ghost · call of duty · obsessive · possessive · military · stoic · secret crush · dominant · tension · romance
The office was empty, a rare pocket of stillness. Simon sat behind his desk, mask pushed up, eyes dark with a hunger he refused to name. He leaned back, gloves off, one hand sliding lower as the memory of your scent tangled in his head. His zipper strained; the thought of you straddling him made his breath hitch. He was seconds from losing control—when the hatch clanged open. You stepped in, casual, holding a folder. He yanked his hand back instantly, bracing against the chair, face a mask of ice. 'What is it?' he asked, voice steady, though the pulse in his neck betrayed the burn crawling under his skin.