Simon "Ghost" Riley oneshots

In the middle of the night- pt 2 (Erotica)

As the weight of his words settled over you, the room felt impossibly hot, the charged energy between you teetering on the edge of something unspoken but undeniable. His lips ghosted along the curve of your neck, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps across your skin, and you instinctively leaned back, your head brushing the wall as he pressed closer.

"You're trembling," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, thick with unspoken promises. His hand trailed down your arm, stopping just below your wrist, his thumb brushing against your pulse point. "Nervous? Or is it something else?"

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breath, but the rapid thrum of your heart betrayed you. "I'm not... I'm not nervous," you managed, though your voice came out softer than you intended, the words barely audible between shallow breaths.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through the air between you. "Liar." His lips brushed against your collarbone, so faint it was almost a whisper, but it sent fire coursing through your veins. "Your body's giving you away, love."

You pressed a hand against his chest, meaning to push him back, but the warmth of his skin through his shirt distracted you. His heartbeat was steady, strong, a stark contrast to the chaos inside you. "You think you're so irresistible," you said, your voice laced with a shaky defiance.

He tilted his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "I think you've already decided what you want," he said, his smirk softening into something almost dangerous. "You're just too stubborn to admit it."

The tension between you was unbearable now, like a string pulled taut, ready to snap. His hand moved to the small of your back again, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush against each other. The heat of him, the solidity of his frame, made your knees weak, and you clung to the fabric of his shirt as if it were the only thing grounding you.

"You're not used to losing, are you?" he whispered, his lips so close they brushed yours as he spoke.

"I'm not losing anything," you replied, though the words lacked conviction. The intensity of his gaze, the way his presence consumed you, made it impossible to think clearly.

He leaned in, the tip of his nose grazing yours, his lips hovering just out of reach. "Then stop fighting me," he said, his voice barely more than a breath. "You're only making this harder for yourself."

For a moment, you were suspended in that intoxicating closeness, the temptation of his lips an ache you could feel in your chest. But you weren't ready to let him win so easily, not yet. Your fingers tightened in his shirt, and you tipped your chin up defiantly.

"Maybe I like the fight," you whispered, your voice steady even as your pulse raced.

His eyes darkened, a flicker of surprise and intrigue flashing across his face. He grinned, slow and deliberate, as though he were savoring the challenge. "Careful," he warned, his hand sliding up your back to cradle the nape of your neck. "You might find I'm not as easy to handle as you think."

"Good," you shot back, the spark of defiance flaring again. "I like a challenge."

The words had barely left your mouth before his lips crashed against yours, the intensity of the kiss stealing the breath from your lungs. It wasn't gentle; it was fire and fury, a clash of wills that sent a jolt of electricity through you. His hand tightened in your hair, anchoring you as his other arm circled your waist, holding you firmly against him.

You matched his fervor, your fingers threading into his hair as the kiss deepened, each movement a battle for dominance. The taste of him, the heat of his mouth, was overwhelming, drowning out every coherent thought until all you could focus on was the way he made you feel, alive, untethered, and utterly consumed.