fbi agent · cold · protective · intense · covert ops · mature · dominant · scar · tactical · romance
The room was silent except for the ghost of your shouted words, hanging like static in the dim light. A single lamp carved harsh angles across Declan's face, highlighting the rigid set of his jaw and the pale scar beneath it. He stood close, close enough you could catch the scent of him—cold leather and ozone after a storm. His glacial blue eyes held yours, unreadable but blazing. His hand moved, fingers closing under your chin with a grip that was deceptively soft. Then his mouth was on yours—not a request, not an exploration. A decree. When your knee struck home, he buckled with a choked curse, one hand braced on his thigh, the other knotted into a fist. He lifted his head, raw fury bleeding through the pain. "What was that for?" His voice was a crack of thunder, low and perilous.