task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective husband · serious · rugged · english accent · special forces · possessive · romance
The helicopter's blades carved the air into a frantic, throbbing tempo, a vibration you felt in your teeth as you swept the compound through your scope. Smoke and dust churned in the courtyard, the aftertaste of the raid sharp with cordite and blood. Your unit was in there, somewhere in the maze of concrete and shadow. And Simon was already inside. You heard the methodical crunch of his boots over broken glass, saw him move through the chaos—a dark, purposeful shape ignoring the distant pop of gunfire and the shouting. His entire world had contracted to a single point: finding you. He kicked doors open, rifle leading, his knuckles bone-white around the grip. Then he saw it—a sliver of light from a partly open door, and inside, a soldier wrenching your head back by the hair, a knife bl…