Page 26 of My Big Alien Bodyguard

“Are you… what are you…” I’m suddenly so scared, mostly that he’s going to leave me. I know I am a nightmare to deal with. I am an absolute asshole, and I am making it very easy for Simon Scowl to make this narrative around me. “Please don’t hate me. Please don’t quit on me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he says. “I could never hate you. I do, however, intend to punish you. In a matter of days your wounds will be healed, and then your ass is mine.”

“Alright,” I agree. “That seems fair.”

Amatter of days goes by real quick. By some incredible stroke of luck nobody was hurt by the falling television or glass. The narrative in the media has shifted to this all being one big publicity stunt for what is now being called the Bad Girl tour. I’ll give Simon Scowl credit, he knows how to pivot.

A little of the guilt assailing me is assuaged, but I know I am still in trouble, both with Zayne, and just generally speaking. Zayne has revealed the worst of Simon’s marketing tactics to me, and to say that I’m appalled is an understatement. I know now that I have made a deal with the devil, and that Zayne and I are trapped in the same contractual nightmare.

“Do you ever think about just walking away?”

“I used to,” Zayne says, his golden eyes falling on me with a possessive, warm smile. “But I have a lot to stay for. And my family is relying on me to tolerate Simon. My lot is not truly that bad.”

“Neither is mine, I guess. Except for that chaos follows me everywhere.”

“I’m not sure that it so much follows you, as is generated by you,” Zayne notes, though he does so with a warm smile.

I have not forgotten that I am in trouble, and nor has he. I am healed, which means I can be punished. There is a strange intensity about waiting for it to happen, not wanting the inevitable pain, but knowing it is coming and somehow wanting it almost as much as I don’t want it.

“I believe Scowl will want you on the road to your next concert tomorrow,” Zayne says. “There have been too many days delay.”

“Back to work,” I say ruefully. It’s far too pedestrian a sentiment, but I express it, nonetheless. I’m craving normality. I’d give anything to work behind a counter right now, or stock a shelf. Hell, I’d happily be up a power pole in high winds. None of the everyday jobs I used to engage in were ever worse than this nonsense. This is not a job, or a calling, or a career. This is the complete consumption of my life.

“Before you go anywhere near a stage, we need to address your behavior.”

“Do we? Or could we just have said I learned my lesson?”

“Maybe we could have said that, if you had simply come here to have your leg treated. But then you threw a television out of the hotel window, and frankly, Lyric, I think you are as much a danger to yourself as anybody is to you.”

“Alright okay, well, maybe…”

“A spanking barely seems to cover what you deserve,” Zayne says. There is a new formality to his speech and a sternness to his bearing. It’s like he’s flipped from lover and protector to something more, something like a master.

“I know. I’m the worst.”

“Don’t do that,” he says strictly. “Don’t put yourself down. You are far from the worst, but you are my most reckless charge ever. I lost myself in you the moment I met you. I broke my contract for you. I gave you my body, my heart, and my allegiance.”

His heart. Does he love me?

“I love you!” I blurt the words. The moment they are out of my mouth I realize that it sounds as though I am trying to get out of being punished.

Zayne pauses for a moment before bending down and taking my chin between his scaled thumb and forefinger. His tail wraps around me slowly, drawing me into an alien embrace.

“I adore you,” he says, his voice soft and gravelly. “I love every part of you, including the parts I am about to punish severely.”

I let out a giggle that I know isn’t appropriate, but I cannot help it. I am absolutely swimming in the glee and glow of being loved by a creature like Zayne.

“You think that amusing?”

“No,” I say, trying to hide my mirth. It just turns into a smirk, which does not help at all. “I’m just so happy.”

“I am going to make you very sore and very sorry,” he warns me, stroking his scaled finger beneath my chin.

“Yes,” I say, fighting my smile. “I know.”

“Brat,” he says tenderly, sweetly, before grabbing me and tossing me over his thigh, starting matters with a flurry of hard slaps to the seat of my pants. It doesn’t hurt at first. I’ve been wearing slightly thicker pants on purpose. I know that won’t actually stop anything. I’m going to be naked very soon, and entirely at his mercy.

I know this is supposed to actually be some kind of penance, both to assuage my guilt, and to teach me what Zayne imagines might be a lesson. But for now it just stings in a hot sort of way. Every time his palm lands, I jerk against his hard thigh. He is shirtless, as usual. A creature of his kind needs no clothing tobe warm, but he is wearing his customary pants, as swinging dragon dick may offend.

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