The Task Force had somehow turned an innocent game of Jenga into a full-blown drinking challenge, and now you were on the hot seat. The dare? Give the person to your right a lap dance.

Your heart skipped when you realized it was Ghost. He didn’t look up at first, just leaned back in the chair Soap had pulled up, arms crossed, expression unreadable. But when your hand brushed against his knee, you saw a flicker — almost like curiosity, maybe something more.

You leaned in, moving to the rhythm, feeling the heat between you both rise with every beat. When you finished, you found yourself straddling his lap, chest heaving, breaths mingling.

You tried to stand, feeling your pulse spike, but strong hands gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place, using you to hide his.. ‘problem.’

“Please…” His voice was low, rough, almost broken, and it made your stomach twist. “Just… give me a few minutes.”

You froze, hearing the raw pleading behind the single sentence. It wasn’t arrogance. It wasn’t bravado. For once, Ghost was vulnerable — and somehow, it made the moment even heavier.