Page 7 of The Commander

He highly enjoyed watching her delicious anxiety creep over her face whenever he brought his blade into her view. Not ideal for meticulous work, he wanted this edge so that he could enjoy her wide eyed expression and inhale more of her delectable fear scent.

Her concentration on everything he did crackled between them, a static energy raising the fine hairs on both her arms. It added to the building need in his own center—an uncompromising pressure started by the ingestion of her blood.

Biting her lip, she fought her response to his nearness with endearing fortitude. Not that it was going to do her any good. He was certain now that she was born to succumb to him. He’d leave her no choice in the matter, anyway.

A touch of his blade cut the ropes. She could move after the first few coils on her legs loosened, but he made her stay in his arms, skin to skin. He protected her flesh while cutting the bindings. He could be gentle. “The red hats were rough with you, cruel, I know. They are such louts. I know your shoulders hurt. Your head? From that blow you took?”

He ran his fingers over the back of her skull, through the soft threads of her hair. She flinched away when he touched the bump.

“Please don’t.”

“I have something for that. And you’re exhausted. Hungry. Hurting.” Holding her tension filled body, he knew she wanted him to stop touching her. Too bad she wasn’t going to get what she wanted.

Her silky skin felt good under his fingers. He sought out all the sore spots where the muscles burned warm and distressed under the skin. Her shoulders, arms, joints—he rubbed at them.

She didn’t say thank you.

“My clothes.” She drew her legs together, curled inward, and tried to cover her female parts.

“You don’t need those right this minute.” She didn’t. She looked good unclothed. It wasn’t natural for her since she lacked durable protection against the elements, but he liked seeing her soft parts exposed.

She examined what was left of what she had been wearing with a turned down mouth and wrinkled chin. “Something to cover myself with?”

“It’s all right. You’ll be fine.” He softened his voice to a near whisper, projecting as much empathy for her situation as he could manage. He hoped that’s how it sounded.

“What do you want? What are you going to do? You said you would release me.” She used the reminder like an accusation.

Bastian ignored that.

She tolerated his support, her body rigid. Her naked back fit against his chest perfectly. He couldn’t wait to explore the curve of her ass where he’d spanked her, find the delta leading to the hole that would take him in and squeeze him. He would release her, yes.

Oh, he would. Then they would play.

He counted the bruises left behind by the night duty’s care. Looked like his ranks would be short a few grunts. It was time to line the streets to the town with fresh meat, anyway. Control might balk at sending down fresh red hats, but they would deal.

“They were very rough with you, Kitten. I do not approve. How would you like it if I got rid of those who did this?”

“Do what you said. Let me go. Let me stand. I’m fine. Do you have? I mean, is there something I can put on? A blanket?” She asked her questions so meekly he wished he could appease her.

Thankfully, that errant wish passed. There were other games to play first.

“Take some deep breaths. Regain your strength. Do you remember what I said about how to get out of this place? You need to trust me on taking the proper turn. I am not lying about that, or the broken door.”

“I remember.”

“I’m going to step back from you in a moment and count to twenty. It will go like this: one, inhale, exhale, two, and so on.”

She gave him a confused expression that said she didn’t understand.

“You can do it with me like we did before when we breathed together. Show me.” He forced his grip to loosen, every muscle resisting the motion.

Perched naked on the table, the faint imprints of rope traced her skin. Shadows stained the area beneath her eyes, tension pressing her lips into a taut line. Yet, the strength etched into every inch of her made her irresistible—a survivor. She had battled moments of panic, but even in those, she hadn’t crumbled to anything. Bastian knew the fight in her soul, and he craved it. He’d decided to claim it. Keep it.

She looked over her shoulder at the closed door, the window above his head, and finally back at him.

“Not yet, Kitten. It might be harder for you to stand than you think, and I don’t have the water for you that you humans need. Take a moment. Breathe with me. You are good at following directions, and I want you to understand exactly what I will be doing. One—Two—Three. Good girl. Do you understand what I’m going to do next?”

