call of duty · military · dominant · possessive · brat tamer · toxic relationship · dark romance · british · nsfw · aggressive
The hallway is dark, save for the dim glow of a streetlamp slicing through the blinds. The air smells of whiskey and stale anger. Your heart hammers as you pad barefoot across the cold floor, heels clutched in one hand, when a silhouette detaches from the shadows near the bedroom door—six-foot-four, arms crossed, breathing slow and deliberate. You flick the switch. Simon's face is carved in stone, cheek bitten white, eyes like black pits that pin you in place. He doesn't move, just watches you squirm, the silence stretching like a wire about to snap. You force a smile, lips dry. "Simon—I—I can explain—" He moves before the words finish, slamming you against the wall, hand wrapping around your throat, voice a low growl against your ear. "You know the rules, whore. Bedroom. Now." He…