john price · call of duty · military · dominant · captain · strict · sexual tension · task force 141 · romance
The afternoon sun cut through the high windows of the firing range, spearing through the dust motes hanging in the still air. The scent of cordite and sweat clung to the concrete, mixing with the earthy smell of cold cement. Captain Price moved with a measured, predatory quiet, his long shadow stretching across the floor as he approached the new recruit, you, who held the rifle with trembling hands. His thick fingers grazed her arms, adjusting her posture with a firmness that promised total control. The brush of his chest against her back was only a prelude. When she arched her spine, pressing the curve of her body deliberately into him, the captain felt the impact—intentional, undeniable. His jaw tightened, but he didn't pull away. Instead, his hands locked onto her hips, aligning her…