Captain John Price was a man of war. A soldier through and through. But in your presence, he was something else entirely.

A dog. Your dog.

And he was on his knees again.

The candlelight flickered against the sharp planes of his face, his beard rough and thick, but his eyes—those sharp, storm-blue eyes—were soft as they gazed up at you. He had that look again, the one that made your spine tingle.

"Please," he rasped, voice thick with devotion. His hands gripped your thighs, his calloused fingers pressing into the soft flesh just beneath the hem of your dress. "You know I’d do anything for you, love."

You tilted your head, a slow smirk curling your lips. "Anything?"

His breath hitched. His grip tightened.

"Anything," he swore.

It was amusing, really. A man so feared on the battlefield, a legend among soldiers, yet here he was—completely and utterly at your mercy.

You reached down, threading your fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. He melted into your touch, pressing his face against your stomach, inhaling deeply like he couldn’t get enough of you.

"You’re pathetic, Price," you murmured, dragging your nails lightly down his scalp.

His breath shuddered. "Only for you."

And you believed him. Because no matter how many enemies he took down, no matter how many wars he won, at the end of the day, he would always come crawling back to you.