"But you will take it all, up into your chest cavity if you need to, your organs moving and your pussy accommodating. And you will birth the best of the alphas. No beta children for you. Only the strongest. Only the dynamic that ensures the continuation of the breeds."
His voice was seduction, manipulating her blood and bones while his touch electrified her nerves and skin, heating her up again. He was arousing and stimulating as the washcloth dipped down to her belly, skimming too quickly over her breasts and round bottom before it moved on to her thighs.
"You are not there yet." His strokes were long, thigh to knee, knee to thigh, smoothing over the place where her bottom ended and leg began, the top of his hand carelessly brushing against the area he spoke about. "Short of a pelvic exam every week, there is no way to be sure that all your insides match what is happening to your outside."
His breath teased her skin, so near the begging tips of her breasts. "A good alpha does not fuck an immature breeder. His semen can loosen her up, help relax tissue and muscles, but to take an immature breeder before her time can cause irreparable damage. It would be excessively painful."
He knelt in front of her and brought her foot high into his lap. Dragging the bucket nearer, he retrieved the cloth once more. Once it was wet and soapy again, he began to wash over her foot, wetting himself with the action.
Sasha's eyes widened as he purposely pressed the arch of her foot against the rigid, uncomfortable looking hard thing hidden under his pant leg.
He washed the other foot. He took his time, washing her heel, ankle, and instep, holding her firmly when he washed between her toes.
Her foot rubbed against that hardness again and again, but his face showed only intense concentration.
When he was finished with her feet, he got the hose.
His grin was cruel when he turned on the hose to spray her. He was very thorough with the cold water, rinsing her hands in the cuffs, her neck under her hair, blasting water in a decadent massage over her breasts that hurt and felt incredible at the same time, pouring water between that crease in her butt, and then parting her legs, shooting water between her folds, on her clit, and against the entrance to her womb.
Her growling outrage became another scream and earned her three hard spanks with a sharp admonishment for her trouble. She'd be bruised from those slaps.
She didn't care.
He turned the hose off and cleaned up his mess, gathering everything to take it out the door while she stood there, arms suspended and dripping, teeth chattering. Holding the towels, he surveyed his work, eyes touching every part of her skin.
"Do you understand, Beauty?"
Breathing out, she baited him. "You don't want me."
They faced each other. He waited as if he had all the time in the world. Sasha felt parts of herself turning blue.
"You think I am a child."
Not blinking, not kicking up a foot to lean against the doorframe or bothering to grab a chair, Kane gave her his attention and his time. They had played this game before. He was done explaining. He'd wait as long as it took for the answer he wanted.
Kane's patience cooled her anger and made her meek. Sasha didn't know how, but she felt the change come over her. She'd have to figure out how he did that someday, how he won without words.
"I am not finished with my maturation. Therefore, I am not physically mature enough to take a husband-mate?"
He grunted.
Having washed her, he dried her, a vigorous rubbing and massage with a soft, fluffy cloth that was not a normal torture chamber accessory. When she was dry, he unbuckled her bindings, letting her groan as she lowered her arms, massaging her shoulders as she eased them down.
He stood close to her, wrapped her heavy, wet hair in a towel, and then looked her over again. He brushed the back of his hand over her mark twice, caressing her distended, swollen nipple, stilling her heartbeat, and forcing little sounds from her throat.
His hand went to the necklace that he'd asked her to wear. "I thought this would be enough." He tapped the medallion. "Twice my people have ignored it. I am sorry, Beauty, that my name did not protect you. I think we should get your mark re-inked on your hand, since breed only see what they expect to see. But it is your choice."
Unbuttoning his shirt, he dressed her in it and took her into his arms.
*
He sat down in the big chair and arranged Sasha in his lap, one of his arms curling around her, his hand open and resting very high on her naked thigh. With his other arm, he supported her shoulders, bringing her head to his neck, then drifting down to her bare legs.
She liked this room. It was the room where she first sat on his lap and ate from his hand. Here he was the private and unorganized Kane. It was the only place in his life where disorder existed. He didn't allow cleaners in here, obviously.
She hadn’t taken in much on her first visit here. The chair on which they sat was old, chosen for comfort rather than its looks. The carpet had a few mysterious stains and the table was covered with all sorts of everyday items from his life.
Now she was able to observe more. One wall was covered by a floor-to-ceiling bookcase stuffed with books and manuscripts. Another wall held a weathered painting of a landscape set in an ornate wood frame that looked as if it belonged in a museum. It held center stage against an assortment of pinned up photos and crude, childish drawings that blanketed the wall around it.
