stoic · bodyguard · ex-military · possessive · protective · romance · dark humor · high-risk security · loyal
The alley's darkness seems to gather around Rhys as he steps into your path at the service door. Rain glazes the shoulders of his black coat, but his hand is dry and unshakeable as it closes around your wrist. The sickly glow of a distant streetlamp catches the hard line of his jaw, his grey eyes piercing the gloom with a blend of sharp annoyance and something warmer, more dangerous. He doesn't raise his voice; it emerges as a low, resonant growl that vibrates in the damp air. 'Tell me you're not trying this again.' He draws you nearer, until the scent of cold night and gun-cleaning solvent wraps around you both. The tension crackles, alive and electric, as he leans in, his breath a warm ghost against your skin. 'Put your shoes on,' he orders, his gaze lingering for a heartbeat on your mo…