Page 66 of The Commander

Now, he was stuck. If he moved, she would no longer be sprawled trustingly on top of him. One of his legs and an arm had given up the battle for rights to blood circulation, going numb. He hadn’t been this uncomfortable since his training days, when he’d had to prove he could hold a bent kneed, crouching attack position while balanced on his toes for a full cycle.

There was no way to extract himself. It was unbelievable. She’d trapped him by falling asleep. There was no mention of this in the histories of his people. His father warned him of the dangers of mating, but this phenomenon was not included in the list of protective instincts that he wouldn’t be able to manage.

He’d slept and eaten not too long ago. With the additional fortification of her blood and female essence traveling through his system, he wouldn’t need to do either again for another twenty hours. Hopefully, she wasn’t tired enough to sleep that long.

Opening his senses wide, he relaxed and counted the places they touched. Where her breath feathered across his skin. How fast she breathed in this state. The way her skin warmed against his, where sweat pooled, the change of her scent.

He should be sad that the fear spice had left her. Before he’d set his frillium into the soft velvet of her core, it had been his favorite scent, calling him to her.

Fucking bait for the ultimate trap.

He should be furious that the trap had snapped tight so snugly. But he couldn’t say he’d do a single thing differently.

When Kitten finally woke, the sun was starting to go down again. As if things had come full circle, she would return to the town to see her friend with him after curfew. After drinking her fill of clean water and washing her face, she looked at him expectantly.

“Clothing?”

She had such a pretty, curvy shape. His hands fit perfectly on her hips, her breasts, the lovely stem of her neck. He’d like to fill her out a bit with more food, soften the lines of her belly more, her hips, thighs, and ass, remove all traces of hardship caused by the life she’d lived. But the sharp lines he observed didn’t change how delicious she looked to him.

Covering her up felt wrong. He didn’t want to do it.

“It’s getting dark.” She pointed in the direction of the front door for emphasis.

So it was. There was clothing in a side closet he’d never bothered to remove. Some of it had been in the apartment when he arrived, left behind by some human. And some of it was created for him specifically for living on this planet and interacting with humans. Like the bad sizing of his apartment, most of that didn’t fit. He’d had to reorder clothing three times. If the chance arose, he would kill the requisition secretaries and their badge leaders. Really, such vicious incompetence had no right to keep living.

Their uselessness was his gain. Even though the shirts and pants were all too big for Kitten, they were his. He liked covering her in things that belonged to him. He’d have to go hunting so that he could do it correctly and cover her in the skins of his kills. Perhaps that Mister Danov’s skin? That Andy she had mentioned? Maybe she would want a female’s skin, instead.

Kitten bent over the low chair where he set out clothes for her to choose from. He kept his spot behind her so that he could watch the side sway of her breasts and see her reveal the plush flesh rear view of her pussy as she bent over.

She caught him looking at her when she straightened, holding the shirt up. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Kitten looked suspicious.

He was doing nothing wrong. If only he could put her back into the bed, tie her down spread eagle, and start licking her from her feet to her head. She didn’t look like she was up for that idea.

“Do you have underwear?” she asked.

“Underwear?”

“Yes. Panties. A bra? I need a bra.”

He knew what it was. “I have provided essential clothing. We will have to get additional cover up from storage in Correction, however. A defensive jacket should provide sufficient warmth.”

“But not boob support. I need support. And I need underwear. Men’s briefs? Anything?”

Bastian kept his face blank. Among his people, lying was a difficult skill. There were a whole host of body functions to mask what other primes could read. Blunt force honesty was a much easier course. He had never had reason to practice prevarication and never in his life had he played stupid.

He found himself in a strange position. He wanted to make her happy and give her whatever she wanted. He needed to. The desire rode him like a biological imperative, as if displeasing her would squeeze his reproductive organs in a vice until they burst, unpleasantly. Like overripe fruit.

And yet, he wanted her in as few clothes as possible. At all times. The idea of underwear hiding his favorite body parts did not sit well.

“You have something, don’t you?” she pressed.

“Nothing that would fit,” he told her. He wasn’t sure, really, but he knew his lie came out weak. There could be something. He wasn’t going to look.

“I want to see.”

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