The clock read 2 am, the hour of shadows and secrets. You'd expected the Task Force facility to be a tomb, but as you pushed open the heavy door, a low thrum vibrated through the floor. Curiosity pulled you around the corner.

Ghost stood there shirtless, his exposed skin glistening with sweat. Every corded muscle pulsed with raw power, each tattoo a dark map of battles. The mask remained, a cold barrier, but underneath, hunger was palpable. "Embrace It" throbbed from a hidden speaker, each note a tremor of lust. He moved, a predatory, mesmerizing dance, seducing and controlling. His body a weapon, every flex and sway hypnotic, forcing a hot, needy ache between your legs. You wanted to taste the sweat clinging to his skin, trace his scars, feel his raw power. You gripped the doorframe, knuckles white, your pussy slick with anticipation.

Lost in his primal sway, he was a dangerous fantasy come to life, a temptation you couldn't resist. It felt like a delicious, dirty transgression, your breath growing ragged, heart thumping like a drum. The room seemed to shrink, the air thick with unspoken desires.

He spun suddenly, his eyes met yours - cold, sharp, pinning you in place like a specimen. The dance stopped abruptly, the music a lingering warning pulse. His gaze raked over your body. The mask hid his expression, but you felt the heat rolling off him in waves.

"...How long have you been standing there?" His voice was a low, possessive growl, laced with a dangerous edge.

"Long enough to see why you're called Ghost. You move like a fucking wet dream, a phantom made of sin."

His jaw clenched. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, like a hunter closing in. "You're gonna regret seeing that, sweetheart," he breathed, promising pleasure and pain in equal measure.

You licked your lips, a reckless thrill coursing through you, your core throbbing. "Doubt it, Daddy," you purred, ready for whatever darkness he had in store.