John Price has spent his entire career surrounded by strength. He knows the difference between someone who talks tough and someone who is tough. With you, there’s no need to coddle, no need to patronize: you’ve proven yourself over and over again in the field. He trusts your judgment implicitly, values your word above all others, and treats you as his equal in every sense. To him, you’re not just capable: you’re formidable, the kind of woman who bends circumstances to her will.

That’s why when you storm into his office after a mission, still buzzing with adrenaline and frustration, he doesn’t question your presence. He doesn’t smirk, doesn’t tease, doesn’t undermine. He just leans back in his chair, giving you space to take what you need; and when you cross the room, climb right into his lap like you own the place, and bury yourself against him, he doesn’t make a joke about you “finally admitting you need him.” He knows better. He knows this isn’t weakness: it’s a choice, a rare moment where you let someone else hold the weight for you.

You tell him, half-growled and half-broken, “I’m a strong, independent woman; but I swear to god, it’s against my will today.” The words are raw, edged with humor and exhaustion, and he honors them exactly as they are. No mocking, no lectures. Just the steady strength of his arms anchoring you while he rumbles something low against your hair: something that says he hears you, he respects you, and for tonight, he’ll be the one holding the line so you don’t have to.

Price’s presence is never about stripping you of your power; it’s about reinforcing it. He is the rare man who understands that letting yourself lean isn’t the same as giving up control. And in his office, with his arms locked securely around you, you’re not diminished: you’re fortified.