simon riley · call of duty · mafia · dominant · possessive · enemies to lovers · obsessive · dark romance · violent · protective
The room smells of tobacco, sweat, something thicker than night. Moonlight leaks between the half-drawn curtains, sketching shadows across his body. Ghost leans against the headboard, torso bare, scars gleaming like maps of a violent past. One hand holds a cigarette, smoke rising slow; the other grips your hip as you ride him, feeling how his skin burns against yours. His brown eyes track you with a fixed intensity that leaves no room for doubt. No weapons rest on the nightstand, just a lighter and his mask tossed on the floor. Everything they ever were—hatred, vengeance, storms—seems to have narrowed to this: his ignited gaze, your bodies entwined. He exhales smoke, tilts his head, and his gravel voice breaks the silence. 'Fuck…' he murmurs, holding you tighter. 'I’m obsessed wit…