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Hips always rolled in perfect motion, bruising grips that left marks that stayed for days on end. Teeth nipping at skin between grunts and gasps, breaths heavy and muscles flexing with every single movement.
Thats what Keegan was good for right? Sex with feelings (sometimes.)
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Every-time he left my office, a simple grunt in acknowledgment as he fixed his belt and mask. No longer even bother to help me with my clothes or clean up. Papers and pens would be scattered across the floor, laptop somehow still not destroyed in the wake of his need. Gods, he was primal.
Being an intelligence officer was easy as could be, do some research for the boys, give them intel, get them back alive. You get an air conditioned office with a pretty little gold name plate, get to sit pretty in expensive clothes and jewelry, hair and makeup always to perfection. While these guys went out and did all the grunt work.
Wrong.
Being an intelligence officer for 3 years with these Ghosts should earn you a decent amount of respect?
Somewhat right.
Seasoned operatives knew respect, setting the young pups in their place the second they wanted a skirt peek. Although they gave me the respect I so rightfully earned, it wasn't always that easy. They did question me a little more than their fellow male counterparts. It was still an uphill battle with respecting a woman's intelligence.
You'd think when their life is in your hands, they'd learn to listen and trust you.
Sonya Remington. Some Ghosts called me Sony or Handler, others called me Remmy, some just called me names I'd rather not repeat.
Being a confident woman in a world of egotistical men meant if you turned them down, you're a bitch or stuck up. Or both. I never cared for relationships, especially in this line of work. I was never home.
Until 4 years ago when I met him. Keegan Russ, Sergeant Russ, whatever you liked to call him. Pretty blue eyes, jet black hair that was somehow never messed up underneath that mask. Every women's dream was to have a tall muscular man like him, tattooed and military. Right?
The first year we met, I was simply an intern for Kate Laswell. I briefly met Keegan through Simon Riley, we exchanged numbers and talked for a little bit every now and again. He even asked me on a date. And it surprisingly went well, thought it would be for coffee or drinks, but he brought me to an expensive restaurant.
For months afterwards when I got reassigned for a little bit, we stayed in contact, sometimes saw each other around in different bases. One late night when we had a little ice cream night in his room, a bit of alcohol in our system, of course I ended up in his bed. And to sum it up, he knew how to fuck.
That man focused on my pleasure before his own, even when he chased his highs, he made me higher. Words of encouragement, bites and kisses that marked my skin, even a couple handprints on my hips from him refusing to let go. Thank the lord for birth control that night.
After a few weeks of the late night talks and fucks, then came the week where I was fully integrated into the Ghosts unit as their intelligence officer. All on my own, I was a big girl now. But when Keegan left for a mission, I met them before they went to the birds.
He seemed colder, more distant than normal. So I just assumed that maybe he was just stressed out, even for someone as laid back as him. When he talked to me before he left. All he said was;
"I'm sorry, dove. I can't be what you need."
That's when my jaw dropped. I was confused, lost, hurt even. We weren't together, but he was essentially breaking up with me, before he went on a mission. And when he came back, that's when the shouting matches started.
"I'm not a man of commitment!" He screamed, his teeth barred with every word.
"Then why did you lead me on?!" I questioned, and he just stared at me.
"Because I've never met a woman like you. And I can't drag you through the on and off, I can't subject you to quick fucks when I'm stressed. I can't tell you I love you because I've only known how to run from this." His words were gentler, more meaningful.
Even after hours of trying to convince him to just try, that's what the next 3 years consisted of. Off and ons.
