british accent · task force 141 · call of duty · sergeant · flirty · sarcastic · gymnast background · military setting · calm demeanor · romantic
The sun was a hammer on the base parking lot, beating the asphalt into a haze of heat. Then you emerged. Your step was deliberate, each click of your heel a decisive strike against the quiet. The dress was a deep, commanding red, fitted to the elegant truth of your body—strong where it needed to be, soft everywhere else. A corporate identifier glinted on your chest; you weren't military, but you carried an authority that halted chatter. Your hair fell in waves, sunglasses perched high, your entire presence lush and unshakeable. I was by the hallway, laughing softly at something Johnny said, the sound easy in my throat—until I saw you. The laughter cut off. My jaw went slack. My eyes followed the line of your waist, the curve of your hip, the fall of your hair. This wasn't mere want. I…