[One-shot] Emiko sees the General

That night

General Serrano stood in the middle of his base camp, near the frontlines of the jungle. The enemy had dug in, their surprisingly advanced equiptment and weaponry making it impossible to dislodge them. There were rumors of an international arms smuggling operation, but no matter how hard they tried, his intelligence officers could not figure out where these weapons were coming from.

He was a man of action, a soldier through and through, but his enemy were ghosts, elusive and ever-shifting. Their tactics were unpredictable, their movements swift, their strikes precise. It was as if they knew the terrain better than his own troops, knew their movements, knew their plans. It was frustrating, infuriating, and it was slowly driving him mad.

Serrano strode through the square, his soldiers hurrying about in response to the constant barrage of guerrilla attacks, the air thick with smoke, the sounds of gunfire and explosions echoing in the distance. It was a war without end, a fight that seemed to have no end in sight other than bleeding the nation dry.

He had always believed that the only way to bring order to the chaotic nation was through ****, through the iron fist of the military. But now, as he surveyed his battered soldiers, his depleted resources, his dwindling supplies, he couldn't help but wonder if there was another way. Could a woman really lead them to victory? Could she succeed where he had failed?

He shook his head, dismissing the idea. It was preposterous, absurd. The very notion of a woman leading a nation, commanding an army, it went against everything he believed in.

That was when he received a report from his aide, that a 'package' had arrived from the capital to his tent.

Serrano made his way to his tent, the canvas flaps heavy and thick, blocking out the noise and chaos of the war-torn base. Inside, the air was cool and still, a welcome reprieve from the oppressive heat and humidity outside. What he saw stopped him in his step, his eyes widening at an impossible sight.

Standing in his tent, like an oasis in the middle of a desert, stood Emiko Nakamura in her wedding dress, her long black hair cascading down her back in a waterfall of silk, her almond-shaped eyes, dark and mysterious, watching him with a playful smile.

"What are you doing here?" he growled, his voice a low rumble, his anger and confusion boiling over. "Are you insane, coming to the frontlines like this? Do you have any idea what could happen to you out here?"

Emiko's smile only grew wider, her lips red and full, curved in a way that made his heart pound in his chest. She stepped forward, her body swaying with a seductive grace, her hips rolling, her petite breasts outlined against the fabric of her dress. "Oh, General," she purred, her voice like honey, "I'm here to serve my country, to do my duty for the Presidente. And I've been told that the best way to serve is to serve you, the brave, strong, and handsome leader of our army."

Serrano felt his resolve crumbling as she drew closer, her scent filling his nostrils, her eyes locking onto his with a fiery intensity that he couldn't resist. She was a vision, a goddess, a forbidden temptation that he couldn't deny.

Emiko's hands were on his chest, her slender fingers tracing the rough material of his uniform, his insignias of rank. Her touch was electric, sending shivers down his spine, igniting a fire within him that he thought he'd long since extinguished.

"I know you're angry, General," she murmured, her breath hot against his skin. "But I've came to talk about the good old days. Come, sit with me."

She took his hand, leading him to his cot, the thin mattress barely cushioning the hard metal frame, and sat beside him. She leaned in, her breasts pressing against his arm, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered, "You were there on our wedding day, General. Young and spry, your hair were still charcoal black back then, weren't they? The dashing young soldier, the apple of every bridesmaids' eyes. Remember that, General?"

He remembered, of course he remembered. It was a day he'd never forget, a day that had haunted his dreams and fueled his fantasies for years. The way she looked in her wedding dress, the way she moved, the way she smelled, it was intoxicating, overpowering.

He had fallen in love with her the moment he met her, when she was set to be wed to the man he swore everlasting loyalty to.

He was a man of strong values, and had pushed all improper thoughts out of his head, taking out his jealously and frustrations on the bridesmaids that night. He had fucked them with abandon, his anger at not being the man at the altar fueling his thrusts, the sound of their moans echoing, the smell of their sweat and sex hanging heavy in the air. But they did not satisfy him, not at all, for they were not Emiko.

Emiko, the woman he could never have, the woman who belonged to another, who belonged to his master.

Over the years, he had avoided her as best he could, every meeting leaving him hard and frustrated, every encounter a painful reminder of his unrequited love. He had thrown himself into his work, into war, hoping that the adrenaline and danger would numb him, would make him forget. But now, as she sat beside him, her body pressed against his, her scent filling his senses, he knew he had never forgotten, never truly moved on.

As she whispered in his ear, her voice a soft caress, his resolve shattered, his walls crumbled. He couldn't fight it anymore, couldn't deny the truth that had been buried deep within him all these years.

He turned to face her, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity, his hands trembling with a mix of fear and desire. "I know what you want from me, Emiko," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But I can't. I won't. I swore a vow to your husband, and I will not break it."

Her laughter echoed in his tent, her voice melodic, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, General, you've always been so strong, so steadfast. But this is not about him, not tonight. This is about us, about what we've denied ourselves for so long. This is about passion, about desire, about two people who have been denied their happiness for far too long."

She leaned in closer, her lips inches from his, her breath warm and sweet, her eyes dark and inviting. "The Presidente is dead, General. He is gone. And his daughter has taken his place, a little girl who has never seen the horrors of war, who has never tasted the bitter blood of battle. What can she offer you, General? What can she give other than me?"

Her words were poison, sweet and deadly, worming their way into his heart, his mind, his soul. He knew she was right, in some twisted, perverse way. The Presidente was gone, and his daughter, young and inexperienced, had taken his place. What could she possibly offer him, a seasoned soldier, a warrior who had fought and bled for his country? But her mother, the woman that lived in his dreams for over eighteen years, she could give him everything he wanted. She could make him whole.

He felt his resolve waver, his willpower slipping, his desire rising, a beast within him that he had kept caged for far too long. He wanted her, gods, how he wanted her.

Emiko's hands were on his face, her fingers tracing the lines of his jaw, the scars of battles past, her touch gentle, yet firm, demanding, possessive. "I know what you need, General," she murmured, her voice husky, her lips brushing against his face, a whisper of a kiss that sent a jolt of electricity through him. "And I know you won't deny me. You can't."

She was right, he couldn't. He didn't want to.

He was lost in her, lost in her eyes, her touch, her scent, lost in the memories of a past that could have been, a future that was now within his grasp. He didn't care about the consequences, didn't care about the betrayal, the dishonor, the broken vows. All he cared about was her, and the fire that raged within him, threatening to consume him.

Serrano's hands were rough and calloused, his grip strong, his touch firm, his fingers entwining in her long, silken hair, pulling her to him, their lips crashing together in a kiss that was as **** as it was fierce. Their tongues danced a dance of desire, their breaths mingling, their bodies pressed against each other, aching, yearning, needing. He could taste her, sweet and delicate, her scent filling his nostrils, her skin soft and warm under his touch.