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Two knocks at the door, then a pause. One more. Simon stands from his desk, adjusting his balaclava as he walks over to the door, opening it on an exhale.
Your lips quirk up at the corners when you see his large frame appear in the crack he allows between you. "Hi," you chirp, raising the bottle of whiskey you snatched from the hotel bar at the end of your shift. "Brought you a present."
The space grows wider, a muscled arm leaning against the doorway as he sweeps his eyes over you, assessing a threat that isn't there. "Your sweet self is more than enough," he says in his low, husky rumble, the sound of his voice settling in your stomach like a sip of the amber liqueur in your hand. "But I appreciate it. Come in."
He steps aside to allow entry, and you slip into his room quietly, setting the bottle down on the desk littered with files you cannot begin to decipher. Simon’s work is heavy with terms you vaguely understand. You're not stupid; you have simply learned not to ask too many questions. He prefers it that way. You're never here to talk about the military or why he's ended up back in your city.
The door shuts softly behind you. As you're peeking at the paperwork with curious eyes, he comes up behind you, large hands settling on your hips. His touch is light, careful, this giant of a man waiting for your signal to be more intentional.
In the field, Ghost is in charge. But here in this dimly lit hotel room with no one else around, he relinquishes control, letting you decide what happens next.
You like that about Simon. He's rough when you both want him to be, but if you said all you felt like tonight was to drink and watch some mindless show, he'd go along with it gladly. Your company is all he craves—but you do want to give him more than that. He's had a long day; so have you. Relieving stress is a must.
You turn around to face him, peering up at his covered face. "Take it off," you murmur, fingering the fabric at the end of the mask. "It's just me."
He hesitates, as he usually does, before pulling it off his head, revealing his scarred, stubbled face to you. You smile, reaching up to cradle it between your hands. He turns his cheek into your palm, grateful for the contact. You stroke the scar under his eye with your thumb as you say, "Do you wanna start with the whiskey?"
"No." He shakes his head, tugging you closer to his tall, bulky body possessively to lift you up and plant a kiss on your lips. "I’d rather start with you."
Tossing the balaclava aside, he scoops you off your feet, hoisting you easily as he pushes you against the wall. You moan as his mouth finds your jaw, kissing along to your ear til he settles on your thudding pulse. You wrap your calves around his waist, hands in his hair, thrilled by his hot mouth on your skin.
"Six months is a long while," he breathes, capturing yours again heatedly, tongue tracing the shape of your bottom lip. "Gotta make up for lost time, yeah?"
You nod breathlessly, positive he can hear your heart as it rams inside your ribcage like a wild animal. "Mhm," you manage to reply, holding on to him tight as he carries you the short distance to the bed. He climbs on top of you, releasing your hips to undo the button and zipper of your jeans, placing hungry kisses on your neck. He's sucking a hickey on your collarbone when your pants come off; you quickly strip your blouse from your torso, too hot to keep it on any longer.
"Fuckin' beautiful," Simon breathes over your breasts, biting the side of one as he unclasps your bra from the back. It joins your clothes on the floor, leaving your lace panties for last. You picked your prettiest pair for him—you know he likes to appreciate his meal before digging in, enjoying how the fabric hugs your hips.
He leans above you again, kissing you slowly as he slips a hand between your thighs, forcing them apart. "Alright?" he asks with your lip in his teeth, hooded eyes scanning your flushed face for signs of discomfort.
You can merely nod, voice stolen by the rigid need that crawls through your veins. Your head falls back onto the mattress when he presses a couple fingers against the lace covering your pussy, dragging them up to massage your clit. He smirks as you moan, eyelids fluttering at the contact. Not even skin to skin yet and he has you melting like butter in his hands.
"Nobody's touched you since I last saw you?" he asks in a jealous grumble, even though he has no right to feel any envy given the agreement of your interactions.
You like it, though. You want him to be bitter at the idea someone else has had their hands on your body. Not that you've had any luck in the dating pool, and you pretend the reason why has nothing to do with Simon.
