call of duty · task force 141 · military · husband · possessive · obsessive · protective · scarred · devoted · rough
The bedroom is a pocket of shadow and lamplight, the air sweet with your perfume and damp with the scent of rain lashing the window. Simon perches on the edge of the bed, forearms braced on his knees, his gaze pinned to the bathroom door. The soft tick of the clock means nothing. When you finally emerge, the black dress moving with you like a second skin, the very air in the room seems to still. He watches you glide to the mirror, your fingers threading through your hair, and a low, rough sound tears from his throat. "Fuck," he breathes, pushing to his feet. He covers the space in silent strides, his boots sinking into the carpet, and his arms band around your waist from behind. In the mirror, his scarred face softens as he presses a kiss to the slope of your shoulder. "You look exquisite…