His Human Slave (Zandian Masters 1)

She curled up in a little ball, hiccupping.

Unbelievably, his cuff flashed her readout.

Forty percent aroused.

She’d been aroused by the whipping?

Well, he’d breed her then. He didn’t care if he hurt her doing it. Hell, he should take her ass for this, but he didn’t have the control to be careful enough not to cause her real damage.

His head still swam with the shock of her deceit, her betrayal. He’d wanted to pound Gunt’s face in when he told him she’d offered herself up to him.

He grabbed her thighs and yanked her to the edge of the sleepdisk on her stomach.

She turned her tear-streaked face to the side, but stared only at the wall. She was listening, perhaps, for what he would do next.

He nudged her feet apart and she spread her legs, fully compliant, despite her pitiful sobs.

Something in his chest constricted.

No. He wouldn’t feel sorry for her. She deserved her punishment.

He shoved his pants down enough to free his cock.

She offered no resistance when he rubbed the head of his cock over her entrance. In fact, he found her pussy slick and welcoming.

He pushed in. His nostrils flared at the glory of her tight, moist heat. Even now, even after what she’d done, he wanted her as much as always.

Damn Daneth and his vecking program, picking this vecking human for him to breed with.

He slammed inside her, slapping his loins against her flayed ass without care.

She whimpered, still crying softly into his blankets.

No. No pity for her.

He pumped his hips, ignoring her readouts flashing her arousal rate. He didn’t care about her orgasm this time. He would leave his seed and she would take it up, like a good slave or she’d never leave her vecking cage again.

With punishing strokes, he pounded into her, squeezing his eyes closed to block out the noise in his head and the tightness in his chest. He didn’t draw it out on purpose. It certainly wasn’t her weeping that delayed his orgasm, but he vecked her so long, he grew tired of the position.

He flipped her over.

Her wide, frightened eyes made him grit his teeth. He would not be soft on her.

He clipped her wrists and ankles to the posts on his sleepdisk, spreading her limbs wide.

Her belly fluttered with her sobbing breaths, chest heaved. “I didn’t do it, Zander.” Her reddened eyelids fluttered.

“Silence,” he bellowed and slapped her face. It wasn’t a hard slap. He would never mark her beautiful face. He covered her mouth with his hand and mounted her.

~.~

Lamira closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear Zander’s angry countenance. The only thing keeping her from utter desperation was the tiny voice in her head saying, this means he cares. Because surely he would not be so angry over his belief she’d offered herself to Gunt if he didn’t feel something for her.

And that knowledge was as satisfying as his angry thrusts deep inside her. She needed this breeding—even as angry as he was. Even as helpless and vulnerable and hurting as she was. Her swollen ass flamed, tender and so raw against his soft sheets.

Zander growled and slammed into her three more times then came.

Her own body responded without any prompting, squeezing his cock, finding her finish in perfect synchronization to his. It was as if, despite all her mental rebellion, her body knew its master. It responded always to his presence, to his touch—whether harsh or gentle.