"No, sir," you tell him honestly, arching your back when he dips his hand under the waistband, gathering your slick on his fingers.
"Good girl," he murmurs, satisfied, edging a digit inside your tight cunt, softly groaning the same time you whine with pleasure. "God. Still so fuckin' tight. You're already wet as fuck, babe. What were you thinkin' about?"
Pushing in til he's knuckle deep, he uses his other hand to remove your panties, coaxing your legs further apart to make room for his solid frame between them. "Hm?" he says encouragingly, gently thrusting his wrist to make you moan beneath him. "Tell me."
"You, Simon," you whisper, gripping the sleeves of his compression shirt with shaking fingers. He adds a middle digit without warning, filling you up, finding the spongey spot that makes your eyes roll back. "I was thinking... About you. Seeing you again. How excited I was."
"Excited, huh?" He kisses the bruise he left on your chest with chaste sweetness. "I must say the same. Sittin' here in a pool of paperwork, counting down the minutes til you showed up. It is damn good to see you again, love."
You smile, nails digging into his biceps as he fucks you agonizingly slow, your essence dripping around his thick fingers. "Likewise, Lieutenant."
He shakes his head, pulling out of you suddenly. The void returns, an ache in your soul that can only be mollified by his touch. "It's just Simon to you, babe," he reminds you, standing to unclasp his belt.
You swipe a finger over your clit, needing some friction before you lose your fucking mind. But Simon is quick to snatch your wrist, eyes dark with lust and danger as he twists it around to plant a kiss on the scars there.
"I didn't say you could do that, did I?"
You shiver, enticed by the threat in his voice. He releases you only to grab your hips and flip you over onto your stomach, gentle yet firm in his determination to put you in your place. You plant your knees where he wants them without being told, wiggling your ass to tease him.
"Alright, now, no need to be cheeky." He smacks it hard, startling you. "Still need'a taste first."
"Oh, yeah?" You blush, biting your lip. Your wet pussy is on full display for him, pretty and ready for your reunion. You don't fully shave for just anyone.
"Mhm." Simon drops to his knees, tall enough still he can easily lean forward and slide his tongue right where you want him. You moan loudly as he tastes you, gripping the supple flesh of your thighs to keep you steady. You drop your head onto your arms, dizzy from the appreciative flicks of his tongue.
"Mmm… Simon," you hum, pushing back against him, the primal need to be fucked senseless by his mouth rearing high in your tense body. "Mmm. Feels good. Fuck…"
Simon groans, flattening his tongue over your clit, hungry as he laps at the swollen bud. You whimper helplessly, a sharp ringing in your ears as you approach your climax. It bubbles in the pit of your belly, crawling down fast right where his tongue is.
"Simon," you whimper as he nibbles your clit, tightening his grip on your legs. "Oh, fuck, I’m gonna come, Simon, don't stop, please. Ohhh, Simon—"
And then you're unraveling on his chin, a cry of ecstasy piercing the air; he sucks the bundle of nerves dutifully, his tongue working magic as you ride out your orgasm. It feels like electricity pulsing through your clit and pussy, stars popping behind your closed lids. You whimper his name over and over, thrown into another wave of bliss as you think it's done. Simon goes harder, licking all those precious spots you forget about until he ignites them.
"Fuck," you gasp into the mattress, buzzing from head to toe as you finish. He grunts, getting to his feet, and you hear the rustle of his pants drop to his knees.
"That's my girl," he praises, nearly yanking the drawer out of the nightstand in his haste to grab a condom. "That's my good fucking girl."
You'd rather take him raw, if you're being honest. But the pill only does so much, and neither of you can risk a baby in the midst of your lives. With him being gone and your simple bartending gig getting you by, there's no chance of anything, least of all a child.
It's a bittersweet reality you refuse to mention, because you know the answer. It's not the right time. It may never be. You caught feelings the first night you spent in one of these beds; it's unclear where his head is at, and you're too scared to ask him.
The arrangement is simple. You have sex, drink a little, go to sleep. Sometimes you'll watch TV, his head in your lap while you play with his hair. False domesticity you cannot imagine with anyone else.
