The General

She took his hand and immediately the intensity between them erupted forth-the electricity ricocheting up her skin, the sharpness of her breath in her throat, the shriek in her ears, and the lava bursting forth in her chest. She kept it all internal. He raised her effortlessly from the throne and stepped back in one smooth motion, facilitating her path down the steps. She took her skirt in her unoccupied fingers and lifted it to allow her toes extra room. With anyone else, she would have dropped the hand hold almost immediately, but she held the General's palm all three steps to the great hall floor.

"General," she said quietly, her eyes on the floor. She had yet to let go of his hand.

"Yes," he answered, powerful and sure. She loved that sound in his throat. She imagined a jaguar beside her, imagined sliding her fingers through his fur, reveling in the way her nails pulled through his spots.

"Take care of it."

"As you wish."