Page 22 of The Commander

The commander was going to do something to the muzzle heads that had betrayed him, and he didn’t want Cara to watch. For a sarcastic, sadistic, seven foot tall alien with an exoskeleton and two tongues—as far as she could tell—his abashed expression when he tried to explain he didn’t want her to see was rather adorable.

Dammit, she really liked the alien. Everyone else on the planet agreed he deserved the proverbial fate worse than death, and there Cara was, dick whipped and falling in love. Brenda had told her that she was weird because she was a virgin, because she liked to read the old histories, because—lots of reasons. None of them had anything about Cara being alien compatible.

Alone, Cara didn’t hide her silly giggle. It was too funny, really. Brenda had spent a lot of time talking about sex, and none of it sounded half as fun or as good as what Cara had done with Bastian. Her friend could think whatever she wanted. Cara had the better boyfriend.

Only the boyfriend title didn’t fit the masculine, dark eyed monster. It was a good thing Cara’s dad wasn’t alive. “Hey dad, I was out setting traps for food, you know, to help me and some other people survive after this alien invasion. And I met one! When can he come over?”

Maybe Cara was past falling. She’d fallen. That was the only way in this hellscape of a life that Commander Bastian could be cute when he was telling her he was going to handle his men—probably murder them with their own organs—but he didn’t want her to watch.

She didn’t want to watch that either. She wasn’t that type. She hated those red hats. They all deserved to die for their crimes, but the sights and sounds of the slaughterhouse had never appealed to her.

Bastian took her back to the apartment, slowing his steps to match hers, a hand on her back. She reached over and grabbed his big one, showing him how to hold hands. He looked down and blinked. Mouth slanted down, eye ridges slanted up, he wore a perplexed expression. There was no knowing for sure what his facial features translated to. He didn’t let go as they walked the rest of the way across the old human cul-de-sac to where he lived on the other side.

“You’ll stay put, Kitten.” He bent over her, acting stern and mean. What had his computer called him?

“Yeah, sure. Dude.”

He winced. His expression softened; the effect ruined. “Don’t.”

“What?” she rolled her eyes to the side in innocence.

“I’ll be happy to discipline you, Kitten. I can’t do anything to the P.I. Perhaps, when our future is settled, I will take out all my frustration with that irritating device on your pretty little bottom.” He tapped her lips with a too long finger.

Why was it so sexy when he called her ass a ‘pretty little bottom’ in that growly purr voice? He’d spanked her a little before. It had stung like a motherfucker. Not an experience she wanted to repeat.

Then it shouldn’t make her hot. Not in any way. Yet it did. Embarrassingly so. His threat pulled on a string inside her middle that spilled heat down to her center, a direct call line to her crazy talking pussy. The thing was tireless.

Cara had woken up stiff and sore after that last nap. Her thighs, lower back, and arms hurt so much that it had taken a moment to stand. She knew it was just from all the new types of exercise. That pain eased a little as she moved. Other parts weren’t so lucky. She should ask for a cream or something. Her girl parts should know better than to give this man any reason to discipline her. “I’m a bit sore. Not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Are you? Then you don’t want to become more sore.”

He sounded too pleased by the prospect. “Don’t you have some other things to discipline now? You can exercise some of that frustration on them.”

His eyes slit. “Yes. I plan to.”

He picked her up and bumped the flat of his nose against hers before licking across her lips with his tongue.

“Eww, what was that?”

“A French kiss.”

“No. No, it’s not.”

“Then show me.”

Tentatively, she touched her lips to his. His breath whispered across her mouth in invitation.

“Open, just a little,” she instructed. She’d never done this before, not really. If he’d kissed her already, she didn’t remember it.

The few encounters she’d had in Springfield, at Brenda’s encouragement, didn’t count. She’d always lost her nerve, her fear of getting pregnant overriding the short bursts of drunken courage.

Everything was different with him. He was different. This was an awful world, and he was an awful creature, but of all the things she had feared in life, getting pregnant was suddenly no longer one of them. Intimacy was no longer one of them.

She wouldn’t lose her courage now.

