Page 20 of The Commander

Sheathing his name day blade, he pulled her into a sitting position, reveling in the feel of her gorgeous pale skin under the darker, mottled blues of his hands.

“Calm you? What are you doing?”

“If I am calm, perhaps we can finish talking and I will decide not to molest you. I’d be sleepy and complacent then, wouldn’t I?” With her sitting up, he could curl around her, pull her into him, cradle her while he opened his mouth on the cut on her ear. Or, if he chose, sink his teeth into her neck. She couldn’t stop him. She couldn’t even wobble back and forth to escape.

The thought whipped his mating organ to life under his skin, and he willed the monster still. If his face and shape disturbed her, seeing his member would break her and send her straight to madness.

Not that he didn’t want her broken to some degree. But not that way. There was no denying how satisfying he found her weaker position. She was flesh, fear, rope—all his favorite delicacies together.

“Yes. Be calm. But…” she hesitated. He was sure that the scrunched expression on her face was confusion. Drink her blood? Her eyebrows moved up and down, and her mouth pinched.

Humans were strange in their moralistic judgments.

“You broke curfew. It is a law,” he whispered against the lobe of the ear he had cut.

Her nostrils flared, and her pupils expanded as his personal aroma invaded her senses.

It was her turn. Her ancient coding reacted to him.

“You are bleeding, Kitten. If you agree to feed me that small amount of blood, you will ease my hunger, and this interrogation will go easier for you. You won’t miss what I take, I promise you. I will be calm. Or you can deny me a taste, and we shall see what happens.”

She shivered in his arms and not from the cold. “Feed you?”

“No place to run, Kitten. I’ve caught you in my snare. Do you agree?”

A variety of delightful emotions flittered across her face as she took in his question. No matter how hard she tried not to see him, take him in, she couldn’t stop him from seeing her.

“Choose. Say, ‘drink me, Commander Bastian.’ Of course you can say, ‘go fuck yourself, Commander Bastian,’” he coached her.

Closing her eyes, she turned her head away from him, trying to escape herself. Him. The entire situation she had gotten herself into. “Fine.”

“I told you what to say.”

“Drink me, Commander Bastian,” she said.

Beautifully forced and tortured, one tear after another fell from her eyes at the

violation.

Somewhere in her bones, did she feel the long reaching ramifications of her choice? He doubted she understood or expected the possibility of alien DNA lurking in her dainty little white blood cells that would change her life forever.

He couldn’t help what she didn’t know and didn’t feel obligated to tell her. She’d figure it out soon enough, after all. It had been right there, waiting in her code all along. Not his fault if stupid humans never read directions.

All the reports were right. These little human breeders grabbed a prime by the cock and didn’t let go.

The desire to taste her overwhelmed him. Beat him. Knocking him right at the base of his spine, right into the root of his cock, a newly formed, instant addiction to her threatened to keep him like this until a biological imperative had been reached.

He’d lost when the grunts brought her in—lost when he took in her scent for the first time. Arrogance was always a prime’s downfall.

“Thank you,” he said politely before taking his first taste of beauty.

His mouth closed around her earlobe and the tiny nick in her skin. He had to suck hard since the blood had already started to coagulate.

Kitten’s whole being hardened, screaming in resistance, a beautiful litany of cries for help to her deity tumbling from her lips in tortured chants. She acted insulted, like he planned to eat her up. He was going to say something about that, but then his brain registered her life force on his tongue and took over.

Good fucking goddess. This woman. This human. She was heat, life, death, battle, and his ultimate fall. Delicious. He sucked like a glutton, rubbing that little bit of skin with the tip of his tongue, stroking her there like he soon would stroke her everywhere. Her cries turned to whimpers as his sensual touch warred with her horror.

He knew she didn’t know what was happening, didn’t want this, would rather die, her mind fighting her body. Her lack of consent was clear.

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