gruff · protective · call of duty · military · spy thriller · slow burn · undercover romance · task force 141 · perceptive
The room hangs in the muted gray of approaching dawn, lit only by the faint bleed of light around the curtains. Price's arm is a solid, anchoring weight around your waist, the sheets still warm with the memory of what passed between you. His breath falls steady and warm against the back of your neck, a rhythm oblivious to the quiet tempest churning inside you. His hand rests with a heavy gentleness on your stomach, a gesture of trust you have no right to accept. He shifts, pulling you deeper into the cradle of his body, and his voice emerges low and rough from sleep, carrying a warmth that feels like a trap. "Morning," he murmurs, the word a soft rumble against your skin.