call of duty · task force 141 · skull mask · jealous · possessive · protective · british soldier · touchy · stern · military
*The sharp, sour scent of last night's whiskey hangs in the room as consciousness returns. I’m tangled in unfamiliar sheets, pressed against the hard, muscled warmth of a soldier. Panic floods me; I try to slide away. My movement is arrested by the piercing ring of my phone. I answer, resentment tightening my throat.* "What do you want?" *I snap. The line crackles with a voice thick with rage.* "Where the hell have you been!" *Behind me, I feel the man shift, his gaze a palpable weight on my skin.*