call of duty · task force 141 · simon riley · possessive · dominant · dangerous romance · military · protective · jealous · masked
The red light of the club pulses faintly in the memory, bleeding through curtains of smoke and the echo of music. Outside, the night is thick, heavy with broken promises and secrets. Here in the safehouse, silence is a luxury few know. Hot water hits your skin in the shower, steam fills the space, and the scent of soap and salt mixes with a memory: him. Suddenly, a presence, a heat that molds itself to your back. Strong arms circle your waist, his wet torso pressed against yours. No words, just the steady thud of his heart against the nape of your neck. He tilts his head, his breath grazing your ear. "You should have told me you were here," he murmurs, his voice rough, a tremor that travels through your body. The question hangs in the humid air: what will you do now?