Night of the Zandians (Zandian Brides 1)

My pussy and bottom feel used, but in a good way. The residual tinge feels nice, a reminder of what happened.

“You are ours,” Ronan says, his voice confident and tender. “Truly ours.”

“For always,” Jax adds, squeezing my thigh.

Tarron just grunts, but he holds me tighter in his arms, and that act is so tender that tears come to my eyes.

“Are you sad?” Ronan peers at me, blinking, muscles tense—as if he’s ready to do battle.

“No.” I moisten my lips with my tongue. “Happy,” I croak. For the first time in my life, I think I’m truly happy.

He growls, and the pleased look on his face is beyond joy. And as all four of us drift into sleep, Tarron keeps me in his arms. I’ve never slept better, or more soundly.

5

Ronan

I awake early, when the gray dawn is just starting to turn pink and gold. My cousins are deep in slumber. Riya is dreaming still, her lashes fluttering on her cheeks, entangled in Tarren’s limbs. I assume we’ll figure out over time how to take turns being the one to hold her as she falls asleep.

Heading out of the dome, I stand tall, enjoying the morning alone, as I survey our lan

d. A feeling of pride suffuses me, and a sense of duty. I’m not as strong or tall as Tarren or Jax, and I’m not the most handsome Zandian in the universe, so I need to work twice as hard to prove myself. I leave the dome and take a deep breath of air—fresh Zandian air, unpolluted now. I start organizing crates of equipment into piles—tools, foodstuffs, and clothing.

As I wipe sweat from my brow, I sense her behind me. I turn in an instant and can’t resist smiling at her like an idiot, and I nearly trip in my haste to embrace her.

“Good morning.” I pull her to me, awkward at first. But she enters my arms willingly and presses her cheek to my chest.

“Hi.” She seems shy, a pink flush to her cheeks.

“How are you?” I examine her face. “It’s a big change, coming here, to all of this. With us.” I wave my hand.

“I’m content.” She meets my eyes. “Thank you.”

This makes me exuberant. “I’m just sorry we all fell asleep last rotation without getting the chance to pleasure you again.” I want to give her so many orgasms, bring that look of sated joy to her face a million times, that she never needs to think again about the Ocretians. The instinct to protect her from pain surprises me with its ferocity.

“I do enjoy the pleasure.” She flushes harder, but smiles.

“And that’s just the start,” I tease her, relief and joy filling me. “We have so much more planned for your sweet body. And of course,” I hasten to add, not wanting her to think we only care about vecking her, “our lives together.”

Her eyes widen, and at first I think she’s scared, but then I scent her arousal.

“I can’t wait,” she says, and winds her fingers into mine. Her smile is wide and trusting, and she seems almost surprised at her own joy. “This is so unexpected,” she discloses, squeezing my hand.

Lust kicks through me and I want to mate her again, but I assume she may need time to rejuvenate first. I clear my throat. “Do you want to tell me where to till the soil for seeds? We can get an early start.”

Yes.” She nods. “I want our homestead to be the best one, the one that shows all the others how to do it.” Her voice rings out strong, and I smile. I vecking love seeing this competitive side of her. It matches well with ours. “We need to lead the way in new innovations. I’ve already been thinking…” she trails off and continues. “On the agrifarm, I experimented with a new recipe for fertilizer using a different ratio of nitrogen, to better fix it —you know that fixing means locking it down for less nitrogen loss, right? I also added more Vitamin B from the standard. And it resulted in faster growth and more fruit on the tomato vines. I’d like to try that here.”

“Of course.” I nod. “I admit that your talk of nitrogen means as little to me as an Ocretian saying blah blah blah,”—and I make a face at her and draw out the syllables as if I’m drooling—“but I trust your judgement.”

Jax said Riya was smart. I think she’s brilliant. Human slaves don’t learn to decipher or write with instruments. They are kept from communication devices that would give them knowledge. So the fact that she knows so much stuns me.

I hope we can help her build her confidence—mates do that, I think, for each other.

She laughs, a gorgeous sound, like a bird in flight, and her whole face glows. “That’s exactly how they sound.” She squeezes my fingers.

I take a risk. “Blah blah blah, Riya, show me where to blah blah blah the soil,” I rumble at her, crossing my eyes and holding up my fingers like fangs, even though Ocretians don’t have fangs. I sense that mocking them is something she needs right now, and I want to give her whatever she desires.

She laughs again and puts a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Mother Earth, this is hilarious.” She looks around as if someone might be watching, then laughs at that, too. “I love that we have our own place. And it’s safe.” She says the word as if it’s a treasure.