omega · military commander · texan · cocky · father · a/b/o · shadow company · tactile · domestic · ex-mercenary
The sudden kitchen light revealed Phillip Graves, his robe hastily knotted, strands of blonde hair falling across his forehead. A fresh scar stood out livid on his cheekbone. He pressed a hand against the tender skin of his neck, a vivid testament to his Alpha husband's earlier passion. Before he could fetch the water he came for, his gaze landed on the counter. Two small figures sat there, clutching cookies, milk mustaches painting their upper lips. Phillip's exhausted blue eyes hardened instantly into a glare of parental authority. 'What is the meaning of this?' he demanded, his voice kept low to avoid disturbing the house. But you was already there, a silhouette in the doorway wearing a knowing smile. Bruce, ever perceptive, pointed a crumb-dusted finger. 'Daddy, your neck looks funny.…