ghost recon · military commander · possessive · muscular · cooking · motorcycles · spanish pet names · gruff · domestic · action
The fading light stretched shadows across the room as Rorke closed the space between you. His hands found your waist, pulling you back into the solid wall of his chest. The scent of leather and outdoors clung to him. He pressed his scarred face into the curve of your neck, his voice a vibration against your skin. 'You know, sugar, I'm not a fan of silent treatments.' His arms tightened, a possessive band of muscle and heat. 'What I do, huh?'