Darling & Commander

The General: 9

Brock Cortes POV:

"Wh- hmm?" Her pretty little head snaps up to my eyes, and I suppress laughter.

"You were staring. Salivating a bit too, if I may." I raise my napkin to her mouth jokingly.

"Oh, hush," Galla pushes the serviette away, compressing a giggle. "What was it you were speaking of?"

"I was just proposing we should make a conclusion to our marvelous outing. It is getting quite late." I roll up my sleeve to verify the time on my watch.

"Oh goodness," She blows raspberries. "And what would the hour be?"

"Precisely?" I murmur. "It appears to be ten thirty. We must have gotten carried away with our discussions we lost track of the minute."

"Ten thirty?" Her eyes widen, those beautiful pools of starlight. "We should take our leave."

"Yes, of course." I concur into standing to offer her my arm; an action I know she holds dearly to her heart.

"You remembered." She seems to bounce on the balls of her feet when clutching my bicep.

I do not say anything, but the joy is transparent in a way so I do not have the necessity to mask it. Her beam is understanding. My own grin grows only in the light of this beautiful nymph I have come to know as a friend.

The waiting staff are clearing the tables and closing for the night, so I tighten my jacket around Galla and lead her out the gold ornated revolving doors. The crisp nightfall oxygen encloses us as I guide her by the bottom of her spine towards the limo I had called to our location. I suppose being a general does have a certain beneficial prospect to it.

Her breathing comes out as a white gust as she shivers, and I wrap my arms preventatively around her to shield the wind. I suppose even her cold blood couldn't be immune to this Hirenth summer night chill.

When we get into the automobile, she chokes on air after I close the door.

"Brock!" She exclaims. "Your fingers! And your ears!"

I take a look down at my fingers, knowing what to expect. My fingers are turned a shade of violet one should never see on skin, and the tingle in my ears indicate that they are experiencing the same condition.

"Raynaud's Syndrome..." I mutter, grumbling as I rub my hands along my jeans for heat friction.

The car begins to move, but Galla stays perfectly still, ill at ease at my current circumstances.

"What does that mean?" She takes my hands in hers, but I pull them away, self conscious and mortified with my state.

"The slightest chill can turn my fingers purple..." I growl, despising them further with each passing moment I scowl menacingly at my hands. "I need to warm them again for the color to fade..."

I feel so much shame as my face brightens with redness  while simultaneously the pricking needle sensation leaks down my neck with the heat. My initial instinct is to move them out of Galla's view, where she can't see the feeble sickliness. I want to shrivel at the thought of her revolted by me.

"Give them here." She does not force anything, just holding out her hands.

I blink at them, palms up, until she tugs my wrists to cup my fingers. Her heart shaped lips make an 'O' shape as warm breath escapes her lungs, pouring over my discolored fingers. She breathes hot air on them until they return to their natural fleshy hue. My face roasts harder when she peers up at me from her concentrated posture, frowning.

"What?" My voice cracks, and I intellectually punch myself for the unintended rasp.

"Your ears are still so purple..." Galla frowns, leisurely crawling onto my thighs before plopping her tush down.

It is a different ardor entirely. It stirs an uproar of commotion within my person, not sweetness or emotion like our other encounters. No, this is a new furor in my soul. In the place of the innocent caressing and embraces is desire, a desperate need for satisfaction.

Her slender fingers stroke the tips of my ears tenderly, and she leans in to blow hot air on the one as I stiffen in my pose. I do not dare move, not an inch in any direction, as I'm frightened I shall mar what has proven to be a completely beneficial event on my end.

"They are so soft..." Galla's voice hums in my ear as her teeth clip my ear just barely, sending all of the blood in my body rushing to my brain, among other places.

"Galla, darling?"

"Yes, Brock?"

"You must remove yourself from me in the next thirty seconds or I may pass out of lightheadedness." I shudder out a breath as she shifts in my lap.

She blinks at me, and makes a resigned sound.

"If I must." She makes quite the show at heaving herself back into the seat adjacent to me.

I let a hoarse laugh loose at her irritated posture, and the car abruptly stops.

"We have arrived, General Cortes." The driver inclines his hat at me, and I hand him a 20 Genites tip.

As we exit the vehicle, Galla takes both of my hands in hers, attempting to warm them as I lead her around the corner to the castle.

"Th- The castle?" She squeaks.

"My living quarters are small, but I figure it is where shall spend the night." I nod, leading her into the army wing through a door on the left. "After you."

"Thank you." She slips in, and I lock the door after following her indoors.

I escort her down the extensive hallway with frigid cement, ushering her into a room through a door.

My room is not large, but it does have nice interior. Bookshelves line the north and west walls of the room, and I have a small coffee table set up in the corner. My double panel bed is in the corner of the east and south wall, and I pull the cord at the entrance causing the lights to coruscate when they irradiate the room.

"Your chambers?" Galla lets a sentimental smile spread across her face as she surveys the expanse.

"Yes. By all means, make yourself at home." Closing the door and locking the shackle for the night, I watch her as she slowly makes way around my room.

Her fingers follow my color systemized array of books, tracing over the frail worn out spines. I pursue her, watching as she squints at the words.

"Is something the matter?" I ask her, skimming against her shoulder when I come to stand abutting the perplexed nymph.

"I- it is not of importance." Galla shakes her head, brown-blonde locks falling over her shoulders.

I sense her discomfort and hate to be the cause of it. My fingers secure hers and quickly find themselves interlocking. Her unease is still damping down her ability to breathe normally, and soon I find myself embosomed around her from behind, face buried in her neck.

"Brock..." She breathes heavily from in front of me, her rear end pressed against my mid thighs, a truth to how small the woman really is.

"Good gods, I love the way you say my name..."