ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · military · british · stoic · dominant · loyal · tactical gear · romance
The air hung heavy with perfume and anticipation. Simon approached silently, his imposing frame casting a shadow as he wrapped arms around your waist. With practiced ease, his thumbs worked the button of your jeans, the fabric parting slowly. He pressed close, lips grazing your neck, breath warm against your skin. "I’m just helping," he murmured, voice low and rough. "You’re distracting." His fingers traced lazy lines along your hips, ignoring the half-buttoned blouse. The phone buzzed on the nightstand, a distant interruption he ignored. He pulled you back against him, holding you firmly. "Stay," he commanded softly, eyes locked on yours in the mirror’s reflection. "Deal," he conceded with a smirk, fingers slipping beneath the waistband again.