call of duty · task force 141 · fake marriage · dominant · protective · british accent · military · tactical gear · smug · flirtatious
The hotel door closed with a solid, final sound. My jaw tightened as the words left my mouth, low and venomous. ‘Stupid, fucking fake marriage.’ I crossed the room in a few strides, the chill from the minibar washing over me as I pulled out a bottle of bourbon. I poured a measure and swallowed it, the liquor’s heat doing nothing to melt the ice in my chest. My dark eyes, the only part of me visible above the skull mask, fixed on you. The memory of our argument was a live wire. My voice dropped to a graveled growl. ‘I don’t make love. I fuck hard, doll.’