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God, he makes me feel good. There is something about Avel’s lovemaking that is dominant, demanding, but also tender and sweet. In his arms, I feel a very particular kind of cherished. He fucks me damn near senseless, fills my pussy, and gives me the kind of orgasm that makes thought impossible for a while.
But not forever.
I am almost asleep when the words come sliding out of my mouth.
“I don’t want you to beat the others anymore.”
He gives me an amused, indulgent look. “You don’t want me to do the very thing that excited you so much you finally gave into your own desires for submission?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it makes me jealous. And it’s not fair. Imagine if I put my hands on another man or let him put his hands on me.”
I see a flash of outrage in Avel’s eyes.
“I would not like that,” he says. “I will find alternative punishments for any females. It is rare they are referred to me anyway. And a female disciplinarian would be more appropriate anyway.”
I’m surprised at how quickly he agrees to solve my problem. In past attempts at relationships, life has been all about arguing incessantly for days, weeks, maybe even months. Avel does not allow drama to percolate at all. He spots the problem and fixes it. I fucking love that.
3 A LOVELY DINNER PARTY
Raine
For a few days, I find myself enjoying Avel’s company. He treats me as though I am one of the most precious creatures in existence. He cossets me, he spoils me, he cares for me. Having seen him in action in his capacity as enforcer, I have been keeping myself in line so there is no further need for discipline on his part.
I start to forget that I am his captive, and that I am trying to escape. I forget to even try to escape. Life in Avel’s roost is so simple but so satisfying, I let myself just sink into it. But I can’t hold reality off forever, and soon my past catches up with me in the worst possible way: an unwanted dinner invitation I am not allowed to say no to.
“What are we doing? Why are you dressed up?” I ask the question way too innocently.
“We are going to the home of the alpha to partake in a meal,” he says. “Thorn wishes to see you. It goes without saying that you will behave yourself while we are there.”
I’ve broken into the alpha’s home before. The alpha is the saurian who is currently holding the ex-captain of the Mare. Her name is Sullivan, and suffice to say, I am not a fan.
“Will Sullivan be there?”
“I imagine so.”
“Good.”
I have words to say to Sullivan. I am going to make it abundantly clear that she is the reason we are in this situation. I am going to tell her what I think of her. I don’t tell him any of that, of course. I am not stupid. He wouldn’t like the idea of me…
“I want you to be good,” Avel says. “I know there is bad blood between you and the alpha’s mate, but she holds some rank as his chosen bedfellow, and I will need you to respect that.”
“Of course,” I say. I have already learned it is best not to argue with Avel. I’m sure I can find a way to do what I need to do where Sullivan is concerned without making it apparent to him that I have done anything at all. Men, even human men, quite often fail to notice hostilities between women. I can only assume the effect will be amplified by his saurian nature. I should be able to drive Sullivan into a rage while appearing entirely innocent.
“Good,” he says. “Now. Let’s get you ready.”
Before I know it, I am sitting at a dinner table in the alpha’s palatial abode. Avel has dressed me in a blue satin robe-type dress which fits because it wraps around and I can sort of adjust it to work. I don’t care about the dress or how nice Avel looks tonight — and he looks damn nice. I never imagined I would find an alien so incredibly attractive. He is sex on legs. He is pure fucking carnal energy.
Our host is Alpha Thorn. Thorn is one of the most predatory looking saurians I have ever met. He is tall and lean and muscular, and golden red scales trammel the length of his body. He has raven black hair and bright gold eyes, and he is an imposing figure at the head of the table. I’d pay more attention to him, but my mortal enemy is here and she is drawing all my attention.
I am sitting across from the so-called Captain Sullivan, a woman I mutinied against, and to say that the atmosphere is tense is an understatement. Sullivan is a very attractive woman, which has always worked in her favor. She has big green eyes that often well with misguided passion for one stupid idea or another, and the kind of curling blonde hair that always looks perfect if she just scrunches it after a shower. She does not have gravitas in the traditional sense. What she does have is a sort of effusive energy that draws people in and makes them want to be a part of whatever she is doing.
Sullivan tries to avoid my gaze at first, but eventually she can’t help herself and casts occasional glances at me. Every time she does, I give her a cold stare and an even icier smile. My darker appearance, raven dark hair that lightens to violet when it is exposed to the sun, and cool blue eyes, along with added height, made me an enforcer on her ship. I understand Avel’s role well enough.
I look at Avel, curiously. I am wondering how often he feels the same pangs of frustration I used to feel when I had to tolerate the dubious leadership of another. Thorn does not seem nearly as incompetent as Sullivan, but following orders will always grate when one has one’s own sense of how things should be done.
