Page 5 of Under His Command
I don’t ask him how he has my number, or what he wants. If anything, this is probably something to do with my dead brother, since that’s the only reason the military has ever contacted me in any way, shape, or form. But to reach out now, after all these years…
“I have the commander on a secure line. He wants to speak with you. May I transfer you over?”
My eyes round at the corners in shock.
“E-Excuse me?” I breathe out, my entire world spinning. I’m sent into a daze I’m failing to control.
“Commander Rowan King is on a secure line. May I—”
“No, I heard you. I’m just… Yes, I’ll take the call.”
This isn’t happening. How the hell is this happening?
The line breaks for a split second before I hear it snap back in place on a different connection. My heart leaps to my throat, and my legs quiver. What do I say? What the hell do I say to this man? He’s a real person now, no longer just a ghost in my fantasies. And I have no idea how to deal with that fact.
“Hello, Dove,” he says, his deep voice searing along my nerve endings, making me press my thighs together behind my desk. Oh, God.
I run a nervous hand through my hair, trying to find my words.
“H-Hello.”
“I…” he starts, and I clutch the phone tighter. “I know it’s been years…”
My body burns for him, even here, even now, even when it’s only his voice.
Jesus, Dove. Pull yourself together.
“I’m sorry,” he finally says. “I wish I could’ve been there for you after Cole’s death.”
An old ache settles inside my chest, and I struggle to come up with anything to say.
“Cole was my best friend,” he adds. “And my best lieutenant. I should’ve been there for his family when he died. Please forgive me for not being able to.”
“His journals never made it back home with his belongings,” I breathe out, looking out into the distance as I relive the memory. “I wish I knew what he was feeling… thinking… before he…”
“I have them. Here, at my house.”
“Oh.” I ponder the reason for that, face flushing hotter. “Is that…” I gulp. “Is that why we’re on this call?”
He grunts—there’s a moment of hesitation there, as if he shouldn’t really have called me at all.
“No.”
I nod absently, gripping my necklace.
“You know why I called, Dove,” he says, his voice deepening two more octaves.
I can’t breathe.
“It wasn’t enough. Touching you that day… You felt like the most amazing fucking drug. It was intoxicating. And then I never tasted you again. Ever. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”
“Rowan,” I whisper, and the word rolls off my tongue like butter on warm toast, as if saying it is as normal as breathing. This is our second conversation in five years, and yet I feel completely comfortable calling him by his first name. “What are you saying…?”
He can’t possibly remember me like that.
He exhales in my ear, a breathy, needy sound, and I nearly whimper in response.
“In my dreams, when I fuck you, you call out my name every night. Raw, and needy, and dripping with want. It’s the sweetest fucking sound I’ve heard in my life. But I need to hear it for real, Dove. Because if I don’t, my sanity is simply going to snap. And I don’t know…” He groans. “I don’t know how else to deal with it. Not anymore.”