Trying to figure him out, she didn’t respond. She was over thinking this. And that was not what he wanted. Returning to her side, he pushed her head down, ass up, and smacked her on her shapely curves to get her attention. Ignoring her shout and instinctive kicks, he used the same rhythm he would use when he counted to twenty. Noisy, sharp slaps on the roundest parts.

“What am I going to do?” he asked.

“Breathe. Count. What do you want from me? Stop!” She tried to push his hands away, fighting him now that she was free of restraints.

“I’m going to count. Like this,” Bastian demonstrated again how his counting would sound, punctuating his exhale with a stinging spank.

“Count. You’re going to fucking count,” she seized on the answer and screamed it out.

One more swat, to make sure his handprint would glow on her ass like a warning sign to any stupid grunt whose attention she caught before he let her go. His boot heel crunched on the floor as he stepped back from the table.

“That’s right. Just so. They caught you unfairly, between a group of alien dicks and a group of human dicks, is that right? Not your fault. And we can’t have that, can we? Fair is important to humans. So now you’ll have another chance. Humans like second chances, yes? You have until I reach the number twenty. Then I’m coming for you.”

She blinked at him. He didn’t wait for understanding to dawn on her. “Run now, Kitten. Run.”

She didn’t move.

Bastian counted, “One.” He breathed in and out dramatically, his hands going to his shirt to unbutton it.

He watched ten different scenarios cross her face, twisting her mouth—not a single thought disguised from him. Should she run? Was this a joke? No clothes? He said he wouldn’t kill me. What’s happening? One thought after another as her legs moved and she slipped to the floor in a clumsy, stiff bodied maneuver.

He took in each quiver and sway of her breasts. Her nipples were the color of flower petals. Tips drawn tight. A flutter crossed the surface of her smooth belly with her panicked breaths. The muscles of her thighs flexed as she stood, turned, wobbled, and finally went for the door to take her chance.

Just lovely.

He kept counting, already to four, by the time she looked at the door. Then, back at him and then to the door—deciding to run. Showing him his own handprint again, the exit squeaked open under her pull on the knob. She dashed, wild and terrified, into the hall.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

He undressed while he counted. Each measured breath was an exercise in control.

The research into this species and their effect on prime battlers had been correct.

This fight was over before it began. He saw that clearly now. Too late.

He wasn’t going to waste time attempting to talk himself out of a luscious inevitable like Kitten. Why bother? He had slicked up good and hot in readiness. Escaping the seam where his body naturally kept it tucked away, his rut swelled his cock to an obnoxious point. It was ready to vibrate and deliver his semen to her eggs. He’d have to go after her, with a ridiculously full erection, broadcasting his need to mate, to take, to breed.

He would keep his word to her despite the demand riding his ass. Wait until he reached the number twenty. Catching her again was a simple matter. He hadn’t said which room hid the broken door. If she didn’t stumble, if she went straight there, she could make it before he stopped counting. But her confused delay had cost her.

He’d set male prisoners on this gauntlet before, a catch and release and catch again game to break them down.

The red hats could be evaded. But no human survived a prime battler.

He’d memorized Kitten’s smell, ingested it, and broken it down. It was inside him, where he owned the different flavors of it. She’d started the prime battler mating ritual for him, even if she didn’t know it. She could not escape. And she could not hide.

He counted. Waiting. Listening as she reached the end of the hall and made the turn, feeling the vibrations of her progress through the floor and in the air. She was a blaze of frantic red in his mind’s eye.

He heard a door moving. There was no light to see by in the old teaching rooms—not even from windows. Someone had painted the glass black before the Sarrian ever took over the building. Her footsteps went inside the wrong room. Came back out.

Precious time wasted.

Fourteen.

Fifteen.

Sixteen.

Another wrong door opened. A sound of denial followed by one of pain as she did something, hurting herself. More time used.

Eighteen.

Nineteen.

Twenty.

“Here I come, Kitten.”