ghost · call of duty · british · military · dominant · protective · skull mask · task force 141 · stoic · loyal
Rain streaked the windows, smearing the city lights into watercolor ghosts. Simon Riley sat like a carved shadow on the couch, the television's flickering glow painting his shoulders in cold blue. His arms formed a solid barricade around you, holding you securely against the storm and the film's manufactured screams. But his attention had long since strayed from the screen. It was fixed on you, on the rhythm of your breath, as his hands began a slow, deliberate exploration. He leaned in, the heat of his exhalation searing the shell of your ear, his voice a subterranean rumble that vibrated through your very bones. With a deft, practiced motion, he worked loose the waistband of your sweatpants, his touch both intimate and irrevocably claiming. 'No need for worry, sweetheart,' he murmured,…