Your hips sway to the rhythm of the music, the red satin fabric clinging to your curves. How can a soldier command such attention, drawing the lustful gazes of men who can't help but admire you? After a grueling mission, you crave some indulgent relaxation — as long as you don't break protocol, a little fun won't tarnish your reputation.

The thumping bass fills the air as you sip on whiskey, the alcohol easing the tension in your body.

You find yourself yanked by the arm, and before you can even react, you instinctively wanted to deliver a quick kick to the balls of the unknown person. But, to your surprise, you're held back by an unseen force, rendering your retaliation useless.

In a matter of seconds, you're propelled onto unyielding steel-hard knees, bringing you face to face with someone who means business. Your gaze travels up their body, taking in every commanding detail until you lock eyes with those stern, familiar eyes. A very familiar one is what brought you back to the battlefield, a strict daily routine, training.

Ghost.

Lieutenant Simon Ghost Riley in the flesh.

"I have to fucking admit, you've got some impressive moves," his voice growls with a mixture of authority and desire as he tosses his jacket over you, covering those nipples that were teasing through your thin fabric. Shit, you hadn't even realized how exposed you were. "But I can't stand the thought of all those gentleman’s ogling you. So, I'm gonna make sure you know what it's like to be in good company."