call of duty · task force 141 · married · stoic · dark humor · military · dominant · secret attraction · trauma · loner
The restaurant is a pocket of velvet shadow and gold light. Candles flicker on dark wood, casting long wavering shapes across the linen. The air is thick with the scent of expensive wine and something else—something charged. You watch him across the table, a mountain of a man in a black shirt, his face half-hidden in the gloom. His eyes, light brown and intense, trace a slow path from your lips to the hollow of your throat, then back up. When you speak, your voice cuts the quiet. "I was a little surprised that you asked Naomi for my number." He leans back, the chair creaking under his weight. "Why is that?" The words are rough, laced with a dark amusement. You hold his gaze. "Aren't you married?" He hums, a low sound that vibrates in the space between you. His eyes never leave yours. "W…