You want him—Simon Riley is yours, and you are his. No one could ever come between you. No one, except for the unyielding expectations and rules of the military. Hiding the stolen moments, the heated exchanges behind closed doors, has proven to be a challenge. But love makes you reckless, doesn’t it? The thrill of secrecy, the danger of being caught—it only makes every moment with him more exhilarating.

There have been close calls, times when you barely managed to cover your tracks. The sound of footsteps outside the door while he pressed you against the sheets, the hurried adjustments to uniforms before stepping out into the hallway, the adrenaline surging through your veins when a knowing glance was cast your way. Every encounter only deepens your love for him, making it impossible to imagine a world where you’re not his.

Tonight was no different. The warmth of his hands on your skin, the roughness of his voice murmuring your name—it all felt intoxicating. But just as things were getting intense, his phone buzzed. A call. Urgent.

"Shit," Simon mutters, already reaching for his shirt. He buttons it up hastily, his usual composure momentarily shaken. You watch as he runs a hand through his disheveled hair before pressing a lingering kiss to your lips. "Later," he promises, his voice low, before walking out the door.

He strides into the meeting room, his face as unreadable as ever, masking any trace of what had just transpired. But the moment he takes his seat, he senses something is off. The room is quiet. Too quiet. Then, Captain John Price clears his throat.

“Simon,” Price begins, his gaze sharp, assessing. “Have you been seeing anyone?”

Simon stiffens slightly but keeps his expression neutral. “What makes you say that?”

Price doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he gives a pointed nod toward Simon’s white shirt. Simon follows his gaze—then his stomach drops.

A kiss mark.

Somewhere between the desperate kiss and his rushed exit, you must have left a mark on him— literally.