It hurts, knowing nothing will happen beyond this. He's not the type to get attached like you are. You know he's a good man, cares for you outside of what you can provide him on an overnight stay. But the texts are seldom and the longing is forever. It's why you haven't pursued much when he isn't here. That string of hope tugging at your heart can't be ignored. You doubt the thread connects to his, a frayed end with nowhere to go.
"Relax, darlin'," Simon is uttering softly, bringing you back to earth with a gentle swipe on your ass. "Ya alright? Lost you for a minute there."
You suck in a breath, tossing your hair out of your eyes. "I’m fine," you tell him, losing your train of thought when he presses a finger into your core again, testing you. "I’m fine, sir. I’m ready when you are."
A low, pleased chuckle. "Always am for you, babe."
He guides the fat tip of his cock where his finger was, a solid pressure you'll never get used to. "Relax," he says again, pushing in carefully. "Deep breath for me, pretty girl. I got you."
You exhale, leaning back on his cock, allowing him to go in further. Your dripping cunt takes him easily, inch by glorious inch, your walls relaxing around him as he offers gentle words of praise and encouragement.
"That's it, baby," he soothes, moving his hips to thrust in deeper, holding yours so as not to jostle you. "You're so goddamn tight, bloody hell... Not hurtin' you, am I?"
The concern in his voice makes you melt. You so wish it meant something.
"I’m okay, sir," you tell him, sighing as you adjust to the long, hard length of him. "Fuck…"
"My sentiments exactly." He pushes past your limits, so gentle it might make you cry—but it's just for right now, that tentative moment before he lets loose, letting out every ounce of stress winding up in him like a strained rubber band needing to break.
His starting pace is short and sweet, short nails digging into your hips as he runs into you, covering himself with your slick. Once he's positive you're comfortable, he sets a different speed, fucking you in earnest. You bite down on the bedspread, whimpering as he thrusts deeper into your pussy, stretched out beyond what it can normally take. It feels so good, each impressive inch of his pulsing cock dragging in and out of you. You let the pleasure in your head overwhelm you completely, giving in to the new waves building in your gut.
Soon the wet sounds of skin on skin and your symphony of moans and grunts fills the small space, your lungs full of the intoxicating smell of him. A large hands ends up on your back, keeping you facedown on the mattress as he nears his release.
"fuckin' hell," Simon gasps, reaching around your thigh to rub at your clit. You keen with delight, arching your spine into his touch. "Easy, bunny, easy. I got you. Such a good, sweet girl for me, yeah? I know it feels good. You missed my cock, didn't ya? Missed me fillin' you up?"
"Yes, Simon," you sputter, clit throbbing wildly under his ministrations, matching the tempo of his greedy thrusts. "Feels so fucking good, fuck—!"
The urge to call him Daddy is strong, a secret kink you've harbored for years but have never found the right person to go along with it. So you bite your tongue, the coppery taste of blood flooding your teeth as you resist, scared to ruin whatever this is.
"What's my name, darling?" he growls, and your ears perk up in response, the coil in your belly twisting hard.
"Simon," you choke out, tears and drool forming a puddle under your chin as he fucks your brains out.
"No, no," he chides, not missing a beat as he speaks. "Tell me what you really wanna say. I know you. There's always somethin' filthy on that little tongue of yours."
He does know you, knows your body, knows how much you enjoy taking things a step further. Your face burns as shame colors your cheeks. But you have to answer—you need to be honest, because Simon riley can sense a lie a hundred miles away.
So you swallow your dignity, any shred left of pride, and mumble into your forearm, "Daddy. Fuck, Daddy."
"What's that?" he punctuates with a particularly brutal thrust, pressing harder on your clit. "I didn't hear you, my pretty girl. Speak up."
The hand on your back moves to your hair, yanking your torso up so you can't hide. You yelp from the pain at the nape of your neck, sinking down on his cock further. He hits a spot you didn't know existed, and you both moan at the contact.
