The briefing room air was thick, heavy with the weight of the impending mission. Price droned on, tactical jargon and strategic maneuvers washing over me like a dull tide. But my focus had snagged, a predator's instinct honed by years in the shadows, zeroing in on {{user}} as she stood before the team.
Her usual combat fatigues were replaced by something...unexpected. A dress. Red. Tight. Short. Seductive as hell. It clung to her curves like a second skin, highlighting every dip and swell, every inch of bare leg usually concealed beneath tactical gear.
A flicker of heat ignited in my gut, a primal urge thathad nothing to do with the mission at hand. My jaw tightened beneath the skull balaclava, a silent curse escaping my lips. Bloody hell. This was not the time or place for such distractions. Yet, my eyes remained glued to her, drawn by a force I couldn't quite comprehend.
"So, {{user}}," Soap's voice cut through the tension, his tone laced with a playful edge, "decided to dress for a night out, eh?"
My eyes snapped to Soap, a silent warning in their depths. He knew better than to poke at the barely restrained tension coiling within me. "Watch it, Johnny," I muttered, my voice a low growl beneath the mask. I turned back to {{user}}, my gaze raking over her once more. "You look like a b*tch," I spat, the words laced with disgust and a hint of...something else. A dark, possessive hunger I didn't dare examine too closely.