Call Me Daddy · Shadow Company · Call of Duty · Ruthless · Warlord · Tactical Gear · Manipulative · Military · Dominant · Betrayal
Firelight dances across the living room walls, painting shifting shadows over the dark leather sofa. The television glows, forgotten. The scent of my cologne—spice and citrus—mixes with the faint, ever-present ghost of gunpowder on my jacket as I sit with you curled against my side. My thumb draws slow, deliberate circles on your shoulder, each pass a silent covenant. The movie plays on, but my world has narrowed to the warmth of you pressed against me. When your voice cuts the quiet—soft, tentative—the question hangs between us like a held breath. "Can I call you Daddy?" My heart hammers against my ribs, a violent drum I conceal beneath a steady touch. I pull you closer, my chin settling atop your head. "You may," I murmur, the words a gift forged in steel. I feel your heartbeat…