Zandian Pet (Zandian Masters 7)

The lounge owner loved that she’d been trained as a sex pet, almost as much as he loved the color of her skin, her species exotic for a slave. He showed her off to all his best clients, demanded a parade of her tricks: the leash and collar, the way she crawled and licked fingers.

She didn’t move, not out of a show of will, but because her brain couldn’t process the command, and when it did, her legs didn’t obey her brain.

Prium scowled, and she regained her head, dropping to her hands and knees and crawling toward the Zandian, but not before her owner produced a leather tawse.

The Zandian gave a miniscule shake of his head, brows lowered, and she halted halfway there. Immediately, his expression went blank again, eyes sweeping the cell with a disinterested air.

“Get over here and greet your master for the hour,” Prium hissed.

Her throat closed, not at Prium’s anger or the certainty of punishment. It was because of the Zandian. Some unknown emotion surged up and choked her, now, some vulnerability or desire. Or was it grief? Did seeing him remind her of all that she’d lost? What she’d become?

Don’t cry.

She never cried. Hadn’t in years.

She hadn’t seen a Zandian since the airship carrying her, her sister, and a Zandian boy crashed escaping the invasion and she’d been captured as a slave. She forced her knees to move forward, crawled to the Zandian, who Prium had ushered to the padded bench in the middle of the cell.

He didn’t wear the traditional Zandian dress of a white tunic and leggings. Instead, he wore an expensive and perfectly tailored black flight suit with a sword belt, empty of its weapon, at his waist. All customers were disarmed when they entered Prium’s.

She arrived at his polished animal-hide boots and dropped to her heels, kneeling before him. Her nipples pointed forward, tight and achy.

Prium stood over both of them, glowering down at her. “Mina, this is your master for the hour.”

The Zandian didn’t meet her gaze. He didn’t ogle her body, either. Instead, he seemed to stare at a spot above her left ear.

“Elbows on the bench,” Prium clipped, patting the space beside the Zandian. “You know how I deal with disobedience.”

She slid into position, registering the tension in the male beside her, though he outwardly showed none.

Prium drew his arm back, but the Zandian surged forward and caught his wrist. “I’ll do it.” His voice was deep and resonant. It sent a flash of fire through her body, coating her with tingles of heat. It couldn’t be just his presence that had this effect on her, could it?

Was this what happened between members of her species during breeding season? That might be part of it, but there was some other power to him. A familiar energizing power. One that gave her strength, too. Zandian crystal. She almost gasped when she realized. He must have one on him.

She’d forgotten how good it felt. How clean her body ran with it nearby, not needing to eat food every day the way she had since she’d been away.

Well, this planet rotation improved every minute. She turned her neck to scan his fingers for rings, but saw none. Nor did he wear any necklaces or bands around his wrists. Perhaps in his pockets? She’d have to check them while she serviced him.

Prium nodded and handed the Zandian the animal hide tawse—a wide leather strap, split in two at the whipping end. “Make it good, or I’ll give her double when you’ve gone.”

There. The surge of interest again. Like she’d had while watching the human girl getting whipped in the cell across the way, only stronger. More excitement, less shame. Because this master, the male before her, was exactly the sort she had fantasized about.

Whip me, Master.

“I’ll make her sorry.”

Her pussy clenched.

The Zandian’s knuckles whitened where he held the tawse, though his expression was one of boredom. He stood and positioned himself to her left, drawing the tawse back.

Excitement raced through her. Fear, too, although she’d never cowered from punishment before. Something about having a worthy master made punishment completely different. She wanted to please him.

Badly.

But she didn’t have time to examine that insanity, because she needed to keep her wits. This male may provide her best opportunity for escape.

His arm swung, and he struck her with the tawse.

She went up on her toes, her breath screaming in, belly hollowing out with the pain. Even as her buttocks twitched in response to the blow, her pussy clenched and released. Heat poured down her limbs.