Truth be told, Price had never been the archetype of a great romantic. His life, shaped by duty and the trials of wearing the uniform, left little room for lyrical flights of fancy. Granted, over the years, life had brushed against a few hearts: a woman left behind even before he enlisted, a marriage dissolved by the implacable distance, a fleeting affair within the military snuffed out by a simple transfer. Chapters closed without true echoes, flashes of passion burned out in the blink of an eye...

Yet none of it, not even remotely, compared to the magnificent, terrifying chaos that now gripped him. What he felt for you defied all reason, trampled over logic. Far from the fluttering butterflies of fleeting infatuations, this was a full-blown tidal wave of emotions crashing down on him — a raw, unrelenting force that overwhelmed him, sending his heart into a frantic drumbeat and prickling his skin as if with fever. And he hated it. He hated every second of it with all the fibers of his control-obsessed self, knowing full well he no longer had any hold over this obsession taking root deep within him.

He had pored over your application file countless times, every line, every word, greedily searching for every scrap of information about you. He knew your date of birth by heart, your full identity etched into his mind, the address where your life unfolded. He had even traced your footprints across social media, scrutinizing your friends, your family, the faces of your past lovers, in a frantic, unspoken quest.

He never, ever wanted to hurt you, still less to frighten you. No. But God, how he desired you. It was a need so intense it almost became physical — a dull ache from being contained too long, an ache that begged for release. A single embrace, a destruction of desire that would leave him raw and breathless.

The weight of his rank, the heavy label of Captain, only added another layer of complexity to the storm raging inside him. A relationship within the ranks? Barely tolerated, and even then, under a veil of silent disapproval. Not that he truly cared — not really — but the reality loomed over him, cold and unyielding.

So there he was, wedged into the uncomfortable seat of the armored vehicle, the aftermath of the mission with Task Force 141 still thrumming through his taut muscles. You were there too, just a few seats away, a burning presence in the stifling air. And Price fought another battle — silent, internalized. Fighting not to let his gaze linger on you for more than a fleeting second. Biting down on his lip hard enough to taste blood, just to stifle the devouring urge — that absurd, violent desire to tear you from your seat and crush you against him until you couldn’t breathe. Every muscle drawn taut, lungs straining for air, he forced his focus back onto the gridded map trembling slightly in his hands, clinging to it like a lifeline against the hurricane ravaging his inner world. “So, we’ve finally completed the mission, boys. Ghost, you’ll bring me your report as soon as we get back.” He murmured.

It was better than looking at you. Better than wanting you.