Darling & Commander

The General: 17

Brock Cortes POV:

All of three weeks have passed since my regrettable episode regarding the tiger shark, and I have found the ability to be mobile again. I have an unfortunate limp, but there is no fix to the discouraging hobble. 

Galla has been taking well precaution to my torn limb most graciously, and I find myself in her debt quite often; while she would never admit I am so. I have become wonted to this lifestyle, when I get word from the king. He sent one of his subjects to see me, and I come to deliver my news to Galla while the guard waits by the shore.

I am tense about telling her of the king's message. Will she be upset? Will she be perfectly fine?

I hunker my spine down to fit through her doorway, and groan when I hit a nail in the doorframe.

"Brock! Oh, are you okay?" She looks up from her book she has open on her bed, and my heart physically pauses beating for a moment.

The light from the window of the north wall frames her face just perfectly, and this new look she's playing around with hits me so hard it barely ceases to knock me over. Her chocolate brown mixed with honey blonde strands are fastened into a high ponytail, tendrils excluded to frame her slim visage. Her cheeks are a slight hue pinker than normal, and I realize I was wrong when I thought that makeup would smother her beauty. It only amplifies the ravishing elegance she has, and when my eyes trail down her body, I just almost keel over. Galla normally dresses in entirely white attire, but today she is draped in a slim, lacy black one piece with pink and white flowers adorning it, puffy sleeves accentuating her slim arms. Overall, she looks like as if the finest sculptors chiseled her themselves until they found true perfection. 

The thin fabric hugging her bust and waist. The augmented flush in her cheeks. The way her glossy red lips part as if she and I are envisioning the same fantasies when we fall come to slumber at night.

The masses speak that there is no such thing as perfection, but I believed that too until I met this absolute goddess of purity. They only have it as a saying because they find themselves regrettably covetous they cannot achieve this beauty.

"Brock?" Galla tentatively waves an arm obstructing my line of vision to her exquisite body.

My eyes snaps to hers, apprehending what I had caught myself thinking. She blushes, suddenly finding the inability to meet my eyes in her sudden shyness.

"Darling..." I respire slowly, dragging out the nickname because of my doubt of what to state next.

I step towards the woman gingerly, taking her in up close. Galla's bashful reddening may be my only rationale for coming closer, because if I touch her, I may never desist. I find myself taking that risk, however, for my fingers are attracted to her like the south and north poles of a magnet. They find her released wisps of hair, twirling the thin strands like twining vines. Her deep green eyes find mine, lashes fluttering as I tilt her chin so she is looking me free of hesitation.

"Do not say I look beautiful..." Galla warns, self conscious as my eyes wander down her body.

"I was to say something else..." I susurrate. "Do you want to hear?"

"I suppose. However, no more spiels, commander." She reddens even more.

"Delectable. Flourishing. Lustrous. Seraphic. Elysian. Divine. Absolutely, so ravishingly divine." I lean down, pressing a slow kiss to her cheek before pulling back, teasing the lace on her garb with my fingers.

My tongue drags down to the crevasse of her neck, sucking on the delicate flesh and holding her greedily against me when she heaves in a big gulp of air only to liberate it into a sweet, high pitched moan.

It riles me up, fuels the fire I'm slowly rekindling with every graze of her fingers and lips. I begin to convert into a rather avaricious version of myself when I pull face down longitudinally on her collarbone, kissing the divot with a graze of my teeth. My bottom lip is close to brushing the lace of her dress trimming, her moans and whines only amplifying my need for her. To see her come disjointed for me; to see her absolutely shatter.

"O-oh, oh commander..." Galla whimpers, clutching my cocoa brown locks with every ounce of sanity she has managed to preserve for this moment. "P-please..."

Her cry for me sets my skin on a scorching fire, and everything feels so absolutely, indubitably, impeccably right. 

Until the sensations halt.

I curse my brain for allowing its brain cells to restore their default functions as I pull away, passion and realization coming to me all at once. I find my feet blundering backwards as Galla, too, recoils. Next thing I know, my fingers are in my hair and she will not meet my eyes.

The emotion that hits me is shock, mostly. Moreover, shock at the shock I have yet to realize this until now. 

I love her.

Every inch of her cold skin, every beat of her innocent heart, every little gasp you only hear when she is around me. All of it. I love how everything about her is perfect for me, and we fit together like soulmates looking for something we had already found.

"Brock-"

"Darling." I blurt, grasping her wrists. "Let me clarify... this for you."

"Please." She looks shameful and embarrassed.

"Galla. I want you. So badly." I whisper desperately, trying to cause her to discern my information. "I have wanted you since the moment we met, when I saw this pure creature of innocence that I knew I could not have. But the king sent one of his guards to say I must lessen my time here and limit it to two days of the week. I must go home now. But I shall return in a week's time, and I shall take care of you this time. I promise."

"Two days?" Her voice cracks. "In what universe does anyone find two days a week enough?"

"Not ever." I reply, stroking her cheekbones. "I will write to you, all right?"

"You will come back for me, commander?"

"Always, darling."