His Human Prisoner (Zandian Masters 2)

Damn him! She certainly showed her frustration when he pulled out.

He repeated the torture once, twice. On the third time, she turned her head to the side, determined to float away, as she’d learned to do during sex, but he caught her jaw.

“Look at me,” he growled. “You want my cock?”

She thrust her jaw forward, not wanting to answer.

He shoved in all the way this time, his cock stretching her wide, stroking her inner wall. “Answer me, Lily.” He pulled all the way out.

She gave a sob of frustration. “Yes! Okay? I want your cock. Are you happy, you arrogant—”

He covered her mouth with his large hand.

It was a sign of her growing comfort with this being that she dared call him names. Even so, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d slapped her at the least.

He cut off her breath with that hand over her mouth, plunged in again, rocked his hips to scythe in and out three, four times, then released her, pulling out and climbing off the sleeping platform, his back to her.

She gasped, her pussy clenching around emptiness, her lungs filling and releasing without satisfaction. She’d been so. Close.

Rok’s sleeping pants hung low in back, showing the top of his muscular ass. His broad shoulders stretched a mile, built of solid muscle, and scars, large and small, covered his skin. Something about those scars made him all the more appealing to her. They proved him to be the rugged warrior he looked like. Or maybe it was because he’d known as much hardship as she had.

“I suppose you’re hungry again?”

“Yes, master.”

He turned around with a frown. He didn’t like that title for some reason, but she didn’t understand why not. There were so many things she didn’t understand about him. Like how he could enjoy hurting females and act so caring at once? There was something so darkly treacherous, so seductive about him.

She feared, more than any threat facing her welfare, she would grow attached to him. To his attention, his consideration. The way he’d fed her, watching to make sure she didn’t overeat, his reluctance to continue punishing her when she still showed marks, the way his eyes turned dark purple when he wanted her.

He rummaged in a cabinet. “There aren’t any flight suits that will fit you, but you can wear my undershirt.” He tossed her a thin synthetic shirt in white.

She pulled it over her head.

Rok’s eyes traveled to her breasts, and his lids drooped.

She glanced down. Though the shirt was huge on her, falling to mid-thigh, the thin material made it hug her breasts, her steepled nipples poking through.

Rok pinched one nipple through the shirt and the silky fabric slid over it, sending a shiver straight to her core.

She glared up at him and crossed her hands over her chest, not wanting to show how hot and bothered he had her.

He picked up her hand. “I don’t need to tie you up, do I, Lily?”

She loved when he called her by her name. Some masters had, but most called her “slave.” Even those who had used Lily always made it sound disapproving, like her name was a bad word. In Rok’s deep rumble, though, it somehow sounded sensual or even like an endearment.

But that was crazy. She was definitely reading too much into this male. He was a species she hadn’t encountered before and she wasn’t used to his ways, that was all. Soon she’d learn how to get by and come up with a plan to free herself.

“Do I?” He arched a stern brow.

“No, Master Rok.”

HIs lip curled at her use of the title master again, but he didn’t say anything. Her hand fit in his palm like a child’s in the larger one of a parent. There was both comfort and safety in the gesture.

A memory of her tiny hand encased in a man’s flitted in her mind. Her father, perhaps? Before she went to the institute to be trained as a slave? It must be, because she had no memories of anyone ever holding hands at the institute. All they knew there were complete subservience and swift and painful correction when they protested.

She couldn’t remember a mother, specifically, but she knew she’d had one. She didn’t remember a face or an incident, but she seemed to recall a feeling of love and safety. The energy of a mother. Some larger force that cared for her in a sweet and tender way.

Did Rok embody some essence of that? Was that what disturbed her so much about him?