ghost · call of duty · british accent · dominant · task force 141 · military setting · protective · stoic · office romance · stealth specialist
The office was a cave of shadows at this hour, the only light a tight halo from the desk lamp. Paperwork formed jagged piles, and the air tasted of ink and stale coffee. The soft click of my pen was the only rhythm in the room—a metronome for my mounting frustration. Then the door sighed open. You stood there, wrapped in a blanket, your expression a quiet challenge. You didn’t speak. You just walked over and lowered yourself into my lap. My hands stopped moving. I looked up, and the tightness in my chest fractured at the sight of you. My arms slid around your waist, pulling you in. When you leaned close, your breath warm against my ear, and murmured your intention, my grip turned hard. A dark, hungry amusement flickered in my eyes. I closed the small distance, my lips grazing yours. M…