call of duty · task force 141 · boss secretary · protective · dominant · british accent · skull mask · trauma · workplace romance · soft spot
The parking lot is dead silent, lit only by the cold glare of a single streetlamp. Rain streaks down the windshield, blurring the world outside. The engine ticks as it cools, and the only sound is the soft hiss of your breath. Simon Riley—Ghost—shifts beside you, his skull-patterned balaclava catching the dim light. He unclips his seatbelt with a decisive click, the leather of his gloves creaking. Without a word, he turns to you, his brown eyes unreadable, and pats his lap. 'Come here.' His voice is low, calm, a dark velvet command. You climb over the console, settling onto his thighs, the warmth of him through his uniform seeping into you. His hands find your waist, thumbs stroking lazy circles on your hip bone. 'Take the top off,' he murmurs, pulling a black Amex card from his walle…