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But that was not possible. This was a small, overly tight, pathologically lying human female. She was not worthy of royal status. She was a stranger, and an untrustworthy one at that.
“You should be in a cage,” he told her as he laid her down on his bedding, trying not to show how careful he was being not to hurt her. “But I think the ship would only release you.”
She looked up at him with fuck-dazed eyes. “Is the ship alive? Is it like an animal? Or a sentient plant, or…”
“I am not going to answer any of your questions. You have seen far too much already, spy.”
He was being harsh, because he was deeply concerned as to how much he had enjoyed mating with her. He’d fucked a lot of females in his time as king. Being king led to a great deal of sexual opportunity. But none like the one he had just exploited with the human who was making herself comfortable on his bed.
She grabbed his pillow, pulled it close to her body and looked over it at him.
“I’m not a spy. I have no means of contacting my planet. I have no way home. What kind of a spy is cut off from everything she’s ever known and left to be killed by an alien king?”
“Maybe you’re not a very good spy. Maybe you were burned. Or maybe you’re in deep cover. Maybe being abandoned to space is how you are seeking to garner pity from others. There is a myriad of possibilities. But I know one thing for sure: you were caught sneaking about my ship twice, and the second time you were eliciting information from my engineer under false pretenses.”
Her lower lip quivered, and her eyes welled with human water.
She was crying again.
He did not like it when she cried. It made him feel bad. It made his chest clench and emotions he was not familiar with flooded him, highest among them, one of reluctant guilt.
The ship seemed to like it though, it grew little tendrils toward the places where her tears landed on the bed, and small purple blooms emerged from the places they found them.
“Do not attempt to make me pity you, human. I know you are here to destroy us.”
“I’m doing as good a job of that as you are of hitting anything with a missile,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes on the back of her sleeve.
His first impulse was to anger, but surprise at her sass made him burst out with a gruff peal of laughter.
“You mock me, human?”
“You make a mockery of yourself,” she said, very bravely he thought, given he had just finished completely physically dominating her. He had taken her body and made it his own. He had pleasured himself in the tight crevice of her sex, stretched her to what felt like close to the limits of what she could take. There was no doubt she understood his might and power, but still she maintained a core of steely strength which seemed unreachable by all his brutality and domination.
She had become interesting to him. At first, he had considered her nothing more than a distraction from the humiliation of Dominax’s poor hospitality, but now she had become something of an end to her own means, if that made sense. He didn’t care if it didn’t. He cared that she cared, that her emotional state had already merged with his, as two plants might coil around one another. He had joined with her physically, and in the process appeared to have merged emotionally.
From now on, if he hurt her, he would be hurting himself.
But she was still potentially a spy, a possibly dangerous interloper on his vessel. And the fact that he and the ship had both already forged some chemical connection with her did not make her any less dangerous.
For now, however, he had a crying woman lying on his bed.
What could he do to make her better? He considered being nicer to her, but nice wasn’t really his MO.
“Are you hungry?” He tried offering her food.
He was hungry. He had expected to be feasting on the finest meats Dominax had to offer, so he had refrained from his usual breakfast.
“A little,” she sniffed.
“What would you like to eat, human?”
“I don’t know. What do you have to eat?”
Konan frowned. “If you tell me what you want, I can get you something close to it.”
“I don’t know what I feel like. You decide.”
“Very well. We have the flesh of a bird which is…”
“No, I don’t feel like bird.”
“What do you feel like?”
“I don't know.”
“Are you trying to create the most frustrating conversation in all existence?”
“Do you have cake?”
“Explain cake.”
It’s like bread, made from flour of plants, but it is also sweet and rich. Sort of sweet and fatty and bready, and ideally coated in a substance we call chocolate.”
