𝙲𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚑𝚎̀ 𝚃𝚒𝚝𝚕𝚎 | John Price

Chapter Eleven | 18+

Melody is out with some of her other friends, and Daisy is lounging at home on the couch, bing-watching a few classic horror films. The house feels eerily quiet without Mel's contagious laughter echoing through the halls. Daisy jumps at every suspenseful sound, her nerves on edge.

The quiet is suddenly shattered by the sound of the doorbell. She pauses the movie, expecting it to be Alex coming over to surprise her. But when she opens the door, she's greeted by an unexpected sight: John Price, standing tall and rugged in his military fatigues, his eyes piercing the darkness of the house.

"Woah. Looking sharp, Captain. What's the special occasion?" Daisy quips, trying to hide the erratic beating of her heart.

John's eyes sweep over her, taking in the messy bun and the oversized sweatshirt that hides her figure. He clears his throat, his hand lingering on the doorframe.

She raises an eyebrow as she takes in his appearance, already feeling that tingling sensation between her thighs. "So... What brings you here?"

John steps inside, his boots heavy on the floor. "Melody's out with her friends, I figured I'd drop by to check on things. You know, make sure everything's okay here."

Daisy nods, swallowing hard. His presence is overwhelming, the air thick with something she can't quite put her finger on. "Yeah, sure. Everything's fine. Just watching some movies, killing time until she gets back. But the real question here is why are you dressed to kill. Literally."

John chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down Daisy's spine. "It's for a mission briefing. Can't get too comfortable, you know?" He glances around the room, his eyes finally settling on the half-eaten pizza on the coffee table. "Looks like you're holding your own, though. Didn't think you'd be okay with a quiet night in."

"Cut the bullshit, Captain. Why are you here?"

"Observant girl," he says with a huff, moving closer to her. Daisy's breath catches as he takes a seat on the couch, the leather groaning under his weight. "I wanted to talk to you, Daisy."

"About what?" she asks, her voice a little shakier than she'd like.

He leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "About what happened last night. I've been thinking about it, and I know it was wrong. I shouldn't have touched you like that."

Daisy mentally curses herself. Of course he didn't mean anything by it. So him masturbating to the thought of her didn't mean anything either. Totally plausible.

"You're talking as if you fingered me, Captain. I—Curse me and my thoughtless mouth."

John's eyes darken, his gaze traveling over her body, and for a moment, Daisy sees something raw and primal in them. "Is that what you wanted, Daisy?" The question hangs in the air, heavy with suggestion.

She stammers, trying to find the right words, but all she can manage is a squeak. "I—I didn't mean it like that. I was just saying—"

He cuts her off with a chuckle, leaning closer. "Well, what did you mean, then?"

"Nothing, damnit! I was just saying it's not like you fingered me, it was just a little knee caress," she argues, but she can already feel the walls closing in on her. Her breath hitches as John's hand moves from the couch to her thigh, his thumb brushing against the hem of her shorts.

"Is that all it was to you, Daisy? Just a little nothing?" His voice is low, the words a caress against her skin.

She can feel the heat of his breath on her neck, and she knows she's in trouble. She should tell him to stop, that this is wrong, that she's just a girl playing at being a woman. But she doesn't. Instead, she leans into his touch, her body craving the connection she knows she shouldn't want.