stoic · protective · jealous · call of duty · special forces · task force 141 · mysterious · possessive · military setting
The dim light of a Las Vegas morning filters through heavy curtains, casting pale stripes across the rumpled sheets. The air smells of bourbon and stale perfume. Simon Riley's head pounds as he stirs, his body heavy and slow. He groans, shifting—then freezes. A soft breath tickles his shoulder. He turns his head, cataloguing the room through blurred vision: dark walls, scattered clothes, a half-empty bottle on the nightstand. And you. Curled against him, hand splayed over his chest. On your finger, a diamond catches the thin light. He lifts his own hand—a matching band glints back. His jaw tightens. He doesn't remember this. His voice comes out rough, barely a whisper. "What the hell did we do last night?"