Yet she’d made it unavoidable. She’d begged for it. Tempting him with that body. Yielding to him with such grace. She only made him think he was in control. But in actuality, she’d been controlling him from the very beginning, hadn’t she?
He may be the one holding the whip, but she chose to take her whippings. She bent so easily, she’d never break. And in the end...in the end, maybe he’d been broken.
He’d lost everything. The hopes and dreams of a Zandian restart. The project he’d nursed for so many solar cycles. The last viable Zandian egg.
Not just that. He’d lost his mind. Probably his very soul, because he didn’t know who he became when he was with Bayla.
And he hadn’t forgiven her. The sex took the edge off his anger, but the underlying resentment was still there. The simmering anger at what she’d done. The sense of betrayal.
He needed to get away from her. He needed some space to find his head again. To decide what to do with the slave who was no longer of use to him.
Except that lie made his chest implode. She may not be of scientific use, but he could certainly think of a great many uses for her. Most of them involved her on her back with her legs spread. His mouth sucking on one of those pouty nipples until she got wet. Or sucking on her core, tasting her tangy essence while she writhed and wriggled in his grasp.
But he wanted to be cruel to her, too. Wanted to take a leather strap to her ass every planet rotation, keep her sore and sorry, surrendered. And that wasn’t fair. He might actually hurt her, like he almost had the night before.
And keeping her close to him wouldn’t help him find control.
He stalked into the washroom and shucked his clothing, and stepped into the washtube. Better to wash Bayla’s scent from his body. Erase her from his mind. He needed space. Quiet. Sanity.
When he stepped out, clean and damp, he’d firmed his resolve. He put on his clothes and returned to the chamber.
Bayla lay in the same position he’d left her—humped over the bolster, her ass on display, legs parted. She still wore marks from her caning the night before. Neat red intersecting lines decorated her pale skin. Her dark hair spread out on the coverlet in silky waves.
He realized she probably hadn’t moved because he’d left her cuffed there. “Release cuffs,” he commanded, and the wrist cuffs fell apart.
“Wash and dress and gather up your things. I’m moving you to your own room.”
She hadn’t moved from position, but now she jerked up to sit. “Why?”
“I wish you to remain out of my sight.”
Her beautiful, bow-shaped lips parted, long-lashed doll eyes blinked. She scrambled to stand. “We had a bargain.” She sounded stronger than he’d expected, proof her submission was a farce. “I agreed to stay as your slave.”
His lips tightened. “If you wish, I will return you to the Ocretions.”
The color drained from her face but she jerked her chin into the air, grabbing her clothing from the floor and marching to the washroom. “That won’t be necessary. I’ll stay out of your sight.”
Odd. His mind ran in several directions. He wanted to laugh at how cute she was mad almost as much as he had to fight the overarching need to soothe her. But this was what he wanted. Bayla out of his hair. What did he care if she threw herself a fit over it?
Clearing his throat for no one in particular, he left the chamber. He needed to get the servants to clean up the mess he’d made in his lab and to arrange a chamber for Bayla. After that, she was on her own. Not forever. Until he knew his own mind again. Until he had control of his emotions and stopped thinking with his cock. Until he was sure he was the master and not her slave.
Chapter Nine
Bayla knocked on the prince’s door to check on Lamira. Though she’d showered and dressed, she felt anything but refreshed. A crushing weight pushed on her chest. Her joints had turned brittle, like she’d aged forty solar cycles. Cold numbness started in her hands and feet and crept its way up to her trunk.
The door slid open. Lamira lay propped up on the sleep disk, Lily, Leora, and Cambry by her side.
Bayla hesitated. The princess probably didn’t want her there, not when she had the women of her family to support her.
“Come in.” Lamira’s green eyes searched Bayla’s face with sympathy. She held a hand out.
Bayla had no choice but to enter and take the princess’s hand.
“Thank you for your help last night,” Lamira said.
She lowered her gaze. “It was the least I could do,” she mumbled.
An awkward silence followed, which Cambry, the bold redheaded female, finally ended. “I don’t blame you for what you did,” she said. “They think humans are animals to be used and bred. They forget we have hearts and minds, too.”