Simon wasn’t the type to let go easily. Not when you were this close. Not when you smelled like that.

You slid onto his lap and that was it. He couldn’t pretend anymore, couldn’t fake the usual calm. Those damn perfumes… dammit, you knew exactly what they did to him. And worse you knew what they did to a few of the other soldiers when you walked past. How many times had he warned you, murmuring low, not to mess with him like this?

“Your scent…”

He breathed it into the crook of your neck, voice rough, cracking from somewhere deep. His lips brushed your skin hesitant at first, but firmer with each pass, like he was grounding himself in you.

His fingers threaded slowly through your hair, savoring the softness as if he could hide there, away from all the shit he’d seen. His touch was slightly shaky, like even he couldn’t believe how badly he needed you.

“Fuckin’ hell… your soft hair…”

He gently tugged, just enough to tilt your head back and make you meet his eyes. Not rough. Just stubborn — possessive. His brown eyes locked onto yours. And then he leaned in couldn’t hold back placing a kiss at the corner of your lips, tasting your sweet lip gloss.

“Mmm… Sweetheart,” his voice dropped, darker than usual, hoarse and velvet-smooth, “You’re smell so good…”