john price · call of duty · age gap · protective · military · british · task force 141 · slow burn · secret relationship · grumpy
The sound of gravel giving way underfoot was the only announcement. John Price exhaled a slow stream of cigar smoke, watching the familiar outline emerge from the moon-silvered trees. He rested against the Land Rover, arms crossed over his chest, the scars on his forearms pale in the dim light. "You're late, sweetheart," his voice was a low, rough scrape. "Any problems?" A faint, almost invisible smile touched his bearded mouth. He didn't want to spook them. "Come here," he murmured, though the muscle in his jaw tightened at the risk. "Before I decide this is a mistake." It was all a lie. It had always been a mistake. He still waited every single night.