Page 18 of Claimed By the Alien Warlord

He glares at me, those red eyes burning like coals. “Is there something wrong about your boss telling you that the job you did was insufficient?”

Boss. The word grates on me, but I bite my tongue. Fine. If he wants to play this game, I’ll play.

“I was expecting maybe some praise for everything else,” I shoot back, gesturing at the room. “I mean, except for that one little bit of dust, it looks pretty good, right?”

His lips twitch, but it’s not a smile. It’s a warning. “My praise is earned, never given,” he growls.

I stiffen as he snaps his fingers and points at the floor. “Now get on your knees.”

Heat floods my face, and I hate myself for the way my stomach twists at his command. I don’t move, though. Not yet. My chin lifts, and I meet his gaze head-on.

“You know, for someone who talks a big game about earning things, you sure do like giving orders,” I say, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “Are you always this charming, or am I just lucky?”

His eyes narrow, like he’s trying not to laugh. But then it passes, and his expression hardens again. He takes a step closer, his presence looming over me.

“On. Your. Knees.”

The words are low, almost a growl, and I feel them reverberate in my chest. My legs move before my brain cancatch up, and I hate myself for it. I sink to my knees, the hem of the ridiculous skirt riding up, and I stare up at him, defiance burning in my gaze.

“Happy now?” I ask, my voice tight.

He doesn’t answer. Just stares down at me, his eyes unreadable. The air between us crackles with tension, and I can’t decide if I want to punch him or…no. I shut that thought down before it can fully form.

“Clean it,” he says finally, his voice cold. “Again.”

I grit my teeth and reach for the dustpan, my fingers trembling. This isn’t about the dust. It’s about control. And right now, he’s winning.

My knees hit the floor, my palms flat against the cool hardwood. I can feel his presence behind me, a wall of heat and tension. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears. I grip the dustpan tighter, my knuckles whitening. The tiny speck of dust mocks me, sitting there in the middle of an otherwise immaculate floor.

“This is bullshit,” I mutter, my voice low but sharp. The words are out before I can stop them. I can feel his gaze burning into the back of my skull. My jaw tightens, and I shove the dustpan aside, standing on shaky legs. The skirt of this godforsaken uniform rides up, but I don’t care anymore. I turn to face him, my hands clenched into fists.

“No,” I say, louder this time. My voice cracks, but I push through it. “This isbullshit. I’ll clean this little bitty dust pile up, but not until you acknowledge that I busted my ass for two hours while you were galivanting shirtless through the woods!”

My breath comes in short, shallow gasps, my chest rising and falling like I’ve just run a mile. His eyes narrow, those red irises pinning me in place. The air between us feels charged, like the moment before a lightning strike. I can’t tell if he’s going to explode, or if he’s just… waiting.

The silence stretches, thick and heavy. I don’t move. I won’t. My legs feel like they’re made of lead, but I keep my chin up, my gaze locked on his. His nostrils flare, and for a second, I swear I see something flicker across his face—something that isn’t entirely human. It’s gone before I can process it, replaced by that same cold, calculating expression.

“It is time that you learned full and well that I am in charge here,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, like the growl of a predator.

Before I can react, he’s on me. His hands are like iron, gripping my wrists and pulling them behind my back. I stumble, my balance thrown, and he spins me around, my back pressing against his chest. One hand moves to cover my mouth, his palm rough and warm against my lips.

“What are you doing?” I gasp, but the words are muffled against his hand. My heart hammers in my chest, a wild, panicked rhythm. I struggle, but his grip is unyielding.

“Silence,” he growls, his breath hot against my ear. “You will learn to speak with proper submissiveness and only when required.”

His voice sends me on a dizzying trip,I hate myself for it. I hate that part of me that responds to his commands, that feels a flicker of… something when he speaks like that. I twist in his grip, but he doesn’t budge. My pulse races as he looms over me, his size a constant reminder of how outmatched I am.

The apron strings dig into my wrists, rough lace chafing against my skin. I test the knot—tight. Gary's fingers linger just a second too long against my pulse point before he finally pulls away. His reflection glares back at me from the polished glass of a framed hunting trophy, eyes like banked coals.

"You're—" My voice cracks. I swallow hard, tilting my chin up. "You're enjoying this."

He exhales through his nose—sharp, unamused. "You assume my aims are petty." One hand settles heavy on my shoulder. His fingertips graze the exposed nape of my neck, calluses scraping. "This iscorrection."

Correction. Like I'm a dog that pissed on his rug. I huff a laugh that doesn’t sound as steady as I want. "Funny way to spellrevenge."

His grip tightens. A warning. I should shut up. But my mouth keeps running.

"You tied me up like a damn Christmas turkey overdust," I snap. The more I talk, the more my breathing evens out. The more I ignore how my nipples are stiff little points under the stupid bodice. "Next you'll spank me for not fluffing the pillows right?—"

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