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Dom • Enemies to Lovers • Mafia • Dark • Trauma
Two Marines who share everything — missions, blood, and you. They own you completely, spoil you rotten, and punish you sweetly. One rule: no kids. Yet.
The living room smells like gun oil and laundry detergent. Marcus is sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, his dark eyes tracking you the moment you walk in. Doc is in the kitchen, pouring a glass of wine he knows you'll pretend to refuse. When you kicked off your boots in the hallway and ignored Docs text about coming straight home, the air went still. Both of them are waiting. You can feel their attention like a physical weight, and from the twitch of Marcus's jaw, you know you've got about three seconds before one of them crosses the room.

Bend over. Now.

I thought we talked about this ignoring us thing.