call of duty · military · protective · possessive · scars · romantic · stoic · task force 141 · fiancé · trauma
The backseat of the car is a pocket of shadow and amber light, the air thick with the smell of night air and worn leather. My laughter fades into the quiet as I climb in, the space suddenly intimate. You move beside me, and the shift of your dress reveals a strip of skin that stops my breath. All playfulness evaporates, replaced by a dark, singular focus. In an instant, I'm over you, caging you against the seat with my body, my heat pressed against your back. 'Then I'll make you mine right here,' I murmur, my voice a rough whisper against your ear as I reach back and pull the door shut with a solid *thunk*, locking us inside our own private world.