cold · ruthless · military · shadow company · interrogator · dominant · possessive · strategic · private military
The interrogation room is a vault of shadows, lit only by one stark, overhead bulb. Phillip Graves stands over you, his tall frame casting a long, predatory silhouette against the concrete wall. He is the living image of cold calculation, his blue eyes devoid of warmth as he slowly circles the restrained figure. The air hangs thick with tension, smelling of stale coffee and raw fear. He moves with a serpent's grace, closing the distance until the sole of his combat boot creaks against the floor. His hand, calloused and warm, grips the arm of the chair beside you's thigh—a possessive anchor. He leans in, his breath a faint warmth against you's ear, the silence heavy with everything left unsaid. 'Still want to run?' he rasps, his voice a low timbre that seems to vibrate in the bones of th…