Page 58 of The Commander

His lower chin. He’d opened it again.

It was the tenderest of intimacies when she should be afraid and horrified. But nowhere in her brain and body could Cara find the correct reaction for the sight and knowledge of his monstrous differences.

Craning her neck to see, she realized he’d bitten her enough to break the skin and that ribbon of a second tongue must be slurping up the blood. She couldn’t really feel it—the action was lighter than a mosquito bite. What she felt was the heat of his exposed face, his teeth, the circling pressure of his teeth, the lash of his big tongue, tugging at her with gentle suction.

Her mate feeding on her blood at her breast. She moaned.

“Where would your friend get the knife? Is she a rebel, pet?” he asked against her skin.

Knife? That big thing? Why did that matter? What mattered was he had stopped sucking at her to ask more stupid questions. She wanted more. The rhythm of his mouth on her tit was oddly satisfying. Had she ever felt more feminine?

He had a hand on her back, the other between her legs where she knew she was soaking his palm. Supporting her. Loving her.

“I’ve known Brenda for a while. Bad taste in men. Not a rebel.”

“Where did the knife come from?” he persisted, teeth and mouth brushing at her skin when he spoke.

“Andy. A guy named Andy. I told you. Please.” She didn’t want to talk about that. She wanted him to cut her down from this tree and put his cock inside her empty pussy. She needed that slide and vibration so badly.

“Andy.” He said the name and switched breasts. She felt another sharp prick.

“Did you bite me?”

He hummed. She assumed that was a yes. Nuzzled closer, he sucked at her skin harder. Then pulled away to ask, “This Andy that came to argue with the human, the Brenda, before you left to check your traps for meat?”

“I don’t know. Can’t.”

His fingers teased her vulva. She was so close, but the stroking pets were not enough.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” she managed. “That Andy.”

He nodded, returning his mouth to her breast until most of it was in his mouth, his lips around his sharp upper teeth, protecting her skin from them. A finger moved, deep and rhythmic.

“Why is the knife important? Can we just?” She tried to move her hips, to arch into him for deeper contact.

He turned, pulling on her until her breast dropped free and he could nuzzle at her with the hard planes of his face and the rough burr that covered every inch of his skin.

She liked it. The way his eyes closed, the way he tipped his head and rubbed at her like a cat.

“Where did Andy get it?”

It was so hard to talk. “Don’t know. Brenda found it.”

“Where?”

“She said he was hiding it with a bunch of old car batteries.”

“Car batteries?”

“Under his bed or something.” A small voice in the back of her head told her that wasn’t something Andy would want an alien overlord to know, but she couldn’t make herself care. Andy was a shit, wasn’t he?

On the edge of what she needed, she didn’t know if she should ask him to stop because he was killing her or beg him for more because she needed to come to live. “Oh, god. Please.”

He pulled away. His tongue moved fast and tentacle like before his chin and mouth closed so that he could present her with a smug expression. “No, Kitten. Bastian. Your mate.”

“Asshole,” she whispered, trying to keep from smiling.

“Humm. Is that what you want me to do next?”

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