Page 19 of The Captain’s Bounty (The Collectors #2)

CHAPTER SEVEN

Her bottom was so, so sore.

Her pussy was almost as tender, though the pounding it had taken had been different. As rough as the spanking had been, if not rougher, but better.

Fantastic, in fact.

Yes, Bruwes had been unbelievably good. Rather, he’d made her feel unbelievably good.

After having spanked the hell out of her ass. Hell, even while he’d been spanking her.

Lying on her stomach on the bed, blindfolded, gagged and her hands tied behind her back, Lissa strained to explore her sore bottom with her fingers.

She couldn’t reach much and fondling her own tender flesh wasn’t the same as the rough touch of Bruwes’s hands, the way he’d forced her to take it even when it hurt.

What was she doing? Why was she even thinking this?

He’d bent her over his lap and spanked her like she was a little girl.

He’d then bent her over the end of the bed and fucked her like she was anything but.

What kind of punishment was that? The spanking had certainly dampened her enthusiasm for escape attempts, but the sex that followed tempted her to try again.

She couldn’t help it, her legs spread, her hips arching, grinding her pubis against the edge of the mattress where he’d left her. Just the right amount of pressure hit all the right places in return.

This was what happened when a person spent all her life jumping from one archeological site to another.

What about this was supposed to be erotic?

She’d been kidnapped. She was on her way to Corporate jail with a bounty on her head, and she had an alien being living inside her! What part of any of that was sexy?

None! And yet here she was, futilely trying to rub one out against a corner of the mattress because she couldn’t deal with the sensations and thoughts Bruwes kept arousing in her.

No matter how many times he’d already made her come, she needed more and it was right there, just out of reach.

If only he would come back and catch her in the act.

She wasn’t actually sure he’d do anything—she wasn’t trying to escape, after all—but she indulged herself in a furtive fantasy in which he punished her for touching the captain’s property, herself, without his permission. Oh, she was almost there…

Unexpectedly, the entity in her head piped up , I can help with that.

Lissa gasped as a blossom of heat unlike anything she’d yet felt sparked all throughout her clit, like the gentle touch of two fingers—two hot, fiery fingers—radiating through her sex all the way to her womb. She arched her hips, lifting off the mattress in surprise.

It felt good, despite the enormous drag factor of mortification as she realized she’d been sharing her private fantasy—and everything else—with the alien presence.

Knock it off!

You don’t mean that .

Her thighs clenched, her butt tucking in, but the fire remained. Ghostly touches flared, turning her womb to a molten throb, making her breasts flush and nipples harden, and coaxing trickles of fluid from her sex to dampen the sheet beneath.

I mean it, she thought, twisting and grinding against the phantom sensations filling her up inside. Knock it off!

But you like it , it protested, then paused, itching around inside her skin as it assessed her.

No, it mused , you don’t like it. Your physical body reacts, but your emotions are very different.

Why? I can stimulate each nerve cluster with precision unmatched by any mere subastral being, certainly better than that half-feral male whose primitive reproductive appendage you want to taste so badly.

Oh, I give up! No matter what I do, you’re always complaining .

Lissa felt it retreat to sulk at the back of her mind, and at last, the unwelcome warmth it had brought out in her began to fade.

She would have happily lectured it on personal space, sexual privacy, and everything else that did not exist when two individuals lived within the same skin, but she never got the chance.

The whisper-soft hiss of the door sliding open and the soft clatter of dishes knocking together announced she had a visitor.

She snapped her legs shut, but not fast enough.

“I saw that,” Bruwes drawled.

She cocked an ear as his heavier footfalls crossed the threshold.

Blindfolded, she could barely remember where she was in relation to the rest of the room, but he sounded like he was passing along her left side.

Whatever happened to those heightened senses people were supposed to develop when they couldn’t see?

The weird echo in his small cabin was confusing her.

He must be setting the dishes on the tiny table by the bed, but was that at the head of the bed, behind it?

When she turned her head to zero in on him, was she facing the wall, the door, the bathroom?

She tried to rub the blindfold up over her ears surreptitiously with her shoulder.

“Did I say you could take your blindfold off?” he asked.

