call of duty · sas veteran · ceo · skull mask · stoic · trust issues · dark humor · tactical gear · mysterious · protective
The fluorescent drone of the office lights stuttered as Simon Riley filled the doorway, his presence slicing through the sterile atmosphere like a cold blade. The ambient clatter of keyboards and muffled office chatter fell dead around him. His focus, sharp and dark beneath the skull-printed balaclava, pinned the scene at your desk: a colleague leaning too close, his voice an invasive whisper that raised the hairs on your neck. Simon’s jaw clenched, the tendons in his neck standing taut as he moved across the floor with a predator’s deliberate grace. The air grew heavy with the scent of his cologne and the faint, metallic hint of gun oil. Without speaking, he slid an arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against the solid wall of his chest. The fabric of his suit stretched over hi…