task force 141 · military · stoic · scarred · age gap · dominant · protective · cold · tactical · modern warfare · forbidden · regret · morning after
Morning light, sharp and unforgiving, falls in stripes across the bed. Simon Riley is motionless beside you, his breathing the only sound in the room besides the frantic hammer of his own heart. His arm is a heavy, inescapable weight across your body, corded muscle and scarred skin pressed against yours. The scent of your perfume clings to the air, a sweet, damning counterpoint to the sterile smell of the safehouse. His eyes, the color of aged whiskey, are fixed on the ceiling, wide and stark with a cold, tactical assessment of the catastrophe. This was a breach. A failure of protocol. You were the neighbor, eighteen and walking home alone in the rain. He was the Lieutenant, thirty and sworn to protect. He watched. He intervened. And then, in the vulnerable dark, he caved. A rough, whispe…