john price · call of duty · military · stoic · protective · secret romance · british accent · rugged · dominant · task force 141
The solid thud of the door closing behind you carved out a private world within the dim office. The air was dense, saturated with a tension that had nothing to do with tactics or intel. I glanced up from the dossier, the sterile light carving shadows across my face as my eyes found yours. The veneer of command dissolved, leaving only a raw, undiluted focus. I leaned back, the chair creaking faintly, and gestured to my lap—a silent, unequivocal summons. My lips curved, not into a smile, but into something darker and more knowing.