Page 46 of The Commander

Bastian ignored that. Let her have her pique. She was standing still. That was all he needed to be able to run his hands over her slick curves with soap. He took his time, watching herface, forcing her to give in to the urges of the bond under the spray of hot water and delightful caresses.

His hand between her legs, she did more than relax, eyes closing and mouth opening with a moan as he teased her clit. Without the mating frenzy on them, the urgency to finish riding them hard, he could enjoy the way her body responded to pleasure. His lightest touch made her twitch.

The movement shivered through her breasts, and he couldn’t resist lifting her higher between the wall and his chest and putting his mouth to a peak. The damn shower stall was much too small for fucking, but that wouldn’t stop him from enjoying what was his.

It took her longer to reach her peak, but he enjoyed every moment of it, maintaining his self-control. It’d only been a few hours since he’d had his cock in her and her blood in his mouth. He could wait till she’d eaten and gotten the tracker embedded before he had his turn.

He might even interrogate her a second time.

But first, he needed to decide if they would play chase again or not.

CHAPTER 15 - CARA

Cara had been born after the fall of civilization—long after the apocalyptic effects of the Cyclops meteor. Her father taught her that the big rock ended eighty years of Corporate Governments, sinking the base of their operations to the bottom of the sea and knocking out the world’s power grid.

The Cyclops kicked off years of disasters, pulling the last of mankind’s arrogance out from under their collective feet and leaving everyone equally on their ass.

Dad wanted her to know her history, afraid that the loss of schools and libraries would simply wipe it all away. He read her stories and made her listen to recordings when she was young, teaching her to read using old financial magazines and critically compare state sponsored news recordings with the radio broadcasts he managed to tune into. He also collected any media he found which they devoured together and left behind. Being always on the move, heavy media, and its equipment didn’t travel well.

Thin armed and short, Dad possessed twice the intelligence of anyone Cara knew. In a different era, he might have thrived as a doctor, engineer, or teacher. But he lived in a time of lingering radiation poisoning.

Cara missed him. It had always been her and Dad. His death had left her an orphan at seventeen. He’d equipped herwith knowledge, but they’d never spoken out loud about the point of survival.

It was just them. He told her it would be hard after he died. Tried to teach her to be prepared. Warned her to trust no one. But he hadn’t told her how difficult a self-imposed isolation would be.

Now she’d never be alone again.

The odd sense of connection to the alien lived inside of her now. An irritation she couldn’t find to rub at. Was it in the back of her head? Behind her heart? In her mad-mind-of-its-own-pussy? If couldn’t put her finger on the place where the growing pulsing, betraying sliver lived, she couldn’t pull it out.

When the alien woke her up in the shower, an insane little voice told her to curl around him. Ask for his cock. The horror in his black eyes, strange angular features, blurred, softened around the sliver of connection, lessoning all the distress. Told her lies. It was no big deal that he’d cut her skin and sucked at the blood. No big deal that he’d tied her up and threatened to kill her. Chased her down. Had the weirdest cock she could ever imagine.

The rough edge of fear vanished, replaced by the fulfillment of a lifelong dream of kinship and understanding—a bond she’d assumed impossible. Sleepy and sex drugged, thatlovely thingshone brighter than everything else.

What aliens? What curfew? What life as a sheep with no meaning? Compared to this, those questions were wee little intrusive thoughts. They could go away for now. Nothing had been this good for her in a long, long time.

His pulsating cock was a direct line to more yummy light. More deep connection.Morewarm and not alone.And, god, she wanted that. It filled her up and silenced all the other shit in her head. This was better than chocolate. Brenda’s voice, Dad’s lectures—all faded into a distant hum.

There was no resistance to the alien’s arm slung loosely around her body, keeping her steady, while his other hand slipped between her legs and cupped her.

“Pretty Kitten,” he said. Against her ear she heard that sound again, the rattle in his chest.

Pleasure burst from her throat in low sounds when his fingers deepened the caress.Perfect. There. Like that.His skilled touch eclipsed lonely explorations, fumbling attempts at satisfaction. Her body unfurled, blooming for him with slick, dewy wetness.

He crushed her against his massive frame. Their skin fused with the wet. Steam carried his scent, and that smell went right to her head. His approving growls vibrated through her bones while he orchestrated her pleasure with devastating precision. Paradise existed in this cocoon of sensation—this sacred space where two beings merged into one perfect whole.

She forgot herself. Lost time. Lost will. Lost everything but what they were sharing. And he was into it. Fully into her. As if he had no other place to be, and nothing else to do. He touched her until she came and couldn’t take it anymore. Her orgasm hit with a full body bone melting heat that left her hardly able to stand, totally reliant on his arm around her waist.

Was this what had made Brenda a fool for Andy?

No. There was no way Brenda had this mindless rush of electric connection. Andy was a slimeball.

The alien invader held her easily. Lifted her off the floor like a toy, found the spot on her neck he’d bitten before, and kissed it. The scrape of his predatory teeth sent shivers running down her back that roused her from her blissed out stupor. Not enough. Instead of shrinking away, that newly created, insane part of her brain tilted her head to give him better access.

“Alien invader,” Cara’s analytical side insisted, clinging to outrage.

“Lover. Mate,” her pussy answered.

It was a conflict she didn’t want to deal with. In the conversation with herself—there was no way it was her heart saying that. Her heart wasn’t that stupid, and her emotions weren’t that vulnerable. There was no reality in which she could accept that she wasn’t drugged, brainwashed, and taken over without her permission. The daughter of Stephen Benedict would never fuck an alien and like it. Or want more.

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