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Would she be afraid of him upon his return?
Would she despise him for slaughtering her people?
Merokk finished reading Rentzaq’s full account of the situation, including the lie Fiona had told when she claimed to have ordered Chrisna to retrieve the old tablet from storage. He found himself holding back another growl.
Fiona knew better. She knew his strong disdain for lies.
She wasn’t allowed to lie to him or, by extension, the guards who worked for him. A rule he’d put in place long ago to establish trust in their marriage. Lying to Rentzaq wasn’t acceptable, and she would answer for her misbehavior.
He couldn’t fault her for watching the news reels on the tablet, which Rentzaq had detected and disabled after conducting a final sweep of the house, but he could fault her for lying and no doubt putting Chrisna in an awkward situation with her husband. No female servant wanted to be caught between her duty to her husband and loyalty to the mistress she served. Again, Fiona ought to know better.
His palm twitched as he imagined spanking her bottom bright red, then finishing her punishment with a severe strapping.
He pulled up the security footage from inside the house, watching and listening to his errant wife commit her misdeeds. He’d informed her from the start of their marriage that he had no tolerance for untruths of any kind, that he wouldn’t be played for a fool.
By the time the airship touched down in his backyard, he was seething with fury. But he was also throbbing with need. His cock was so hard he had difficulty walking, and he fought the urge to readjust himself in his pants. At least he’d already taken the armor off.
He stormed off his airship and entered the house, scanning the foyer for any signs of his wayward wife, but she was nowhere to be seen. At this hour, so early in the morning the sun hadn’t yet risen, he supposed she might be sleeping. He would find her and rouse her from her slumber and make use of her body. He would take any orifice he wished as many times as he desired. Then she would face his wrath. She would tremble and plead and ultimately surrender to the punishment he saw fit to give her.
Rentzaq appeared in a doorway, though he kept his distance. “I would like to apologize for my wife’s unacceptable behavior, Ambassador. I have already dealt with her, and she will apologize to you herself tomorrow.”
Merokk was so focused on getting upstairs and confronting his own wife that Rentzaq’s words barely registered. But he nodded and mumbled something about accepting the apology before dashing upstairs to the third floor.
He burst into his bedroom and released a thunderous growl, his vision blurring as all the blood in his body rushed to his steel-hard cock.
Fluxx, he needed to be buried inside Fiona now.
He would scold her and thrash her later.
A petite form unfurled from a sofa near the window, and Fiona peered at him with wide, frightened eyes. Her gaze swept up and down his body, her face going pale.
“Merokk. You’re back. I-I must’ve fallen asleep.” She tried to rise to her feet, but he placed a hand on her shoulder and prevented her from rising. “Are you injured?” she asked in a trembling voice.
“I’m fine, and my people were victorious.” His reply came out in a deep raspy tone that sounded foreign to his own ears. He wound his fingers through her soft, auburn hair and gave a harsh yank.
Fiona gasped and placed her hand atop his, but he didn’t loosen his hold on her locks. Instead, he tightened his grip and released a feral snarl as her feminine scent assaulted his senses. Beneath the pungency of her growing slickness, he detected her fear, a cold sensation in his nostrils. It made his cock harder.
He pulled her from the sofa and let go of her hair, only to take a firm hold of her arm. Without a word, he dragged her to the bed. She whimpered but didn’t dare resist. He ripped every stitch of clothing from her body and tossed the remnants of fabric aside. Lifting her up, he arranged her bent over the bed.
After spreading her thighs wide, he delivered two sharp slaps to her slick pink folds. Despite the coldness of her fear, she was aching for him, her nether area plump and glistening under a healthy sheen of arousal. She made a pitiful keening noise and tried to rise on her toes, but the new bed he’d recently purchased didn’t allow her to reach the floor in such a position.
He growled and withdrew his cock from his pants, fisted it once, then plunged deep into her welcoming heat. Tight. By the ancient gods, she was so fluxxing tight. Or rather, she was a tiny creature, and her pussy was barely able to accommodate his girth. Her insides clamped snugly around his shaft, causing another growl to rip from his throat.
He pulled out of her slick hole only to slam back inside a moment later. He pounded her with all the fury of the bloodlust that lingered in his psyche, the residual violence that had morphed to primal desire.
She continued whimpering and gasping and even moaning, and the scent of her fear-tinged arousal remained heavy in the air. Sweet and cold and so fluxxing delicious.
As he pounded her faster and deeper, the edges of his vision darkened, and waves of heat pummeled him. Sensation zipped up his thighs, and his scrotum tingled and tensed as he conquered the little human who belonged to him.
He was mad for her. Fluxxing deranged.
Fisting her hair in one hand, he leaned down and placed his lips at her ear, not pausing the rapid plunges into her pussy. “Who owns this tight, slick hole of yours, little female?”
She whined and clutched at the covers. “You-you do.”
A growl of pleasure escaped him, and he twisted her hair until tears sprang to her eyes. He could smell them, just as he could smell her arousal and her fear. “That’s right, Fiona. Your pussy belongs to me, and I will fuck it for as long as I wish. You’re going to be a good wife and take every hard thrust I give you, aren’t you?”
He emitted a snarl, let go of her hair, and straightened to take hold of her ass. He spread her bottom cheeks wide, exposing her shy pucker, driving home again and again.
