Zandian Lights (Zandian Brides 4)

My chest tightens. “Not yet,” I growl.

“I’ve had enough.” She stiffens under my hands.

“No, you haven’t.” I don’t know what the veck is going on with me, all I know is that I need to bring this little human the pleasure she’s dying to have. I’ve heard from every mated Zandian how spanking and punishment turns on their mates, and how they pleasure them afterward in a way that’s explosive with passion.

She doesn’t deser

ve it. And it’s really going to send the wrong message. But veck if I don’t want—no, need—to give this small creature everything she desires right now. Now that I have her naked and needy over my lap, I’m not going to leave her wanting. Something inside me burns to finish what I started. It’s like I’m in a dream, on autopilot, doing this from a distance.

I run my hands over her ass and thighs. “Relax,” I murmur. “You’re right. There are other lessons to learn. Other things I can teach you.”

She sucks in a breath and her body comes alive again. I feel the energy coursing through her anew. It’s amazing how in tune with her I feel. Is it the light streaming in through the skylights? It’s close to solstice, and even sitting in the beams seems to make us crackle with new energy.

Or it is her skin; is it embedded with some irresistible life force?

I don’t know, and I don’t care. I stroke her over and over until she hums, a low gentle sound, her whole body easy and light. Expectant. Then I run my fingers lower, to the place between her thighs. She moans and spreads her legs, letting me in.

She is the vecking softest thing I’ve touched. So wet, warm. Tight.

I can’t wait for more.

Kianna

* * *

My ass stings from the spanking, and I’m angry that he held me down and punished me. At the same time, I’m euphoric, because after all, isn’t this what I wanted?

And it’s more magnificent than I dreamed. His strong hands on my ass, spanking, then stroking, his low growly voice. Right now I’m dying for him to do more.

He said he wants nothing to do with me, but I know that’s a lie. His every touch tells me he wants more, not less.

When he slides his hand between my thighs, I open for him.

He’s skillful with his strong fingers, just like I imagined. I don’t know where he learned this technique, and right now I don’t care. Later on, maybe, I’ll mentally behead every whore in every pleasure dome in the universe. Now I’m going to enjoy it.

He glides his fingers over my slick slit, then thrusts inside me.

“Mykl,” I gasp his name.

He takes his hand away, and flips me over so I’m sitting on his lap.

“You like that?” His rough whisper makes my skin burn.

“Yeah.” I tip up my chin.

When he takes my lips, he’s voracious. No hesitation. He kisses me like it’s his last task on this world. His tongue teases mine. “Open for me,” he demands, one hand pulling my head closer, the other tapping my thighs.

“Yes,” I say into his mouth, and then I lose myself in his embrace.

This feels so right. Kissing Arc (or was it Bow?) was… adequate. This? This is stunning. This is fireworks and magic and everything I dream about.

The angle of his hand is different now, and he strokes my clit with his finger. Soft, so softly.

“Mykl.” My cry is soft and plaintive, and I push into his touch.

“Like this?”

But he doesn’t need to ask. It’s perfect. Like he knew, he knows how to do it. For me.