Page 100 of The Commander

Bastian gave the woman beside him a slow, dismissive once over as a deliberate

insult.

“She isn’t dead,” she ground out. “She knew the cycles of life and planted seeds on other planets like ours, like this one, for a rebirth. She was prepared. You don’t have to believe it for it to be true.”

Bastian wouldn’t believe it. The breeding program had come from some enterprising Sarrian House started before he was born.

If the goddess were alive, that meant she had betrayed thousands of loyal followers, males who took their names and wore her blade with pride. He couldn’t accept that.

They didn’t stay after that. Bastian watched to make sure they went. True to their word, they left the map and a load of supplies that took two trips to get back to the lodge.

Half of them were goods that would make raising a child easier and safer.

He wasn’t sure he trusted them or believed any of what she said about their so called living goddess and recreating a version of Sarria on Earth, but he wasn’t about to ignore the chance to live in peace with Kitten.

CHAPTER 34 - BASTAIN

Bastian returned to the bed he shared with his mate and curled around her small, naked body.

“Oh, cold,” she murmured sleepily, the way she did every time he returned to bed.

At first, it hadn’t bothered her that he slept so much less than she did. He didn’t need it. She didn’t notice. Her biggest complaint when he left their bed was that he took most of the heat with him and he always returned with the cold.

Kitten adapted to their underground life with ease, though he worried about risks to her human physiology. Other subterranean humans hadn’t fared so well, succumbing to respiratory problems, anemia, or the sheer madness waiting for them in the sustained darkness. He monitored Kitten’s health obsessively. So far, she had thrived. He suspected her alien compatibility played a role.

Kitten filled the gaps in his knowledge without the connection to the P.I. with lessons learned from her Dad. She knew how to trap, forage, identify safe mushrooms, and locate hidden food caches. Even before the planet’s devastation, humans had lived off the grid, escaping their governments. Her father had prepared her to survive.

She knew how to find what those humans left behind. Not that Bastian hesitated to take what he needed from others they encountered in the rolling, verdant hills of Old Kentucky.

It took months before he felt like their shelter was safe. Longer before he was satisfied with the bed he built her. She’d told him it looked like a nest. She was correct. A prime battler always prepared anest for his mate and their young. The finished structure was plenty big for two people and two sons. He could avoid touching her if he wished. He didn’t wish.

It had walls and a woven roof, held all the heat, and could be completely closed in. While it made more sense to build such a thing outside, in a tree somewhere, he hadn’t resisted the urge to find a way to make it inside the old foreman’s lodge. It took up half the room, but he didn’t care. Once Kitten became more tired with pregnancy, she didn’t care either.

She hissed as he fit himself around her, his air-cooled skin caressing her sleep warmed softness. One arm under her shoulders, curled around to fit over her breasts, the other over her belly, his legs pulled up under hers, her sweet round ass cradled in the curve of his lap.

He fit a leg between hers. She was wet.

Pregnancy was so fucking fun.

Lifting her leg just a little, he released his cock, which slid into the perfect position between her legs, curving with the shape of her body. His fully extended cock was long enough that he could tickle her clit with the nob at the end, thick enough that she could ride him “like a fire hose,” she’d once admitted out loud.

They’d had a long talk about his biology, and hers, after she caught with child and every possible worry known to mankind had to be carefully processed, questioned and answered, before she could accept that everything would be just as it should be.

“Bastian. Tired,” she moaned, her hips moving away in a token resistance.

“But you’re so sweet and good like this, Kitten. You give my cock such a warm wet place to rest,” he growled the words to her, as he imagined a man might stroke a cat.

“Rest.” A whine crept into her voice.

“In a bit. I’m just trying to get comfortable.”

“Bastian.” She said his name like a protest. One of his favorite sounds.

“Show me how good you can be.” He played with her nipple, pinching the tip and tugging until her hips shimmied with her upper body as if trying to escape.

His cock slid deeper into the haven between her thighs, granting intimate access. Licking up her neck to her cheek, he pressed his teeth against the soft skin, a warning to hold still. “Isn’t that nice now? Don’t you like that?”

A pulsing bump against the peak of her clit showed her how nice he intended to be.

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