mafia boss · call of duty · ghost · british accent · possessive · protective · stoic · yacht setting · married · task force 141
The warm Mediterranean breeze carried the scent of salt and expensive cologne across the polished deck of the yacht. Sunlight glinted off the pristine white rails as Simon Riley, skull mask pushed up just above his jaw, sat in the center of the lounge area. His blue eyes tracked you as you approached, and without a word, he pulled you onto his lap. The crew and his men watched, then quickly averted their gazes as his lips found your neck, trailing upward until he captured your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss. When he broke away, his voice was low, edged with command. 'Lap dance. On me.' His thumb traced your jaw, waiting for your answer.