He lifts you up til he can get his hand around your throat, tipping your head all the way back. His eyes are feral, the sharp lines of his face accentuated by sweat and carnal fury. Fucking up into you harder still, he uses his thumb to coax your mouth open, spitting down onto your tongue a second later.
It's so disgustingly intimate you almost come.
"Daddy," you whimper through tears, his face blurring as the name falls from trembling lips. "Daddy. Oh, fuck, oh my God—Simon, Daddy—"
He growls, the sound reverberating against your back, and he throws you down again, kneeling on the edge of the bed to pound into you so ruthlessly it hurts. It's the kind of pain you didn't know you craved until now, such a brutal feeling you can't get enough of.
"Come for me, baby," he pleads, your clit already bursting under his rapid fingertips. "Cum on Daddy's cock like a good girl, there you go, fuck—!"
You scream, the sound clawing its way up your throat, as your orgasm grips your cunt so fiercely it takes all the breath out of your lungs. Simon yells as your tight pussy clamps down on his cock, quivering with pleasure as he fucks you through it, never letting up on your clit.
He follows suit before you're even done, the condom the damned barrier between you and his seed. He continues touching you even as he collapses with pleasure, thrusts uneven and wild, the endless wetness between your legs coaxing him higher.
You squirm on his cock, whimpering as aftershocks hit in the most sensitive places, still riding your orgasm as long as your body will allow it. Simon slows til he's grinding in and out gradually, panting from the effort it takes to keep himself upright, savoring every last thrum of pleasure.
"Fuuuck," he pants, stalling his hips to just stay inside you a moment longer, bending over you to plant kisses along your spine. Spent, you slump on the bed into his waiting arms, letting him pull you against his chest.
"Take your shirt off," you mumble, wincing as he pulls out of you. "And your pants, dummy."
He huffs a laugh into your sweaty neck. "Yes, ma'am."
You're separated briefly as he strips completely, joining you by the pillows with an exhausted sigh. You crawl onto his chest, peppering kisses along the scars and tattoos til you reach his mouth. His kiss is searing and warm, a calloused hand touching the back of your head to urge you closer to him.
"I missed you so much," you breathe against his lips, too deep in your post-coital shock to comprehend what you are saying. "Please stop leaving me. Please."
He utters your name, rolling onto his side to embrace you fully, leaning his forehead on yours. "Shhh. I’m not goin' anywhere, darlin'. It's alright."
"It's not, Simon." you push weakly on his chest, unable to fight the tears or emotions anymore. It's pointless to try, all your energy the past two years spent on keeping your feelings bottled up. "You are going somewhere. You need to leave. Which is fine, I know that, your job is your life, I just—" you inhale, and it hurts to breathe. "I don't know how much longer I can do this, Simon. It's so painful only seeing you a few times a year when I know I want to be with you always."
He listens quietly, his gaze becoming more tortured the longer you babble on, letting it out despite whatever the consequences may be. You can picture it now, a lovely but devastating rejection that will leave you in pieces. It seems silly, and it is, to have let yourself fall in love with a man determined not to belong to anyone. But the nights spent with him have mattered so much to you, and the occasional texts checking in make your heart flutter, and the thought of never seeing or speaking to him again is a knife to the heart.
But you have to say it, to let it go. As much as it will hurt to lose him, it's better than carrying on like you don't love him with every ounce of your soul.
"I love you, Simon Riley," you sob, closing your eyes so you selfishly don't have to see the agony reflected in his. "I love you. I don't want you to go. I don't wanna be left here in this stupid city again without you."
"Baby…" He cradles your face and head in his hands, so large compared to you, holding you so lightly it's as if he fears you'll shatter like glass. "Look at me."
"No." You grit your teeth against an ugly sob, moving to clamor out of his arms, physical pain radiating from your body. "Don't even. I’m gonna go."
"No, you're not," he growls, forcing you back into the hot cocoon of his arms, holding your face more firmly now, coaxing your chin up so you'll look at him. "Open those eyes and look at me, right now."
Weeping, you pry open your eyes despite the salty tears pouring from the corners. He's so cruel, making you look him in the eye when he turns you down. Agony ripples in your bones.
