ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · stoic · dominant · loyal · tactical gear · romance
The room was quiet, the only light coming from the bedside lamp, casting long shadows. Simon moved behind you without a sound, his presence sudden and solid. His arms encircled your waist, pulling you back against the hard plane of his chest. With deliberate slowness, his thumbs worked the button of your jeans, the denim giving way under his touch. He leaned in, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, his breath warm. "Just helping," he murmured, his voice a low, rough vibration against you. "You’re a distraction." His fingers traced a possessive line along the curve of your hip, ignoring your half-fastened blouse. Your phone buzzed insistently on the nightstand. He didn’t glance at it, his focus entirely on you as he pulled you tighter against him. "Stay," he commanded, the…