His Human Possession (Zandian Masters 8)

He chuckled, enjoying the heady sense of control he wielded, along with the front row seat to the most beautiful display of female orgasm—of any species.

When it passed, he tsked. “You didn’t hold position, love. Now I’ll have to punish you.”

She panted, clearly still out of her mind with her climax. “No… wait.”

He unfastened his sword belt and let the scabbard drop to the floor. After doubling it, he lifted her ankles in the air and swung. The animal hide struck right over the anal plug, sending it deeper as she tightened around it.

“Ung.”

Yes, her masks were gone now. All he saw was arousal and alarm—an intoxicating mix, especially on his delectable female.

He applied the belt several more times, enjoying the way her legs flexed and bottom bobbed, trying uselessly to escape it.

He lowered the belt and ran his thumb over one of the marks. “I wish I knew how much you could take, little female. You mark so easily.” He lowered her ankles. “Into position,” he barked, like a Master at Arms giving orders to his proteges.

She responded as a well-trained subordinate, snapping her legs and elbows open.

“Good girl.” He thrust his thumb into her mouth and she sucked without being told. “You’d best never anger me, love. I’ll wear that pretty ass out with my belt.”

She made an unintelligible sound around his thumb.

“And then I’ll finish with my hand.” Stars, he loved to talk about hurting her. “Which is worse, my belt or my hand?” He removed his thumb so she could answer.

She shrugged, writhing on the sleep disk, stuffed full of vibrating devices. “D-depends on how you use them. You could make me cry with either.”

The thought of making her cry both sickened and aroused him. Would he enjoy her tears? He didn’t think so, and yet somehow desperately wanted to know.

He settled, instead, for sucking her breast.

She panted and shifted beneath him. He didn’t realize what she was about until her mouth closed around one of horns.

He shouted, nearly coming in his flight pants.

“Veck,” he growled. He jerked up to see if she’d come out of position, but she hadn’t. She’d simply contorted her neck to reach him. He fisted the horn and squeezed with a bruising force, trying to regain his control.

“You want to suck your master’s horns?”

The little she-devil nodded, batting those long eyelashes at him.

He shook his head slowly. “You don’t get to suck until your master orders you to suck. Don’t ever take without asking. Understand?”

What. The mother-Earth-loving fuck?

She stared up at the massive warrior, noting the change in his eye color from brown-purple, to bright amethyst. Hunger seeped from every line of his face, showed in the stiff, thick knobs of his horns, which leaned toward her.

And yet he would deny himself pleasure if it meant giving her an inch.

Crazy alien.

&nbs

p; But nothing within her rejected him. No, something hot and full flowed through her, from her. She fucking loved his dark, dangerous passion. The one that made him need her as much as she, apparently, needed him.

Because sweet solar light, her body was on fire! If he didn’t remove the vibrators soon, she would lose her mind.

Never in her existence had she known sex could be this visceral, this raw, this intoxicating. Oh, she'd had some "clients" who were tender, and some who aroused her. But no man, alien or beast, had ever reduced her to this quivering mass of need, dying for his touch, for her own release. She was ready to beg again. And she meant drop all pretense at pride and seriously beg for him to stop. Or go on. She needed release. This was fucking torture!

“Please, warrior—Master.” Her brain wasn’t even working anymore. “Giant horned male. Paal,” she babbled, words flying out of her mouth before she could reel them back in.