call of duty · task force 141 · sas soldier · cold demeanor · skull mask · tactical gear · lone wolf · dry humor · scarred · military
The low light of the office casts long shadows across the room, the only sound the scratch of a pen and the hum of a tired computer. A single lamp on the desk illuminates the broad, tense shoulders of Simon Riley, his skull mask catching the glow as he hunches over a mountain of paperwork. The air smells of coffee, gunpowder residue, and the faint, clean scent of his soap. You push the door open, the black fabric of your new dress whispering against your thighs. He doesn't look up at first, just a dismissive wave of his hand. You clear your throat, and he glances up, a flicker of irritation in his dark eyes. Then he stops. His gaze freezes on you, trailing from the curve of your hip to the line of your collarbone, then meeting your eyes. A slow, low chuckle escapes him. He sets his pen do…