Their Zandian Mate (Zandian Masters 9)

Laake looked to Damon.

“We’ll each pick a punishment and administer it,” Damon said. “Our choice of position and implement—nothing too harsh. I believe she’s sorry, don’t you?”

The other two males both agreed.

“She doesn’t appear particularly rebellious, either.” He took a step closer and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Which is a shame. I should have liked taming her.” He relaxed the grip on her chin and slid his fingers lower, closing around her throat. He didn’t squeeze, but she jerked back, genuine fear flooding her, triggered by bad memories with her ex-mates.

Damon immediately released her at the same time Granit reached to knock his hand away. “She doesn’t like that,” Granit growled.

“Shh,” Damon murmured, not to Granit, but to her. He gripped her jaw and leaned forward, brushing his lips across hers. “You’re safe, little flower. We would never harm you. Just a little pain to teach you a lesson and then we can move onto your training.” He smiled a predatory grin that sent flutters to her tummy.

“My training?” Somehow, she managed to make her lips move.

“Yes.” He thumbed both nipples at the same time, making them burn with milk letdown. When his thumbs came away wet, he leaned forward and flicked his tongue over one pebbled nipple, then the other. “Your rehabilitation. Making sure you’re fit for Zandian society.” To Granit, he said, “Keep her arms pulled high.”

Granit complied, stretching her wrists higher above her head. Laake wandered to the implement bin, dividing his attention between her punishment and what he found there.

Damon shocked the hell out of her by slapping one breast. “For my part, Eslyn, I hope you’re a slow learner. I would hate to return you to Prince Zander too soon.” He kicked her feet wider. “Spread your legs, beautiful. I need access to all your tender parts.”

She whimpered, tugging against Granit’s grasp on her wrists, which earned her a firm slap on the ass from the scarred warrior. Pussy dripping, she followed Damon’s trek to the bin with her gaze, watching him retrieve a thin, slender strap.

Real panic set in—not so much because she believed it would be too painful or damaging, but at the sheer vulnerability of her position. She twisted and tried to lurch away, but Granit’s grip was like steel. “Easy, sweet female. I don’t want to hurt your wrists.”

“Which parts of me do you want to hurt?” she shot back, twisting. She found herself suddenly enveloped in his thick arms, nose pressed against Granit’s chest.

“She’s all right,” Damon said. “A bit of fear will do her good—make it more exciting.” He brushed her hair back, revealing her face. “Isn’t that right, little flower?”

She didn’t answer, but he smiled. “Can you smell her arousal? She likes her predicament, the naughty pet, even if she doesn’t want to admit it.”

Granit chuckled, relieved. “I smell it.” He pulled her wrists overhead once more, turning her to face away from him.

Touching her was pure pleasure; controlling her, even better. Her body was soft and pliable under his hands. She offered little resistance, and when she did, was easily tamed with soothing.

He wanted to believe it was because they had a special connection—that she felt safe with them, but he doubted that was true. Their female had been stuck on a destroyed planet with no other beings but three males, who’d not been gentle enough with her. The way she’d panicked when Damon’s hand had cinched around her throat had been from trauma.

He should know. He recognized the sudden surge into survival instinct, the loss of rational thought. How many nights in the past fifteen solar cycles had he woken in that state, certain the explosions in his dreams were real, that the flames still licked his skin?

Veck.

He would kill her former mates if he found out any of them had ever made her fear for her life. But they could question her about that later.

After they’d indulged in possessing their trembling female.

Damon pinned Eslyn in place with a cool gaze. “Open your legs wide, little flower.”

She eyed the strap, and a tiny whimper came from her lips, but she obeyed.

“What’s this?” Laake asked from where he stood near the implement bin. He held up a smooth, bulbous object.

Damon grinned. “It’s for her ass. Want to put it in?”

Laake’s eyes glazed with lust. “Yes.”

“There’s a dispenser of lubricant in there. You’ll need to coat it first.”

How did Damon know these things? Granit’s only experiences with females were the fumbling attempts of his youth, before the invasion and Damon and Laake had been too young then. But their friend was a relentless researcher. No doubt, he’d combed every Zandian archive or even other planetary sex guides for what he would have thought useless information. He had no idea a fertile female might one day show up on their pod. And be given to his care.

But Damon seemed to know exactly what he was doing now, as he positioned himself in front of Eslyn and flicked the thin strap against her side.