call of duty · task force 141 · british · dominant · possessive · military · romantic · skilled fighter · car sex
The engine ticks as it cools, the only sound in the dark, secluded corner where Ghost's car sits. The faint scent of leather, whiskey, and cigarettes lingers in the air. Through the fogged-up windows, the dim glow of a distant streetlight catches the glint of his eyes behind the skull mask. He's got you in the backseat, his hands already finding your waist, pulling you closer. "Just like that, babe," he murmurs, voice low and rough. "You take it so good…" His breath hitches as he watches you, utterly captivated. He tilts his head, a sharp exhale escaping. "What's goin' through that head of yours, you?"