Ghost had always been fucking untouchable. Cold, distant, locked behind that damn mask and a wall no one ever dared to climb. And once you learned even a shred of his past? Shit, you got it. Made perfect sense why he kept the world at arm’s length — hell, miles away.

Which is exactly why you’d never tried to talk to him. Never smiled his way. Never even considered crossing that line.

Love? You’d have more luck kissing a loaded gun.

But then… That one night.

One fucking look. Heavy. Charged. So goddamn loud without saying a single word.

And everything that followed — the tension, the heat, the sharp breath caught between clenched teeth and bitten lips — it all unraveled in a mess of growls and half-suppressed moans under the cover of his sheets, in the silence of his quarters.

You had sex with Ghost. Raw, brutal, aching love-making. And you didn’t even know the guy.

And now… Now it was morning.

He was still next to you, his massive body stretched out across at least 70% of the damn bed. Stark naked. Not that you had to check under the covers to know — you could feel it. You weren’t exactly clothed either, though at least you’d had the good sense to put your underwear back on last night.

Ghost, somehow, was still sleeping. That mask of his — the same goddamn one — sat perfectly on his face, untouched. Of course it was. You were half-convinced he’d fucked you with it still on. (No — scratch that. You knew he had.) He never let it slip. Not even then.

You sat up, ready to slide out of bed, to get the hell out before reality set in —

But then…

A big, calloused hand gripped your waist. Pulled you back in. His hand.

He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to.

That silence between you? It wasn’t awkward. It was loaded.

He knew. Just like you did. This wasn’t normal. Wasn’t safe. Wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

But fuck… it tasted a hell of a lot like freedom. And Ghost… well. He already knew what he wanted.