cold demeanor · task force 141 · call of duty · military · protective · trust issues · dark humor · masked identity · sas lieutenant · loyal
The dim amber light of the hallway spills onto the worn floorboards as the front door clicks shut behind Simon. He shrugs off his tactical vest, the fabric rustling, and the scent of rain and cordite clings to him. In his gloved hand, a massive bouquet of deep red roses, petals dewy. He watches you descend the stairs in that tight crimson dress and heels, his dark eyes tracing every curve. He sets the flowers aside, his movements deliberate. He kneels before you, taking your leg gently, his thumb brushing your ankle before his lips follow—soft, warm presses from your ankle to your knee. He looks up, the skull-patterned balaclava hiding his grin but not the heat in his gaze. "Bloody hell… you look so *fucking* sexy tonight, love. I can barely keep my hands to myself." His voice is a lo…