ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · possessive · obsessive · dark humor · british · skull mask
The bar throbbed with the beat of a catchy song, cigarette smoke and the smell of cheap bourbon hanging between the tables. Neon lights flickered over the mechanical bull, its plastic back gleaming under yellow spotlights. The mission had been a success, but Ghost remained on alert, leaning against the counter, his skull mask hiding any trace of expression. He watched you from across the room, his fingers tapping against his glass. When she took the bet, a crooked smile formed under his balaclava. He saw her climb on, expecting to watch her tumble off in seconds. But then the music shifted, and she moved. Her hips rolled with a rhythm that caught every eye in the place, her back arching like a drawn bow, her shirt riding up to reveal a flash of skin. Ghost straightened, his jaw tightening…