The light of the early morning seeped through him when he gasped before sitting up. Allowing his chest to rise and fall while his skin was damp with sweat, John had to control his breathing before blinking his eyes a couple of times to focus.

Looking down at the thin sheet that tangled around his legs, doing little to cover the evidence of his restless sleep. He was already hard and wet. He covered his face with his hand.

"Fucking hell," he muttered, running a hand down his face before dragging it to his hair. His other hand fisting the sheet in frustration.

This ache of want he had on him hadn't dispersed.

His body betrayed him again.

John leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling as if it could offer him answers.

It wasn't the first time his wet dreams had taken a turn like this. But this one had been different.

It was the ache that followed, not physical but something he didn't want to name.

When he glanced down at himself, and he realized the state he was in. His boxers clung to his hips, and the heat from the dream still lingering on his manhood. He shifted uncomfortably, willing to calm down, but it was useless.

"She's got me losing myself," he said to himself before closing his eyes as if he could erase the memory of her.

Little by little.

Everything about her made him feel alive in ways he hadn't in years.

How she looked at him made it seem like he was more than a soldier hardened by years of war and living in shadows.

John sighed, dragging himself out of bed. The cold floor beneath his feet was a welcome distraction, he grabbed his phone beside his bed and looked at the time, it was almost nine in the morning. He left his bedroom and crossed the hallway into the bathroom.

Simple—no fuss, no extra crap, just the essentials.

The dark grey tiles were a little worn but clean, and the overhead light flickered before settling into a steady glow. The air carried the sharp scent of soap, shaving cream, and his aftershave—familiar, like him.

The bathtub and shower were in one, separated by a glass panel that had a few water spots.

His razor, shaving foam, toothbrush, and toothpaste sat neatly on the sink counter, all in their usual places. Above the sink, a mirror reflected his tired face, the rough edges of exhaustion visible in the dim light.

A towel hung on a hook by the door, still a little damp from earlier. The toilet was tucked into the corner, and a small window above it let in just enough light to keep the space from feeling too closed off.

The whole bathroom suited him—straightforward, practical.

Nothing extra.

He stepped under the hot spray, bracing his hands against the cool tile as the water fall over his broad shoulders and down his back. His muscles relaxed, but his mind refused to follow.

Charlie.

She was in his head again, and he shut his eyes, exhaling slow through his nose, trying to clear the fog of her from his thoughts. But when he let his guard slip, she was there—soft skin against his, wide, innocent brown eyes looking up at him, with her soft lips parted as she called his name.

The image alone sent heat rushing through his blood, pooling low in his stomach.

His fingers flexed against the tile.

He could see it—her underneath him, his hands gripping her thighs, stretching her before filling her completely.

She'd be breathless and her nails would drag down his back. He would claim her in every way he could.

She was his, and deep down, he wanted her to feel it.

His head dropped forward, chest rising and falling with slow, controlled breaths, but his body had already made the decision for him.

When his hand drifted lower, fingers wrapping around his manhood. The heat of the water doing nothing to cool the fire already raging inside him.

When he bit back a groan, his muscles tensed. John worked himself as he thought of her—his name spilling from her lips, the way she'd tremble under him, how she'd swallow all of him. His grip tightened, breath coming in harsh, uneven exhales.

It didn't take long before the pleasure hit him fast, letting out his low, guttural groan as it spilled into his own hand. John sighed in relief before leaning against the tile, catching his breath.

"Ah, fuck."

Dragging his hand over his face, half-annoyed, half-embarrassed, though there was no one here to witness his lack of self-control.

It had been a long time since he'd had this kind of release, and now—he was thinking about her more.

He knew she was younger than him, knew the gap between them was something others would talk about. But that didn't stop the way he felt, the way a part of him needed her—wanted to claim her, make her his in a way that no one else ever could.

And that was the problem.

If she knew the way he thought about her, the way he wanted her—she'd either be terrified or look at him different.

And that something he couldn't risk.

John exhaled sharply, standing under the spray, letting the hot water rinse away the last remnants of his release.

At least it had taken the edge off. Given him a moment of control.

He'd spent a lifetime mastering control, learning how to shut off parts of himself when the job required it. He'd kill without hesitation and bury his emotions like he'd never felt human. It was survival. But she wasn't an enemy.

She was Charlotte.

No amount of compartmentalization could stop the way she got under his skin.

I can't believe I want her after three dates, John scoffed at himself. You're an old man, Price, she's a bloody graduate student.

He turned off the water and stepped out naked before grabbing the towel to dry himself.

I've had my fair share of fun in the past... grow up. You're not a horny teenager.

Maybe she wanted someone to talk too and spend time with. But somewhere along the line, he ached to be close to her. Take her. And what else?

Own her.

She was beautiful, yes.

She has a face that makes it hard to tell if she is either eighteen or in her early twenties because of her baby face and a pretty smile. Not to mention, her bright personality contrasts with his brooding streak.

Loneliness had been his companion for years, a way he'd learned to live with. He knew better than to want things he couldn't have. He'd learned to live without. But when it came to her, his restraint was hanging on by a thread.

The idea of allowing himself to be close to her made his chest tighten.

The attraction between them was obvious, and the more he tried to keep his cool, the harder it became to stay away. Like a moth who couldn't stay away from the light that would end up burning him alive.

"Just another day," he murmured before placing the towel back on the door rack and stepped out, naked, into his bedroom.

No matter how much he tried to push her out from his mind.

Deep down, he knew every time he looked at her. He felt alive in a way he hadn't in years.

----

🌶️ The Thirst is REAL, Captain 🌶️

John Price waking up hard and frustrated because of one (1) woman is absolutely sending me. 😩

Sir, go drink some water. Touch grass. Breathe some fresh air. Anything! Because Charlie has this man in a CHOKEHOLD. 😂

Also, let's recap:

• Dreams about Charlie? Check.

• Wakes up in a situation? Check.

• Immediately takes a "business meeting" in the shower? Check.

• Still down BAD for her afterwards? Check, check, CHECK.

Not only is John Price having frequent flyer miles in Hornytown, but now he's out here contemplating his entire existence because of Charlie. Man's like:

💭 "I'm too old for this."

💭 "She's too young."

💭 "I should NOT be thinking about sleeping with her."

💭 "... But what if I did? 😏"

Sir, pull it together. 😂

✨ Random Question Time! ✨

What's a song that perfectly captures John Price's struggle™ in this chapter? 🎶

On a scale of 1 to "you need therapy, sir," how badly do you think John needs to sit down and THINK about his feelings? 😂

🚨 Reminders! 🚨

📖 I release 3 new chapters every Friday!

📖 And if I'm feeling generous, I might drop a surprise chapter on Wednesday! 👀

Alright, let's hear it. Did John survive this chapter? (Because I sure didn't. 😵🔥)