Eyes fluttering shut, she parted her lips, relishing the intimacy as their mouths moved together. She slipped her tongue forward, seeking his.

A shudder rippled through him at her touch. He was such a massive, indestructible creature, but the soft brush of her tongue across the tip of his cock made him shake.

Taking over, his fingers dug into Cara’s short hair, tilting her head as he deepened the contact, his tongue seeking hers, delving deep. He tasted as he smelled, of things she couldn’t name, spicy, warm, and mouthwatering.

She arched into him, trying to get as close as she could. A whimper escaped her as she felt the proof of his desire pressing urgently against her abdomen. She wrapped her legs around his torso as far as she could, her body remembering how he’d carried her on the way back from the forest.

He took up her vision, her world, until only his mouth remained, until everything was about him.

Tilting apart, their breaths ragged and pulses pounding, Cara met the unearthly consuming black of his eyes. His jaw worked, flexing the plains of his face as they both took in the exquisite pleasure of the moment—their searing kiss exposed all her swelling desires for Bastian.

A deep inhale swelled his chest. “Mate.”

He knew. What she was thinking, the way her wanton pussy flexed when those memories flashed, unbidden, through her head, as if she wanted a repeat performance.

“Later, you will let me do the French Kiss. Everywhere.” Tapping a hard forehead to hers, he set her down, away from him. “Behave.”

“I’ll wait right here.”

“By yourself,” he grumbled.

“Well, yes. Do you see any other choice?”

“On Sarria, my younger brothers, or my battler second, or my son would stay when I could not be with you,” he explained.

“Always? I’d never be alone?” She skipped over the mention of a son and got right to the point.

“You would be alone in our home and naked, waiting for me. My brothers would be outside,” he stated as if he couldn’t imagine why she’d question the idea.

Cara wasn’t some sex goddess to be lying around naked and waiting for him to use his big, alien cock on her. Or was she? Gawd, wouldn’t that be so much better than an eight hour, backbreaking, boring work detail?

With Bastian, her struggles in the human led settlements ended. She’d get some privacy. No communal toilets and showers. Only he would see her. That wasn’t so bad. Under his gaze, she completely forgot all the reasons why she didn’t want anyone to see her naked.

Plus, his apartment was quiet. No one yelling in the hall or crying in the bunk across from her. She would have neat and tidy housing with him—no lice and no rats—and escape the other choices of human dormitories or trying to make a home in some crumbling apartment within the borders of the town.

Squeezing her to him one more time, acting as if it was difficult to pull himself away, he left, setting a security lock behind him. She was locked in, but Cara had a suspicion that was more to keep others out than to cage her. Which was weird. It was all weird. But she was just going to have to deal.

With nothing to do, she searched the apartment. If she was going to live here, she needed to know what she had to work with. Earlier, when getting her clothing, Bastian had shown her drawers stuffed with random human things.

He’d shoved more than clothing out of the way after he moved in. Maybe there were books, or a vid set, or the holies of all holies, a music player. She’d lost all her treasures when she wouldn’t do what Danov wanted. The bastard confiscated the belongings she’d managed to carry over from the last town, leaving her and Brenda only what they had on them.

There was a very good chance that when they went to see Brenda, Danov and all his henchmen, even Andy, would die. There was something in how Bastian spoke to that computer voice, and his plans to deal with his own people, which warned her he would show no mercy. He seemed like the type that would just plow through Danov’s mismanagement like a bomb, with little care for the fallout.

Cara’s experience with bad people was that they stayed bad. Her father had warned her repeatedly. He’d made her read the histories and pore over the news articles, encouraging her to always find the truth. Some people made honest mistakes. Others made choices, and their mistake was thinking no one would notice or care. And still others made knowing choices, thinking they were above the consequences, like Danov and Andy, who preyed on those who were weak, desperate, and stupid.

Her father had told her to watch out for predators.

He’d never expected her to fall for one of the biggest, most dangerous predators on the planet—the kind that hunted other predators and wiped them off the face of the planet.

The kind with thick skin and pointed teeth, which had to wear specially sized clothing.