Page 46 of Tamed By the Alien Warlord
CHAPTER 20
LANZ
She waits for me—naked and kneeling at the edge of our shared bed, eyes lowered, chest rising with each breath that betrays her anticipation.
My beautiful human.
My soft, brilliant, recklessGeorgia.
There are moments where I look at her and feel the fury rise—not anger, but a kind of cosmic hunger. A need toclaimher, not just with my body, but with binding, branding, overwhelming worship. Her curves, her fire, her loyalty, hersubmission—they humble me.
And tonight, I will humble her in return.
“On your knees,” I growl, though she already is. She shivers at the command anyway. Good girl.
I step behind her, letting her feel the gravity of my presence before she sees me. The cords are already in my hands—black silken strands, impossibly strong. I wind the first length around her wrists, slow and methodical. I don’t tie to restrict. I tie to shape.
Toexalt.
My claws never scratch, only guide. She leans into my touch like she’s been waiting all day for it. Maybe she has.
“There’s an art to bondage,” I murmur as I loop the cord up her arms, pulling her wrists tight behind her back. “Each knot says something. Each twist, a declaration.”
She nods, silent. She knows I’m in my mood tonight.
I drag the rope up across her back, over her shoulders, crisscrossing in a pattern that forces her chest forward. Her tits swell beautifully between the loops. I draw the cord over them deliberately, letting it sink into her flesh, just enough to stimulate, to frame. She moans softly as her nipples tighten under the friction.
“Look at you,” I say, crouching to admire my work. “Tits like offerings. Bound and beautiful. My little work of art.”
Her eyes flutter shut.
But I’m not finished.
I retrieve the gag next—a matte black sphere fitted perfectly to her mouth. I brush her lower lip with it, watching her tongue dart out in anticipation.
“Open,” I command.
She obeys, and I slide it into place, strapping it around her head with careful precision. It muffles her whimpers. It makes her eyes speak louder.
I lift her in my arms and throw her onto the bed, face down, ass arched, legs splayed helplessly. She gasps around the gag, the ropes biting deeper as she lands. Her body quivers—wet, ready,needy.
“Spread those legs wider,” I say, and when she obeys—gods above—my cock pulses in response.
Her pussy glistens, but that’s not where I start.
No, tonight is about more than taking.
It’s aboutruin.
I kneel between her thighs, claws sliding along her soft skin. My tongue—a Reaper’s tongue, long, textured, forked subtly near the tip—flicks out and touches the tight ring of her asshole.
She jolts.
Good.
I drag my tongue over her rim, slow and purposeful, letting the ridges stroke her with deliberate tease. She moans into the gag, hips bucking, body straining against the ropes.
I press deeper, circling, licking, devouring her there. Her thighs tremble. Her hands clench behind her back.