"Reid." He swallows thickly, waiting for you to catch your breath before continuing slowly. "Why do you think I keep comin' back to this specific hotel? My team is thirty miles from me in a safehouse. But I choose to come here, back to you, every single time."
"That doesn't mean anything," you protest, abruptly too scared to imagine the alternative to him rejecting you: a life with him that soars beyond your wildest dreams. You haven't spent much time considering that when it's been a back-and-forth battle with your heart and mind for two years. "You come back 'cause I have something to offer you. That's all it is to you."
His jaw drops, and you realize how deep of a cut you just made. Your heart stutters in your ribcage, disbelieving.
"You did not—" He stops himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Fuck. What have I done."
He releases you in favor of sitting up, reaching over the edge of the bed to grab his briefs. Panic swells within you now, the muscles of his back taut with tension as he gets dressed.
"Simon," you mumble, pulling the covers up around you, cold without him beside you. "Simon, I’m sorry."
"Don't—" He stops short, closing his eyes. "Come on, get up. Put your clothes on."
A sob tightens your throat. You're so confused, unsure what to make of his reaction or behavior. "Are you kicking me out?" you squeak, feeling like a troubled child.
He tosses you your clothes. "No. Come on, we're gonna go on a walk. Get up."
When you don't move to don your clothes, frozen where you sit in a bed that's neither of yours, Simon straightens up, peering down at your tear-streaked face. He stiffens before closing in for a kiss, planting a quick peck on your chapped lips.
"I’m not mad," he assures you as you blink at him sadly, all your emotions written on your traitorous face. "Come on, babe, get dressed. We're gonna talk."
Five minutes later, the brisk Amsterdam evening washes over you as you step out together. His hands are stuffed in his hoodie pockets while yours fiddle with the sleeves of your jacket, pulling them down over your hands. You follow Simon’s lead, your entire body an anxious live wire set to blow at any second.
You have to jog a little to keep up with his long strides. It feels nice being outside, but you can't appreciate it too much when you're awaiting his final answer.
You can't imagine what he wants to talk about. It's very simple if he's going to essentially break up with you. You certainly hit a nerve with what you said.
But what did he mean, what has he done? Lead you on? Tricked you into falling for him? He's done neither. He isn't the bad guy here—your hopeless romantic self is the one to blame. It's not his fault you fell forward and he went all the way backwards.
"Simon, slow down," you pant, reaching for the back of his hoodie. He stops short, so quickly you bump into his bulky figure with a yelp. "Sorry."
He sighs, nodding to a nearby bench. "C'mon. Sit."
He sits, you stand. Arms folded around yourself in a weak attempt to defend yourself against whatever he's about to say, you stare him down, wondering how much pain he is going to make you endure before he speaks.
Realizing you're not going to sit, Simon leans back on the bench. He left his balaclava at the hotel, something you weren't expecting. Simon never goes anywhere without that damned thing covering his face.
His vulnerability frightens you. Makes you think there's another edge to what's storming in his head.
"Reid." He says your name with such reverence it makes you want to puke. "Look at me, please. Come here."
You obey the latter command, refusing to look directly at his shadowed eyes for fear of breaking down again. He reaches for you, his arm long enough he can brush your thigh with his fingertips.
"Look at me. Look at my face, tell me I’m lying when I say this to you." He sounds as desperate as you feel. You turn your head, finally making eye contact, startled by how genuine the depths of his expression goes.
"I don't keep coming back to you for what you can 'offer' me," he says, low and clear.
You grit your teeth. "That's what it feels like."
He huffs, cracking a humorless smile. "I know. I’m sorry. I heard what you said. I’m sorry…" He pauses, swallowing. "I’m sorry for the obvious pain I’ve caused you."
"Will you just get it over with, Simon?" you throw up your hands in exasperation. "Just say it. Break up with me, if you will. I'll walk away and that'll be it."
He narrows his eyes as if he's confused now. "Break up with you?" he repeats. "No. That's not—that's not what I’m trying to do here. I’m apologizing, Reid. For not—for not being honest sooner."
