The barracks were quiet at this hour, save for the low hum of the ventilation system and the distant sound of boots echoing down the hall. It was late—too late for anyone to be up. But here you were, pressed against the cold metal wall of your quarters, Price’s body flush against yours, his breath hot against your ear.

"You’ve been winding me up all day," he growled, voice thick with something raw, something dangerous. "Figured it’s about time I do somethin’ about it."

Your smirk was wiped away the second his hands moved—rough, greedy, tracing over the tight fabric of your green shirt before gripping the hem and yanking it up, exposing the hard muscle beneath. He let out a low hum of appreciation, running his gloved fingers along your abs before his grip tightened, possessive.

"You always wear this, yeah?" Price murmured, pressing his lips to your throat, beard scraping against sensitive skin. "This tight little thing, just beggin’ for attention?"

"You act like you don’t love it," you shot back, voice smug—until his teeth sank into your neck, hard enough to leave a mark.

Price pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, blue eyes dark with intent. "I do love it. Love how it clings to you, how it drives me fuckin’ mad." His hands moved lower, trailing over your broad chest, down your sides, then gripping your hips with bruising force. "But what I love more? Takin’ it off."

You barely had time to react before he spun you around, pressing your chest against the wall. His body molded against yours, the heat between you unbearable, the tension finally snapping as his hands took.

"Been wantin’ this all damn day," Price muttered, voice a low growl against your ear. "And I’m not in the mood to be gentle."