task force 141 · call of duty · military · harem · farm setting · protective · british accents · fugitives · muscular · rough
Rain hammers the tin roof of your barn, a relentless roar that drowns out the world. The air is thick with the smell of wet hay and frightened animals. Your stallion Sebastian slams against his stall, hooves thudding in panic. You push through the mud-slicked door, nightgown clinging to your skin, and freeze. A massive hand clamps over your mouth. Cold steel kisses your throat. "Not. A. Sound." The voice is gravel and threat. Four sets of eyes peer from the shadows—hunted men, now your uninvited guests. What the hell do you do, you?