see the eyes of John. He pushes a piece of hair out of your face gently, the sunset shining through the window to his quarters. You laid with your head in his lap perpendicular to him as he puffed a cigar, careful to blow the smoke away from your face and making sure the ashes only fell into the ash tray. He held a book that he would read for you if you asked. He looked heavenly and he thought the same of you.

“I’ve just never had this much fun doing nothing with somebody.” You smiled up at him and he smiled back down, quick to place a sweet and soft kiss to your lips.

Told him, "Good luck with the next one." Maybe she'll be just as immature. Gotta thank him, he's the reason. That I'll find out what I'm looking for.

John was everything that the cheating STD ex wasn’t. He was kind, considerate, careful, gentle, and rough when he needed to be. He understood that sometimes, a relationship wasn’t 50/50, but 70/30, maybe even 90/10 at certain points.

When you have a rough mission, he’s there to cuddle you as you cry into his chest, no matter the smell of rotting mud and the feeling of crusted blood. If he had a rough mission, you were there to let him complain if he felt like doing so, and you were there if he needed advice or just reassurance that it wasn’t his fault for losing a soldier.

While the cheating ex was at home, reviving a call that he had gotten the German girl pregnant, you were sitting in the lap of John Price, kissing his face softly as you had woken up in his arms. He rubbed your back, blushing at the flecks against his cheeks.

You had to thank your ex in a way for indirectly leading you to the most ideal situation filled with a mutual, passionate, deep, and growing love.

Guys my age don't know how to treat me. Don't know how to treat me.

It was the last day you had together. The mission was successful and you were to be sent back home, far away from the very private SAS Captain. Over the few months you had been together you developed something much deeper than just a sexual relationship.

Neither of you wanted to put labels on it, knowing that it meant you’d have to leave him, leaving you heartbroken and alone. But you both had prepared yourselves for the ending, you just didn’t feel like you had enough time. So the night before you fucked with an undeniable amount of emotion behind your moans and grabs at his body. The day you left you placed a sweet kiss to his lips, using it as a goodbye.

While the ex your age couldn’t even keep his hands off another woman when you were together, John wouldn’t put his hands on another woman when you were apart. He never expected you to do the same, but the thought of some other man inside you filled him with jealousy he’d have to physically shake out of his body.

He hated himself for not being able to shake the feelings he felt for a girl he only knew for a few months. He’d stand in the shower until he was pruned, touching himself to the thought of you and that one night. He’d look at pictures that your fellow soldiers took together, enjoying the smile on your face. He was obsessed and he hated it.

He hated it until he got a letter in the mail. It was from you and sprayed with your delicious perfume. Written on it was your handwriting that said,

Please use the return address. Write to me, I beg of you.

- yours

And write to you he did. Every single day in fact. When the week was over, he’d send out a collection of paragraphs on one paper that told you about his day every day of the week.

You did the same back, occasionally throwing in a Polaroid of something less than wholesome. He continued on with it for a few months, enjoying the limited company that you could provide.

Guys my age don't know how to touch me. Don't know how to love me good. (A/N: this one’s kinda stalkery ik, but I really do not care)

The letters stopped. You were afraid something had happened to John. Was he dead? Was he kidnapped? Was he deployed? He didn’t tell you about a deployment!

Your mind was racing for several days and the weather mirrored that. It was dark and stormy, the thunder had taken down some power lines leaving you with a warm house and a leak in your kitchen.

You felt miserable until you heard a knock at your door. You were afraid that someone was left out in the storm and you had to be responsible for keeping some person cool in the heat of the summer humidity wafting in your house. You left the door alone, hiding behind your couch knowing that the person might see you through the living room windows.

The knock was frantic. Shit they must need help bad, I can’t just leave them. You thought.

So you took a deep breath and walked over to the door and opened it. The sight on the outside nearly made your heart stop. There stood the man you had fallen in love with a few months ago, drenched in rainwater in his white t-shirt. His muscles poked through the fabric and he looked absolutely delectable.

You opened your mouth to say something, but just decided to kiss him instead. To prevent you from getting wet he pushed your mingled bodies inside the house.

