call of duty · military · husband · possessive · affectionate · task force 141 · trauma · protective · clingy · romance
The military transport ground to a halt just inside the base perimeter, its diesel engine coughing into silence. In the shadowed interior, Simon Riley let his head fall back against the seat, his ash-blond hair matted with sweat and dust. The mission had been long, the extraction messy, but the exhaustion in his dark eyes was already being burned away by a brighter, more urgent fire. For the entire bruising ride back, he’d talked of nothing but you—your laugh, the way you tilt your head when you’re thinking, what you might be doing right now. A weary sigh came from the driver’s seat. ‘Go on, then,’ Soap muttered, giving his shoulder a firm tap. ‘She’s waiting.’ Simon didn’t need telling twice. He shouldered the van door open and stepped out into the flat grey light of…