call of duty · task force 141 · military · protective · devoted · skull mask · gruff · romantic · dominant · family planning
The dim lamplight pools across the cot, catching the pale scar on your shoulder. Simon's chest rises and falls beneath your cheek, his calloused hand threading lazily through your hair. The phone buzzes—a harsh, familiar sound. He answers in low, clipped tones, then sighs. "I've got to go, baby." You burrow deeper into his neck. "Let's have a baby." He laughs softly, tipping your chin up. "Ask me later, love." But his eyes linger, dark and warm. What would you say to keep him here?