Wrong by RW Grimm

How many times had she dreamed of him? A lot. She fantasized about him nearly every night.

She dreamed of his hands, running up and down her sides, his lips crushed against hers in escalating passion. His eyes, burning holes through her with his obvious desire. He whispered sweet nothings in her ear, but she wasn't listening to his words, only his intoxicating voice. He was always fantastic in bed, better than any man she'd ever been with, though that wasn't a lot.

That's how she imagined him anyway. She didn't know if he was an animal or dead in bed. She assumed he was good, having heard it straight from the women spent the night with. Each one would rub it in her face, as she sat at her desk working, like they somehow knew about her feelings for him.

All those women, she wanted to shoot them in the head. All they saw were his looks, never the man behind them. They were superficial and beneath him, and yet she was jealous of them. He was to blame too though, he did nothing to make others see him differently, having a different girl hanging off his shoulder every week it seemed.

She wished she could be the one hanging off his shoulder, the one who he'd spend the night with, little sleeping involved in their activities. But it would never happen. He was her commanding officer and she the subordinate. It was forbidden. But he being who he was, didn't always abide by the rule. He would touch her, whisper in her ear, it always made her shiver and moan inwardly…and he had no idea.

Sometimes in her fantasies they'd be playing chess, one of his favorite past times, and she'd beat him, for once, and ask that her prize be a kiss, something very unlike her to do. He would smirk and comply, but they didn't stop at the kiss, they'd go further and further…

Some nights she cried, realizing how pathetic she was, thinking this way about her colonel, how petty she was for dreaming about him. She never showed these feelings anywhere but home, where no one was there to watch and judge her. But even in the comfort of her own home she tried to stop the unwelcome tremors of sadness. But she couldn't help herself.

She loved him.

Was that so wrong?

END





PLEASE R&R