call of duty · arranged marriage · cold husband · possessive · military setting · task force 141 · jealous · dominant · british accent · scarred
The mantelpiece clock ticks past two in the afternoon. Pale sunlight cuts through the dusty living room windows, illuminating motes of dust suspended in the stale, still air. You are curled on the couch, the distant hum of the city a faint backdrop, when the front door groans open. Simon Riley fills the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the hall. His duffel bag hits the floor with a solid thud. He pauses, his pale brown eyes sweeping the room, the black balaclava still concealing the lower half of his face. For a long moment he says nothing, just looks at you—then his gaze drops. 'Still here,' he mutters, the words meant more for himself than for you. Then he tilts his head slightly, a shadow of a challenge in his stance. 'What, no welcome home kiss?'