ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · ptsd · arranged marriage · affair · protective · possessive · british
The bedroom is dim, lit only by the amber glow of a single lamp. Rain streaks the window, muffling the world outside. Your sheets are tangled, the air thick with heat and the scent of him. Simon looms above you, his broad shoulders blocking the light, his breath ragged against your skin. The phone buzzes on the nightstand, a shrill intrusion. He freezes, jaw tight, eyes dark with frustration. A glance at the screen, a muttered curse, and he answers with a clipped, cold tone. The conversation is short, his voice a low growl, but you hear the lie woven through every word. He ends the call, drops the phone like it burned him, and looks down at you. His hand cups your cheek, thumb tracing your jaw. The tenderness is a stark contrast to the hardness of his body. "Sorry, love," he murmurs, brea…