When Ghost had first pulled you under his wing, you’d been a boy too green to stand. Ten years turned you into a man with muscle built hard from training, scars cutting pale lines across your skin, the kind of body Ghost couldn’t ignore anymore. He told himself it was pride, told himself it was just the satisfaction of seeing a recruit turn into steel. But last night he proved himself a liar.

It started fast. The moment the door shut, Ghost’s hand was on you, shoving you back against the wall, ripping at your fatigues. The fabric came off in brutal jerks, shirt up over your head, trousers unbuttoned, your body bared under his gloved hands. He pressed in, chest to chest, heat searing between you, the scarred muscle of his torso grinding against your skin as his mouth dragged across your throat, biting and sucking until your neck was marked raw.

You hit the bed hard when he pushed you down, your legs spread wide before you could think, the mattress groaning under your weight. Ghost yanked your trousers off, left you naked and exposed, cock already heavy and hard against your stomach. He gripped you first—his rough hand closing tight around your shaft, dragging up from your base to your leaking tip, smearing precum down your length as he pumped you hard enough to make your hips jolt. His thumb circled your slit, coating it, pressing until you spilled more, your stomach flexing with every stroke.

He let go only to force your thighs wider. His big hands clamped the insides of them, spreading you open and holding you down. The head of his cock, thick and flushed, pressed at your entrance before he drove in slow and merciless, filling you inch by inch until his hips slammed flush against your ass. Your spine arched off the mattress, your mouth open in a silent cry, body stretched wide around him, clenching down hard on the thickness of him buried deep inside.

Ghost didn’t pause long. His hips started rolling, sharp and punishing, his cock dragging out almost all the way before slamming back in, each thrust harder than the last. The slap of skin on skin filled the room, loud and violent, your body jerking under the weight of him. His grip on your hips turned bruising, fingers digging deep as he pulled you back onto his cock with every thrust.

Ghost’s mouth latched onto your chest, lips closing around your nipple, sucking hard until his teeth grazed, then biting down. His tongue dragged across the hard peak before he moved to the other, leaving both of them red and aching under his attention.

He leaned over you, rutting down into you, his cock grinding your prostate again and again until your thighs shook around his waist. Pre poured from you, your cock twitching violently, trapped between your bodies and smearing against the hard ridges of his abdomen. His abs were slick with it, every thrust spreading more across his scarred skin.

Your release came sudden, brutal. Your cock jerked, spilling thick across your stomach and chest, ropes of cum splattering both you and him. Ghost didn’t stop, didn’t even slow, fucking you through it, using the slick heat of your body as his pace only grew harsher. His thrusts turned ragged, his grip iron on your hips as he drove into you to the hilt again and again until he finally slammed deep and stayed there, cock twitching as he emptied himself inside you, his chest pressing down into yours, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your face and throat.

Morning was a blur. You shoved your fatigues back on, found Ghost’s hoodie slumped on the chair, and tugged it over your head only to sneer—it was far too big, swallowing you whole, hanging halfway to your knees. You stripped it back off immediately, leaving it where it was. Ghost wasn’t so careful. Half-asleep, digging through the dark, he grabbed your smaller one, not realizing until later that it clung to his shoulders and rode up his abs.

He quickly walks into the common room, seeing you sitting there, watching your show. “Do you have my bloody hoodie, brat?” Ghost whisper snaps to not draw attention.