Now he looks away, as if he's ashamed. "I didn't realize… How you felt. About me, about all of it. I’m sorry, baby. I've just been…afraid. I didn't want to pull you into something you might not be able to get out of."
You blink the tears away, softening a little. "What are you saying, Simon?" you ask cautiously, your heart in the pit of your stomach, on the defense still despite the shine of hope threatening to pull you under.
"I’m saying," he says, standing now, hands finding your face in the moonlight. You tilt your head back to look up at him, overwhelmed by the sea of emotions in his eyes. "I’m saying I’m sorry for keepin' you at arm's length. I’m saying I love you, too."
You stare at him, searching for the lie. But if there's one truth about Simon Riley, it's that he doesn't lie. And you're not someone he can deceive, no matter what.
"What are you talking about?" you whisper, not prepared for this outcome at all. It always seemed so out of reach, that frayed end drifting in the wind, nowhere to attach to. "Don't make shit up."
"I’m not. How could I, when I don't need to?" He shakes his head. "I love you. But I haven't been fair to you. I love you and you matter to me. I just haven't trusted myself to love you how you deserve. But I can't let go. I tried—I’ve been back more times than you know and I didn't call you because it would've only hurt you."
"Simon." You close your eyes, lean into his touch like it's a salvation you can't resist. "Where are you going with this? You might love me, but that doesn't mean you want me."
Your throat gets tight. That's what you really want, at the end. To be wanted. Not just loved like he claims. He has to want you, to build a life with you despite the risks.
"Of course I want you." His breath is warm on your face, the heat of his body protecting you in a cocoon of safety in the breeze. "I just can't pull you under with me. My job is unforgiving. You know how long I can be gone. I don't want to start somethin' I can't finish."
You sniff, kissing his palm as his thumbs swipe the tears from your cheeks. "You already have, Simon," you sigh in acceptance, greeting your fate with open arms even if it means a bigger heartbreak than the one you expected.
He leans his forehead against yours. "I know. I’m sorry. But I can't bring myself to regret it. To regret you. You're my one constant. I might have my team, but they can't give me what you can. And I’m not talkin' about sex. You mean so much more to me than that, you gotta believe me. I swear it, Reid."
"I know," you sigh, stepping back from him, needing the space to breathe. You place your fingers with his, though, needing to stay connected. "I know you care about me. And I do believe you. I just don't know what's supposed to happen now. Where do we go from here?"
The question lingers in the night air. The uncertainty of the future weighs down the lightness you feel inside you at the reality he, for some reason, feels the same. But it doesn't mean anything if it ends here.
"Wherever you are sounds perfect," Simon admits almost shyly. You allow yourself to find it cute.
"That's corny as hell, Simon. But sure." you shrug lightly. "I’m right here, though. Take it or leave it."
He yanks you closer, placing a hand on your hip with the possession of a man who's just found priceless treasure. "I’ll take it," he agrees. "If you'll have it."
You reach up to trace the long scar on his cheekbone. "I guess. Can you promise me something?"
"Anything," he says immediately, putty in your hands.
You have to rise on your toes even when you tug his neck down to whisper in his ear, "Next time we fuck, you have to take the condom off."
He grips your waist like it's a lifeline. "That's good, cos we just used the last one."
You smile, pulling him back in the direction of the hotel. "Come on, stupid."
When you reach his door, a newfound sense of trust and intimacy between you, he gently tugs you around to look at him, one hand on your waist.
"You know what you're gettin' yourself into," he says in a soft warning tone, his eyes almost sad as they gaze at you like he's expecting you to change your mind. What he doesn't know is you've had your mind made up about him since the day you met. And you're not planning on getting scared now.
"I do," you say resolutely, rising up to give him a kiss. "I’m not worried about it, Simon."
"So you'll have me." Something like joy swells in his eyes, reflecting the light glowing in yours.
You hope to be the reason for it the rest of your lives.
"You say that like I have a choice," you tease fondly.
He smirks, devilish now, pushing you backward into the suite. "You certainly don't now, my love."