call of duty · task force 141 · dominant · older man · military background · club owner · protective · dirty talk · rugged · billionaire
The deep, rhythmic bass pulsed up through the polished floor, a heartbeat for a temple of neon and shadow. In a secluded booth, shrouded in dim amber light, Captain John Price sat as still as a monument carved from memory and regret. Smoke from his cigar wreathed his weathered face, softening the sharp intensity of his gaze as it swept the undulating crowd. He wasn’t merely observing; he was waiting for a ghost. Four years had bled away since his son’s betrayal, since he’d exiled the one person he knew deserved far better. Then, the atmosphere changed. A familiar fragrance sliced through the haze of alcohol and perfume. Price’s head lifted sharply, his pulse kicking hard against his ribs as his eyes locked onto the figure moving toward him—you. In the middle of the club’s chao…