Page 19 of Claimed By the Alien Warlord

A low sound rumbles in his chest. Not quite a growl. Something darker.

"Keep running that mouth," he murmurs, leaning in. His breath gusts hot against my ear. "See where it gets you."

My thighs press together. The brush of the garter straps against bare skin is maddening.

Gary steps back suddenly, leaving me swaying. He circles in front of me, gaze dragging down my body like he's cataloging every tremor. His tongue clicks once against his teeth.

"On your knees."

A full-body shudder. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste copper. "Make me."

His mouth curves. Not a smile. A predator baring teeth. "Or what? You'll throw another brick?"

I lunge?—

—and he catches me by the waist, effortless. My bare knees hit the hardwood. Breath punched out of me. His hand fists in my hair, tipping my head back.

"You areinfuriating," he grits out.

The heat between my legs isobscene. My pulse jackhammers where his thumb presses against my throat.

"Tell me what you want," I dare.

His nostrils flare. For a heartbeat, I think he might actually answer. Then his grip shifts?—

—and he shoves the dustpan into my bound hands.

"Clean."

My inner feminist is screaming at me to stop this.What the hell are you doing, Ray?she demands, her voice sharp and scolding.This is not who you are. You don’t let men—beasts—like him control you. You fight back. You?—

But my inner sex fiend cuts her off with a low, throaty laugh.Oh, shut up. Look at him. Just look at him. That body. That power. You’ve never felt anything like this, and you know it. So stop pretending you don’t want it.

I sway on my knees, my hands still bound, the ridiculous apron strings digging into my wrists. My skirt is hiked up to my hips, and I don’t even care. My cheeks are on fire, but it’s not just from embarrassment. It’s from the heat radiating between my legs, from the way my body is screaming for more.

Gary stands over me, his belt in hand, folding it over with slow, deliberate movements. The leather snaps against his palm, and I flinch, my stomach tightening. His red eyes lock onto mine, and I can’t look away. My heart pounds in my chest, and I’m hyper-aware of every inch of my body—the way the bodice digs into my ribs, the way my breasts are barely contained in the plunging neckline, the way my nipples are hard peaks under the thin fabric.

I swallow the lump in my throat and lean forward, brushing the dust into the pan with my bound hands. It’s awkward and clumsy, and I can’t stop the little whimper that escapes my lips. My skirt rides up even more, and I know he can see the wetness between my thighs. I glance up at him, and my breath catches.The bulge in his pants is massive, straining against the fabric, and I can’t help but stare. My mouth goes dry, and a fresh wave of heat surges through me.

"I’m done," I say, my voice shaky. I offer him the dustpan, my hands trembling.

"Are you?" Gary’s voice is low, almost a growl. "And you called me something earlier, when you were mocking me…what was it? Oh yes.Master. I think that’s how you’ll address me from now on."

"Fuck you," I snap before I can stop myself. My inner feminist cackles with approval, but my sex fiend groans in frustration.

Gary grabs me by the hair, yanking me to my feet. His hand slips between my legs, and I yelp, my body arching into his touch. "Eager, are we?" he asks, his voice mocking.

"Yes, you are," I shoot back, my knee bumping against the massive bulge in his pants. I can feel the heat of him through the fabric. My inner feminist is silent now, drowned out by the pounding in my chest and the wetness pooling between my thighs.

Gary’s free hand rips my panties off in one swift motion, and I open my mouth to protest—Hey, I’m not paying for those!—but he shoves the torn fabric into my mouth, gagging me. His belt wraps around my head, securing the makeshift gag, and I glare at him, my body trembling with a mixture of fury and arousal.

"That will be the end of your smart-mouthed comments," Gary says, his voice dark with promise.

He pulls a silver cigar case from his back pocket, and my eyes widen. My heart races, and I think he’s going to do somethingkinky, something that will make me scream into the gag. But instead, he shreds the cigar, piling the tobacco on the floor in front of me.

"On. Your. Knees," he commands, his voice leaving no room for argument.

I sink to my knees, my pussy so wet that the floor beneath me is sprinkled with drops. My inner sex fiend is practically purring now, and even my inner feminist is quiet, her protests drowned out by the pounding of my heart and the heat in my core.

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