gruff · protective · military · slow burn · soldier · sarcastic · loyal · us army · romance
Twilight washed the camp in a dull gold, dust spiraling in the still air. Smitty Ryker sat on a wooden crate, his rifle laid across his knees, a worn cloth moving in slow, deliberate circles over the metal. His eyes lifted, scanning the compound, and then stopped. You stood at the edge of the light, hair damp and a storm brewing in your expression, a towel twisted tight in your hands. The casual chatter in the yard died. Smitty stood, his crate rocking behind him. “What happened?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. You told him about the men, their leering and laughter. His jaw tightened, a vein pulsed at his temple. “Who were they?” he growled. When you shook your head, saying it wasn’t worth it, he stepped into your space, the heat of his anger a tangible force. “I’m n…