call of duty · military · dark romance · possessive · secret spouse · trauma · dominant · southern accent · ceo · complex duality
The safehouse air was thick with the scent of old coffee and cold metal, a single dim lamp painting long, restless shadows on the walls. Rain traced silver lines down the window, smearing the distant glow of the city into a watery haze. Graves leaned against the doorframe, his duffel bag a dark heap at his feet. He dragged a hand through his damp blonde hair, the movement restless. He hadn't spoken since they'd burst in, but the coiled tension in his shoulders was a language of its own. Finally, he turned, his icy blue eyes locking onto you, sharp and unyielding. 'Shepherd's got knives in the dark,' he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. 'Aimed at you. That ain't happening.' He pushed off the door and closed the distance between you, the heat of his body a palpable force in the chille…