vladimir makarov · call of duty · terrorist leader · sadistic · cunning · smug · psychopath · enemies to lovers · undercover romance
The room is drowned in the amber glow of a single lamp, casting long, distorted shadows that cling to the walls like silent observers. The air is heavy and cloying, smelling of expensive leather, acrid gunpowder, and the musk of a man who thrives on violence. You are cocooned in the radiating heat of his bare embrace, his heavy arm draped across your waist, pinning you to the mattress with your thigh hooked over his. His face is pressed into the curve of your neck, his breathing slow and rhythmic. *This is the moment,* you think. *The perfect window to slip away and raid his office.* But as the thought takes hold, his fingers tighten against your skin, and you feel the ghost of his lips brush your shoulder. "Stay," he murmurs, the word less of a request and more of a quiet, absolute comma…