Page 30 of The Commander

This was for him. Was all his. She made noises Bastian couldn’t hear through the frenzy in his head. Nothing would make him stop the exploration of her sex. Mouthing the shape, the folds, and contours, he ran his tongue from top to bottom and back again, flicking the stiffened protrusion of her desire until the pleasure of it had her thighs shaking on his shoulders.

Absorbing her tremors, he lifted his head to look at her. The woman was a glorious mess. Dirty. Face red down to her tits, eyelashes dripping tears, lips swelled from biting, her skin spots glowed golden in the harsh old light. She’d been moaning denials, but him stopping, waiting and doing nothing made her open her eyes and look at him.

He ran his tongue down the split between her legs and up again, teasing her clit with a firm flicker of his tongue—watching her watch him from the awkward position. Wanting her to see him. Needing it.

Again. And again.

His saliva mixed with her wet center. He knew his secretions stimulated yet another irresistible aphrodisiac to her kind, mixing with her want. He did it until her sounds escalated, her inhibitions discarded.

“Oh, god. I’m going to come.”

He stopped. That was it. Her female orgasm. The information he required filtered through his own wants. “‘A transient peak sensation of intense pleasure, creating an altered state of consciousness.’”

He needed her to come first, because the bitch goddess of his people must have her due.

“This is mine. I am claiming this.” His voice was dark, cold. Did she hear it? Take note? Feel this declaration the way he did?

She didn’t. Not yet. Her carnal need and confusion left her dazed. Good. Perhaps it would make her more agreeable. Taking her from the wall, he laid her on the ground, bending her legs up, over his shoulders so he could return to his decadent meal.

Her muddled gaze watched him as he tenderly kissed her mound. Right at the top of her slit. Closing his hands tighter on the luscious curve of her ass, he squeezed until the sharp bite claimed attention. “Say yes, Bastian.”

She blinked her eyes clear. Turned her head away. Lifted one hand as if she thought she should fight. “No. No. No. I don’t know what this is. What is happening?”

“This is my pussy. I’m claiming it. No one touches it but me,” Bastian told her. It was simple, really. What didn’t she understand?

He was her poison. Her bane. And she would know it. His mating fluid was all over her body, his saliva, the pre-cum dripping copiously from his dick, all the inhaled pheromones, had gone to work on them both the instant he stopped moving forward with the mating.

Each second pushed on their bodies. Itched and buzzed. Then finally, burned. The need to fuck was more than mere desire and more than a thickened cock signaling interest and readiness. It pulled and twisted with vicious demand until nerve endings screamed.

They were matched. Their biology locked. They would mate. Or they would die.

Kitten had no defense against the building need. He knew it. Her mind didn’t know how to classify such things.

He held her with him and watched, eyes across the curve of her belly and breasts.

When he didn’t move, she bucked. Tried to sit up. Kicked her feet. “What are you doing? Second thoughts? Let me go, then.” He was silent.

It took her longer to feel the heat. Cupping her breasts, he could see that her nipples had puffed up and turned a bright, angry red. “What is this? What did you do to me? Venom or something?”

It wasn’t. And yet it was. The alien genetics planted in her ancestry had woken from dormancy. Like him, she had little choice. He wouldn’t tell her that, though. This woman had tried to kill herself rather than be raped by the red hats.

She was good prey. This claiming was against her will. The chase, finished. He’d won. There was no option to leave.

“It hurts. I hurt. My tits, my pussy burns…shit, what did you do?”

His cock hurt, too. Just as much. A burn as volatile as ship fuel, scalding his balls. He ignored it and blew a puff of breath on her exposed clit.

“Oh.” She jolted as if he bit her. “Can you do that again? That makes it better. More.”

When he didn’t follow up the stimulation, she got an extra helping of pain. Wracking her body like a contraction, he saw her muscles clench and felt a painful echo in his own body.

“I need you to touch me. I think that will make it better,” she admitted with a petulant whine.

He didn’t move. “This is mine. Say, ‘Yes, Bastian.’”

“No!” she spat out. But her denial was followed by waves of pain that he watched cross over her abdomen.

Bastian felt the same at the self-denial, biting back a grimace as knots tangled and yanked in his muscles and molten fire burned down the length of the veins of his cock. He’d lostan arm in battle once, and the whole process of its loss and regrowth hadn’t hurt half as much.

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