“Zara,” he frequently scoffed, “this questioning my authority will cost you. Over my lap, now!”
The journey over his lap was usually brief. The last time, she was sure he’d called her his princess as he paddled her bottom with his hand. She might have imagined it though. She’d been pretty wrapped up in the moment.
Damn him. He was so good at saying things that made her believe he was godlike, a super alpha alien. And then there was the other side to him; the caring side, the one who bathed her and soothed her sore ass.
Was he in love with her? She was sure she was in love with him because the thought of being parted was unbearable. She would grieve for him. Before leaving New Phoenix, she’d never believed it possible to fall in love with a Vendu man. However, she’d been proved wrong. It wasn’t that he was romantic, which he wasn’t; it was that he was dominant to the core of his being, and still managed to treat her with respect, ensuring she met his needs as well as her own.
Perhaps she was being unfair. Given he was Vendu, perhaps he was romantic. He’d managed a picnic out on the lawn without complaining. It was a start, she decided, and if they carried on talking to each other, they might get to planning a future before the ordeal was finished. The clock was ticking fast, though; there was only a few days left.
It wasn’t much of an ordeal any longer. Bisma with her knowledge of the intricacies of the original one had shied away from telling Zara what Galen should be doing to her, even when Zara begged to know. She made one last attempt that morning as the two women sat under a tree in the garden having a picnic of their own.
“Take the whippings,” Bisma said. “Nothing more than a light dusting. He teases you, makes you come with it. The last time he had you—”
“Alright,” Zara said swiftly, fanning her flushed face with a frond from a nearby palm tree. The fifty lashes of the whip had been completed two nights ago. It had been less of a lashing and more a string of infuriating tickles punctuated by stinging licks of both whip and his tongue on her clit. “I guess I’m fortunate that Galen isn’t Brynt.”
“Well, Brynt was renowned for his creativity, and I think the judge is starting to show similar skills.” Bisma handed Zara a bowl of grapes.
Zara sucked the juice out of a grape before popping it whole in her mouth. Vendu grew wonderful vines, but never turned them into wine, which was a pity. She mentally slapped her hand. She would not drink ever again, not if she couldn’t control her behavior. Galen had drummed the message into her several times.
With a soft smile on her face, Zara reflected on sex with Galen. Creative was certainly a word that came to mind, as was demanding. The man had boundless energy and could boast an erection like a scaffold pole—nothing brought it down except one of his volcanic climaxes. She loved having him inside her, not just when he fucked her long and hard, but when they simply lay together with him buried balls deep and dozing. Sleeping joined was part of the ordeal, he’d told her. She didn’t care if it was or not; the details of the ordeal were bound by what Galen wanted, not what Brynt had done to Astra a thousand years ago.
As for spanking her, oh, yes, she grinned behind the frond—he could do that too. The arduous spanking in his study after he’d found out about her sister hadn’t been repeated. What he preferred was a string of wallops the moment she hinted at putting a foot wrong, then he could return to the business of loving her with his cock. The gorilla was ideal for these occasions. One minute he was the alpha male in charge, the next the playful man who teased her.
All of his tattoos had meaning to her, just as hers did to him. In private, away from his eyes, she practiced training it, but it was harder than she imagined. So hard she thought it would never happen until it did. She planned to show him, but not yet; they’d still another week to go.
“I must go out… to see,” Bisma stuttered.
“To see Sentaria? Ever since he punished you, miss, you’ve been very keen to spend time with him.”
“Hush, girl. It is not for you to speak on such matters.” Bisma rose and brushed aside the crumbs of bread off her skirt.
“Of course. Forgive me.” Zara hid behind the frond once again.
* * *
With Bisma gone, Zara dozed in the shade. She couldn’t be bothered to study—it was already past three o’clock. And, since she’d replied to her father’s last message only that morning, she could afford the luxury of relaxing in the garden.
According to her father, April was in good spirits. The sisters had chatted by hologram video a week ago, along with the rest of the family. They were grateful for Zara’s efforts in finding a doctor. Zara kept quiet about how exactly she’d found Sentaria.
She’d been such a fool not to speak to Galen about her worries and she regretted keeping things secret. If he’d known the truth, he might have even given her mitigation in the courtroom. Galen hadn’t implied he would have lesse
ned the sentence, but neither had he said he wouldn’t have done. It didn’t matter. The ordeal was the beginning of something in her life, not the end. Even if she and Galen went their separate ways, she’d learned new things about herself, especially what she was capable of doing in the bedroom. In her heart, she was a submissive woman and would need a dominant man to make her truly happy.
However, she reflected with a deep sigh, she would much rather have Galen than any other man—human or Vendu. As part of her plan to prove to him how she felt, she continued to work on taming her tattoos, hoping she could master it before the inks began to leach from her skin. Lying on the ground, listening to the birds and crickets, she was unaware of anyone approaching her.
A strong pair of hands snatched her wrist and yanked her painfully to her feet. The suddenness caused an eruption of adrenaline. Why was Galen being so forceful? She turned to confront him and instead she came face to face with a stranger: a huge man with wild eyes and spiked hair. He wore the black uniform of a soldier but without the insignia or markings of rank. He wasn’t a guard either—they had Galen’s emblem on their uniforms.
He didn’t let go and the pinch hurt. She cried out. “Get off! Let go of me!” She clawed at his hand, trying to pry his fingers away. He slapped her face and the sting brought tears to her eyes.
“Human, aren’t you?” he snarled, his cracked lips parted to reveal sharpened teeth. Under the shadow of the tree, his bulk engulfed her small frame and she cowered. “A puny human. So the Lord Galen keeps a human slave all to himself.” His laughter was little more than a rumbling sound in the back of his throat.
“I am not a slave,” she declared. Be brave, be strong!
He grabbed a handful of her hair and forced her head back. He exhaled sour breath into her upturned face. “Pretty girl.” He licked his dry lips. “I’m thirsty. Find me water.”
He pushed her toward the house and she stumbled along, trying to keep up with his long strides. At no point did he loose his grip on her arm. Bruises were forming under his pincer-like fingers.
She felt fear everywhere; it was running rampant in her body. From the pit of her belly, up to the back of the constricted throat and down into her weakened knees. Come on, Zara, get a grip. She couldn’t fight him, but she might be able to outwit him if she kept calm.