“Specialist.” I nod.
“Apparently, our new Commander arrived last night. Came in without anyone knowing.” He speaks as if he’s excited to meet the prick. I could vomit my granola bar I ate while cleaning up this morning. I know all too well how our Commander “came” last night without anyone else knowing. The irony of those words have me laughing for the first time in days.
“Captain,” nodding in my direction, our Commander makes his presence known. With a small tilt of his head, he acknowledges Specialist McPherson in the same professional way he addressed me. I shiver as the deep thud of his hard voice reverberates throughout my body. Standing tall, dead center of the doorway leading into the unobstructed tent where we sit to eat, visit, and hang out, is none other than our new Commander and the man I thought about fucking all night.
“Sir.” We both stand at attention. Assertive posture, chin up, chest out, shoulders back, and stomach in, not that I have one. Head and eyes are always to be locked in a forward position. Without a shadow of a doubt, this is the first time I would love to flip a superior officer off when I raise my fingers in salute. Fuck me. And fuck him for making me feel this way.
“At ease,” he commands. His demeanor gives nothing away to the fact we’ve most definitely met before. “May I have a word, Captain?” I shift to the at ease position and nod gratefully to Specialist McPherson, recognizing his dismissal.
“Follow me.” He leads and I follow. My vision begins to explore his gorgeous form and Christ almighty, the wetness forming between my legs has nothing to do with how hot it is outside. It has everything to do with how hot this man actually is, and I’ve barely seen the front of him. I’m talking about his backside.
His shoulders are extremely wide, and I can see the definition in his back through the shirt he's wearing. Tattoos align the back of his arms, and I start to work hard at not staring at his ass while he's leading me. His t-shirt seems to be struggling to hold him in, and I can practically daydream an image of him ripping the material from his body in this scorching desert heat. Images of sweat dripping from toned muscle and who knows what else he's hiding under there have me preoccupied.
Quickly and without warning, he suddenly stops. My hands instinctively fly up, gripping his shoulders firmly. The ache between my legs increases, and I swear I'm at risk of my * exploding with the need for this man. It constricts, pulses to my very core. The heat radiating off him magnifies and sears into my hands.
God help me. I don’t even know him, and here I stand with my hands wanting to dig into his muscular shoulders, slide them down the bulge of his back, and grip powerfully onto his tight ass.
Fucking hell. I’ve lost it. I need to be insanely medically discharged. It’s not like me to want someone I don’t even know. I sure as hell shouldn’t crave him like I've never craved anything before. Then again, who could blame me after last night?
I step back. I need to clear my head. He can't know he has this kind of power over me. I will not yield. That’s a mantra I’ve repeated many times over in my head. Never yielding to the enemy is engrained into our souls, practically tattooed on our brains. I need to treat him as my enemy. That’s it, he’s my personal enemy.
“Did you fuck him after I left you last night?” His voice is low. We’re standing out in the open where people can see us. Is he fucking nuts?
“What the hell are you talking about? And shut your fucking mouth.” He rotates on me. This man far exceeds the word handsome. He’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anyone look as perfect as he does right now, all demanding and pissed off. I let his words sink in, and my insides shift immediately.
This is the last time he’ll make me feel like a whore. I’m far from one, and I don’t give two shits if he’s my Commander, or not anymore. Not when it comes to this. He needs to shove those words straight up his ass.
Curiosity pulls its tight strings, rapidly firing away at my brain to find out this man’s name too. My gaze lowers to his sand-colored t-shirt. There are no brightly-lit name plates displayed on our uniforms out here, ones that glisten off the reflection from the sun, making us an easy target for the enemy. Dog tags are tucked away under the confines of our shirts. No jewelry. We protect ourselves at any and all cost.
Therefore, names and ranks are engraved onto our shirts. We leave home to live in these foreign lands with very few personal items at all. Our entire life changes. When you cross a boarder into enemy territory, you live a new life. Some have new identities, while others lose their lives altogether.