Shit, he’d noticed.

Gagged and bound, there wasn’t a lot she could do, but when she heard his footsteps clumping across the floor grates, she knew there was only a small chance that he was simply walking around the room. He was coming at her.

She tried to scramble fully onto the bed, but his hand caught her anyway. One clamped onto the small of her back, forcing her flat on the mattress; the other gave each of her buttocks a brisk slap.

“Did I?” he asked again.

She shook her head.

“Then why keep doing it, I wonder. Is it because you like the punishment or because you simply aren’t paying attention?”

She wasn’t anywhere near stupid enough to answer that. Not until he grabbed a fistful of her hair, forcing her to—presumably—face him.

“Which is it?” he demanded.

Her pussy throbbed molten all over again. She groaned, clamping her lips as closed as possible over her gag to keep those traitorous sounds back. But even that subtle movement ceased the instant he took hold of her blindfold and tore it off her face, leaving her blinking in the sudden brightness.

“Look at me.”

She did, hesitantly, almost afraid to. He didn’t look angry though.

He almost never does, until it’s too late , it muttered in her head.

“Which is it?” he coaxed, sounding far less demanding now, his voice husky and deep. “Is it the punishment you like?”

His hand on her bottom rubbed, and the hand he’d snatched away her blindfold with returned to the small of her back, holding her down again.

Her breath caught, but before she could even formulate an answer, his hand abandoned her ass and back down it came, slapping hard—not brisk and light, like before—but sharp enough to make her bury her face between her arms again in an effort to smother the shrillness of her cries.

He didn’t stop at just one. He spanked her steadily, each swat seeming to crack into her harder than before. From the top of her ass to the tops of her thighs, where the flesh was so much more sensitive than her ass.

She was too tender for this.

Within only a handful of slaps, it was like he’d never stopped spanking her from before. He’d reawakened every dull pulsing nerve, rekindling that to sharp pain once more, and reigniting that slow flame that once more grew until it consumed her.

Oh, it hurt.

And oh, what that hurt did to her.

Not only was the heat rekindled in her bottom, but it was back between her legs, pulsing the same heady beat as the wounded throb now in the deep muscle tissue of her ass. Her clit was consumed by it.

You didn’t like it when I did that , it noted.

She buried her face in the rumpled bedding, trying so hard to ignore it and just drink in the sensations he was creating.

“No?” Bruwes said. “It’s not the spanking you like? It must be then you’re just not paying attention, is that right?”

That was a double-edge question if she’d ever heard one, and she’d much rather have been stabbed than to be laying here right now, in this vulnerable position, with nothing that she could say to counter him. He wasn’t interested in anything she had to say. If he was, he’d have taken her gag off.

As if he could read her mind, he took her gag off.

She licked her lips, especially in the corners where the gag had cut in a bit. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do any of that.”

“I want to hear you say it,” he demanded. “Say, I wasn’t paying attention.”

She shook her head. “But I?—”

But she, what? She was paying absolutely one-hundred-percent attention, it’s just she had an alien being inside her that made her do things? She’d spank her for an answer like that.

Lissa wilted. “I-I wasn’t paying attention.”

Whatever he did now, surely it had to be better than admitting she needed more spanking.

That was her thought, right up until he slipped his caressing hand up along the slit of her pussy, into the crack of her ass, and pressed his finger against her backhole. It was going in before she could catch a sharp breath.

She squeaked, then shouted as the unexpected pinch of being entered like that rose into a sharp pain. Real pain this time.

Her hands grabbed at empty air behind her back. She would have reached for him, except she already knew that wasn’t going to help her. Resistance only led to more punishment.

“Look at me,” he said.

She groaned, trying so hard not to writhe her hips. The last thing she wanted was to look at the man who had his finger in her bottom. But his insistence was stronger than her embarrassment or arousal.

Craning her neck, she stole a peek at him over her shoulder. His eyes were startlingly red. She wasn’t a grand master at keeping her expressions hidden and that was just unnerving enough that she quickly buried her face in the bedding again.

“Is it going to take two fingers for you to obey, or the whole fucking fist?” he threatened. “Look at me.”