“Vrax,” he cursed, increasing his speed.
He’d seen it once, on Petrika.A Virmep striking a prositute’s backside, darkening her green flesh to emerald.She’d been moaning.She’d been aroused at the pain.Devix had seen the trail of her arousal drip down her thighs himself.
He’d been uncomfortable watching it then, but he hadn’t looked away.Luxirians were taught never to harm females in any way.Striking them willingly, especially during something so sacred as mating, was taboo, forbidden.
Yet, he hadn’t looked away.
And now, it was resurfacing, building.
He wanted to pinken his female’s flesh, wanted to make her moan and squirm in her chains, wanted to see her wetness gush down her soft thighs.
And only when Devix was ready, only when he had satisfied his dark needs, would he take her.He would nudge her legs open and fuck her from behind, right there in the command center, with her breasts pushed against his controls, with the stars laid out before them.She would scream his name because in his fantasies, she knew his name, knew who was master over her, who owned her cunt and lush body and heart.
Devix bellowed in the washing tube as his cum erupted from his pulsing cock, but it was over too soon, the unsatisfying pleasure already fading.
Panting, he laid his horns against the glass, squeezing his eyes shut, unsettled by his imaginings.His cock never softened against his belly and hisvarxwere still drawn up tight between his legs.
If anything, that orgasm had just increased his lust.It had done nothing to douse it.
Devix pushed off the tube, irritated with himself, with the Fates, with the female who drove him to this torment.He finished washing, but knew that he needed another session in the training quarters to work off his newfound frustration.
Perhaps it was a good thing he’d be training Cara.At this point, he would need the extra physical outlet.
The other part of him, however, also knew he’d be inviting disaster.Fighting was like fucking.It was driven by intensity, by emotion, by control.It was a release, as rewarding as it was exhausting.
Training his fated mate would test the limits of his control.
And if fighting was like fucking, when it came to her, Devix knew he needed to focus on the former.
The line between the two could not blur.No matter what.
SEVEN
Cara didn’t know what to expect when Scar came to collect her for their first training session.
She hadn’t seen him since he left her with the materials to sew together pants and a tin of her own travel rations.Part of her was surprised that he’d trusted her enough with a needle and thin cordage for sewing.
Perhaps, he didn’t though.Perhaps it had been a test, she thought, watching him scan her body, her hands, the small table in her room where the needle glinted in the bright light.Cara raised her brow and he grunted in response, gaze finally flashing down to her legs to see her handiwork.
She’d done her best.She hadn’t sewed in years.Growing up with only her father, surrounded by the tough, rugged, no-frilly-bullshit type men of his MC, Cara had always been embarrassed about asking her dad to go shopping with her.Imagining him in some girly boutique shop her friends always shopped at with their moms was laughable then.He wouldn’t have fit in with his grease-stained jeans, cracked leathers that smelled like cigarette smoke, and salt-and-pepper beard.
Cara’s heart ached at the thought of him, as it always did.He would’ve went shopping with her though.If she’d had the courage to ask.He would’ve done anything for her.
She’d learned to make her own clothes.It had become a hobby for her, altering old clothes and making new ones.She’d enjoyed it and if her father had ever noticed, he’d never said anything.
The pants she’d crafted in just a few short hours were actually pretty good, considering the last time she’d picked up a needle had been at nineteen.A little rough around the edges, but the soft, linen material allowed her free movement without restriction.She hadn’t had time to make panties, but she did make a bandeau bra to bind her breasts with the leftover material.She didn’t need to be jiggling all over the place.
“Come,” he commanded, his lips tightening as he glanced over them.He could see the black material clearly through the grey shirt.Cara ignored the sizzle in her belly and followed him back down the hall to the training room.
It was dimly lit, the weapons gleaming on the walls.The metal floor was cool under her bare feet, but then she noticed he’d laid out a cushioned mat in the center.On his forearm, he clicked something on the metal band and she watched as the one wall—the only one devoid of weapons—shimmeredinto a mirror.Cara saw her own stunned expression in the reflection.She saw her freshly washed hair around her shoulders, her clean face, and baggy clothes that hung off her body.
She approached the mirror and reached out to touch it.Her face was slimmer than it’d been, her cheekbones jutting.She’d lost all her softness and she couldn’t help but lift up her shirt slightly, noting the way her ribs showed, how her hip bones poked out.
It looked like she’d lost twenty pounds, at least.And it didn’t make her happy.She looked weak.No wondered her alien had hesitated when she’d asked him to train her.
Instead of discouraging her, it only made her more determined.She didn’t know how long they’d be traveling.It could be a couple days, it could be a couple weeks.But she would take full advantage of her time with him.The moment she returned to her room, she’d take another travel ration even though she was still full from her last.She wanted to regain the weight, regain her strength so that she would at least have a fighting chance if the time came where she found herself in a precarious position.
Never again did she want to feel helpless.Never again did she want to be caged.She’d rather die.