“I’m sorry I showed up so randomly, I just couldn’t-“

“John.” You cut him off. “Make love to me.”

A/N: And boy did he! ‘Twas a great night, good for you guys!

Guys my age don't know how to keep me. Don't know how to keep me.

Every single morning that he would visit you, and you him when you were granted leave, he would make you breakfast. He’d take a shower with you and wash your body for you.

He’d eat you like you were his last meal on the couch, on the bed, on the counter, on the washing machine, etc….

He’d send you flowers, trinkets, or photos from the places he was stationed at.

And never once did he give into temptation of other women. He’d have his eyes set on you and he could wait until he could come back to you.

He knew you were going to retire soon, and he’d do so right after you when he was allowed. He wanted to make sure you weren’t doing it for him, but never voiced that concern to not make himself sound like a dick. I mean he was getting old anyways, but your life was just beginning. Did you want to stay in the military? He’d follow you around like a duckling if it meant you’d be happy. He’d be worried about this until you told him about the career options you wanted to explore.

You two still tried to never talk about marriage, given that the end of the tunnel was near, that still didn’t mean that you two would survive it until then. You just enjoyed the moments, but both of you couldn’t help but get a little excited about what was to come.

Guys my age don't know how to treat me. Don't know how to please me. Don't know how to read me.

It was one of your first major fights. Except in this fight, you weren’t scared of the large man in front of you. You could yell at each other and not flinch when the tone of his voice became even a little bit sterner.

“You have things to come home to John, you can’t be agreeing to these miracle missions.”

“What do I have to come home to? I have an empty house in England. What the fuck am I supposed to come home to? My dead bushes?”

Is that what you were to him? Dead bushes?

Your eyes softened and tears welled up in your eyes. His brows softened at your face. Oh god of course. You were what he came home to. He took it too literally and only considered his house in England, not his home.

“Oh god I’m so sorry, I didn’t think long enough.” You wrapped him in a tight hug, crying into his chest. “I’ll be more careful sweetheart, I promise.”

The thing is… you didn’t have to tell him what was bothering you at all. He just knew.

Guys my age don't know how to tease me.

You opened the mail from John. Instead of a small envelope, it was just a large yellow folder addressed to you.

Inside it was a phone controlled vibrator. You blushed and gasped at the object. You read the long stapled note that went along with it. The first page stated:

Please use this and read everything in this packet. It’s what I can give you until I can come home and fuck that sweet pussy of yours.

- yours

You looked through the packet and found a large collection of what was basically erotica addressed to you. Your name and the names only John would call you in the bedroom.

You had a lot of long, but very fun nights with that.

Don't know how to leave me.

Leaving was never easy, but John always did it perfectly. He’d pack up his things last minute, always “accidentally” leaving a shirt for you. He’d bring you flowers with a nice note attached in case it was the last one he’d give you.

He’d make you breakfast and you both would slow dance in your pajamas, trying to achieve a small sense of domesticity before he’d have to leave.

There would always be tears, it was inevitable, but he’d always make it so special and perfect nonetheless.

Don't know how to need me.

This was it. He was out, and you were too.

He flew to your home and wanted to surprise you. He had ended his lease back in England, already burning his bridges back there. If you suggested to go back he’d be happy to, but this time, it would be in a nice house on the countryside that could keep you safe and warm. Potentially also safe and warm for some little Prices running around.

You had talked about marriage and kids finally and given that desire, he jumped your bones as soon as he got to your house, hiding the ring box in his pocket for just a little while more.

So I'm never going back. No, I'm never going back.

You looked up to the former Captain as he smiled sweetly down at the little Price in your arms. He looked at you and placed a soft kiss again your head, small tears forming in his eyes as you laid warm against him in the hospital bed.

“My family.” He whispered, placing a similar kiss to the newborn in front of you.

A/N: P.S. I know this didn’t really have to do a lot with an age gap, but obviously it hints at the fact that reader is younger. It’s taboo. And it’s obvious that boys her age couldn’t please her like an older Captain could. Yadi yada yada