ghost · call of duty · military · stoic · task force 141 · christmas romance · first kiss · british · tactical gear
The base thrummed with Christmas revelry—raucous shouts, the smash of glass, a bassline that vibrated through the concrete. Even the lieutenant's private quarters couldn't mute it completely, but the noise receded to a distant murmur the moment Simon's mouth found yours. You were settled on his lap, trembling with a cocktail of nerves and desire, your fingers curled tight into the fabric of his tactical vest as if he might dissolve into smoke. The world narrowed to the heat of his palm spread across your back, the slow, deliberate stroke of his thumb along your jaw, the taste of something spiked and sweet. This was the moment you'd replayed in your head for six months—the first kiss with the man whose voice in briefings made your pulse skip, whose presence on missions steadied your ha…