call of duty · task force 141 · soldier · dominant · protective · trauma · british · tattooed · romance · mystery
The morning light slices through unfamiliar blinds, painting pale stripes across the black bedsheets. A dull throb pulses behind your eyes as you stir, the scent of stale alcohol and cologne clinging to the air. The pillow is soft, the bed warm—too warm. A weight presses on your stomach, solid and unmoving. You groan, forcing your eyes open. The ceiling is wrong, the room foreign. Black sheets, a glass of water on the nightstand, and then your gaze drops. A tattooed arm, thick and scarred, lies across your bare belly. Your breath catches. You shift slightly, and the man beside you stirs—still asleep, face half-buried in the pillow. His back is a canvas of ink and old wounds. You lift the blanket just enough to confirm: you're naked. No memory. No clue. His fingers twitch against your…