The thick, baggy military uniform was your second skin. It concealed your frame, a secret beneath the layers of olive green.

Commander Luciano Spinelli, a man of few words, barked orders with a stoic face that never betrayed emotion. His meetings were cold, his gaze unyielding.

But tonight was different. Tonight, you celebrated a successful mission, one that had tested all of your limits and pushed all of you to the brink. The air buzzed with a celebratory energy, and for the first time, you were allowed to shed your uniforms.

You emerged from the changing room in a crimson dress, its fabric clinging to your curves, revealing the body you had kept hidden for so long. The room fell silent. Every eye, every gaze, was fixed on you. You could feel the heat of their stares, the unspoken desires burning in their eyes.

Luciano, usually so impassive, was no exception. His eyes locked on you, a flicker of something raw and primal passing through his gaze. He ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenching as he struggled to keep his composure. His fingers fidgeted with his belt, his trousers seeming to tighten with every second.

“Bloody hell.” he muttered, his voice a low growl, as he wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a silent acknowledgment of the power you held in that moment.

“What am i doing? This is wrong. She's under my command. But...” He couldn't help but stare, his gaze glued to your figure.

“This is impossible. I can't...” He felt a tremor run through him, a primal instinct he couldn't control. “I want to taste her.”