Page 17 of Command and Control: GHOST Operative

And it turns out my imagination didn’t shoot high enough.

He's at least six-three. Maybe six-four. Every inch of him is solid and strong. The lean line of his muscular form is on full display in his fitted black T-shirt and matching tactical pants.

No coat. And no shoes. Another good indication he’s angry.

And he is angry at me.

I'm caught in a horrifying situation of wanting to boththrow up and shove my hand between my legs to ease the ache building there. I recognize how fucked-up it is that I'm turned on right now, but after twenty years of being as unaroused as it gets, I've got a lot of horniness to make up for.

And it clearly chooses the most inappropriate times to make itself known. Like when a dangerous, ridiculously sexy man is storming toward my front door.

I grip the windowsill, preparing to push to my feet so I can be as ready as I'm gonna get, but I'm barely off the ground when Vincent stops. I sink back down to my knees, waiting, while he stands frozen in place. The seconds drag on as he works his jaw from side to side.

Then he spins on one heel and stalks right back into his apartment, slamming the door so hard I can hear it across the parking lot.

What the hell? What just happened? One minute he looked ready to either strangle me or put me over his knee and teach me a lesson, and the next he was walking away without looking back.

I grip the windowsill again and this time go fully to my feet, frowning through my barely open blinds. "Well. Shit." I thought I had him. Thought I'd pushed him to shit or get off the pot. Apparently not.

Now what? I've been gearing myself up for this confrontation all afternoon. Am as ready as I’m gonna get to face down the man who's been haunting my thoughts way more than he probably should have. Now I'm back to waiting to see what he's going to do next. And I don’t like it.

Technically, I don't have to wait. This isn’t a freaking board game. We don't have to trade moves. I can poke himtwice in a row if I want. Is it smart? No. But technically none of this is. I'm fairly confident he won’t kill me, but outside of that I'm not really sure what Vincent is capable of. I don't have a death wish, but I’m willing to risk an awful lot to finally have a life that's mine. That I choose. That brings me satisfaction and challenge and excitement.

And money. I do have two sons to put through college.

GHOST can provide all of that. Possibly even more. That means I need to think. I need to strategize. I need to come up with a plan.

And I do my best thinking in the kitchen.

Taking one last look across the parking lot, I blow out a long sigh before turning away from the window I've been parked in front of for an hour. I don't change out of my dress, just in case Vincent changes his mind and decides to come get me after all, but I do pull my hair up. No one likes hairy cookies.

After setting up my mixer, I start adding the ingredients of my favorite cookie recipe into the bowl. As the butter and sugar cream together, I tap one foot, chewing on my lower lip.

I could just go over there. Storm in on him the way he was going to storm in on me. But what in the hell would I say? Hi. Sorry you had to watch me diddle myself last night, I didn't know you were there.

Technically it's true. Ididn'tknow he was there at the time… I just pretended he was. Maybe hoped for it a little. I probably shouldn't admit that part. It’ll seem weird.

It probablyisweird.

So it’s a no to going over there.

Adding in the next round of ingredients, I continue to ponder as they work their way into dough. I could waituntil he goes to sleep. Sneak into his apartment and then leave him another card. But that seems too risky. Vincent's probably always armed and would shoot an intruder, no questions asked. I still don't have a death wish, so that's off the table too.

Going back to my cookies, I add in my preferred collection of chocolate chips, give the dough one last stir and then pop the bowl free, scooping the cookies onto parchment lined baking sheets before sliding them into the oven. My brain continues working the whole time, but by the time the whole batch is baked, I still don't have any great ideas outside of pissing him off enough to make him come to me.

And I think I know how to piss him off. I took my little pink friend back and he’s charged and ready for round two. The question is, am I brave enough to do it? It's easy to be naughty when you think no one's watching, but doing it knowing it will likely result in a giant, angry, silver fox mercenary chasing after you?

Honestly, that sounds fucking fantastic. Terrifyingly fantastic. And it brings me right back to that combination of nausea and horniness that seems to be my new norm now that Vincent's here.

But, at the end of the day, the only risks you regret are the ones you don't take, and I will kick myself forever if I don't do everything I can to earn a position on GHOST.

Did I expect performative masturbation to be part of the process? No.

Am I going to take it off the table? Also no.

But that's because I've discovered I might be a little bit of a freak. Again, probably because I spent over twentyyears suffering through missionary poking with a man who always found me lacking.

I stack all the cooled cookies into a container and pop on the lid, leaving them on the counter before going up to my office. There is one other way I can possibly piss Vincent off enough to force him to make a move. Disappointingly, it doesn't involve nipple clamps, but it's definitely a more professional approach.

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