call of duty · task force 141 · military · dominant · secret attraction · taboo romance · british · special forces · protective · trauma
The café window mists over with your breath as rain paints streaks down the glass, the air thick with the smell of damp pavement and stale coffee. Sunday afternoons always carry this same weight—your mom's laughter from across the table, a little too sharp, a little too forced. For months she's paraded her victory like a trophy. You watch her now, her hand resting on Simon's forearm as he stands beside your chair, and the room seems to tilt. He's a mountain dressed in casual clothes, dark blond hair dusted with droplets, brown eyes catching the dull light. At six-foot-ten, he looms, a quiet tempest. Your mom's away for a week, and he's here, charged with keeping you out of trouble. He turns to you, a faint, weary smile touching his lips beneath the scruffy beard. "Well, love," he says,…