Chapter Eleven

 

 

Kenan arrives home with a stack of books in his arms.

I meet him in the entryway, unable to keep my mouth from falling open when I glimpse the wondrous items he’s holding. The books are from Earth, and the spines reveal titles in English, several by well-known authors of mystery novels I’ve read before. I doubt the books are for Kenan, but I don’t want to be presumptuous, so I remain standing calmly with my hands clasped together. I also try very hard not to think about what happened to the previous owner of these books.

“I know many humans enjoy reading, and I thought you might like to have these. Several merchants in town are selling off items that have been scavenged from what’s left of Capital Acres.” He sets the pile on a nearby table and draws me near.

I’m touched by his thoughtfulness, and I wrap my arms around his waist. He kisses my forehead and I melt into him. His delicious masculine scent makes me swoon at least a dozen times a day. Oftentimes, it’s far too easy to forget the brutality he’s capable of.

“Thank you, Kenan,” I say, sparing a quick glance at the books. “I recognize some of the titles and authors. I can’t wait to read them.”

I’m not certain, but I think his cheeks flush. It’s difficult to know for sure, because his skin is already a dark shade of red, but I’m stunned by the possibility that my appreciation could have such a profound effect on him.

Later in the evening, we curl up on a couch in the sitting room, both with our books while soft music fills the room. The music isn’t as mournful as the last pieces he played for me. Instead, it’s a pleasant background tune that doesn’t grab me enough to break my concentration from the novel I’m reading. If anything, it helps me focus on my book.

He’s reading a thick tome of what he claims is ancient Kleaxian poetry. I try to hide my surprise at the subject matter of his book, but he notices my slight shock.

“Kleaxians rarely write or read fictional stories as humans do. Rather, our stories are told in songs and in poetry. This entire book is one large poem written by the late Theaik of Urma Mountain. It’s an epic retelling of the Battle of the Red Planets, a bloody battle that took place over a thousand years ago, going by human standards.”

“Have you read this poem before?”

“Many times. It is one of my favorites.”

I smile and then delve back into my mystery novel, but I can’t help but notice from my periphery how quickly he turns the pages. Peeking over at what he’s reading, I glimpse the two spread pages covered in tiny symbols. He flips the page again. Do all Kleaxians read so fast? Or is Kenan some kind of speed reader?

Before I return to my book, I admire how engrossed he is in the pages, his expression one of apt interest and his eyes scanning back and forth in rapid succession as he absorbs each line. By the time I reach the fifth chapter of the mystery novel, Kenan flips the tome shut and returns it to the bookshelf near the window.

“Are you already finished with the whole thing?”

“Yes, but I am a slow reader compared to most Kleaxians. I didn’t learn to read my native language until I came to live here with my uncle.” He nods at the book I’m holding. “Are you not enjoying that particular book? There are several others to choose from.”

I flush. We’ve only been sitting here for about an hour. “It’s great, but I’m not the fastest reader.” Though he’s part-human, he obviously hasn’t spent enough casual time around full blooded humans to know Kleaxians read at a superior speed in comparison. My heart pangs for how lonely he must have been living inside the facility as a child.

“Would you like to stay up reading longer, or are you ready for bed?”

Not wishing to fold the page I’m on, I quickly memorize the page number and shut the book, then place it on the couch. “I’m ready for bed.”

His nostrils flare, and a moment later his eyes are dark flaming pools of desire. The bulge in his pants becomes evident, and I swallow hard, wondering if he’s in one of his gentle or rough moods this evening.

Despite the ever present knowledge that I’m his captive, this day has felt remarkably normal. We’d had a pleasant dinner, during which he told me of his day, and then we’d sat next to each other in the living room reading, like some old married couple.

My parents used to close each day by snuggling up on the couch and reading. Dad would scan his newspaper, and Mom would read the latest romance novel. Sometimes they would work on the crossword puzzle in the newspaper together and humorously argue over the answers.

Part of me likes this sudden normalcy with Kenan, but another part of me fears it, because the more accustomed I become to him and this planet, the more difficult it will be to shield my heart from him. Every day, he grows on me more and more, even as my fear of him remains in place. Sure, there are times I can almost forget my fear, but those brief moments are just that—brief. All I need do is remember the whipping he gave me on our first day together, as well as the slap to my cheek. Pushing these thoughts away, I decide I want to feel normal tonight, I decide to forget his capacity for violence and ignore my fear as much as possible.

“Go upstairs and remove all your clothing, Laylah. Stand in the middle of the room and wait for me.”

My breath catches. “Yes, Kenan.” I rise from the couch and hurry from the sitting room, telling myself I’m only fast to obey because I don’t want to risk punishment. I can only imagine how horribly he would beat me if I tried to refuse sex. Even as such thoughts visit me, heat gathers and pulses hard between my thighs.

Sometimes I think it’s a curse, how shamefully I ache for the alien who claimed me against my will.

Upstairs, I strip off my dress and drape it over a chair. The breeze enters to caress my skin, and I glance out the window as I stand in the center of the room, admiring the brilliant orange moons.

On Earth, I hadn’t glimpsed the moon often because we’d lived in a busy part of town. Too many street lights and twenty-four hour businesses meant the moon usually looked dull when I actually was lucky enough to see it. Not to mention the neighbors surrounding us that usually left their porch lights on all through the night to deter criminals, as we didn’t live in the safest part of town.

Once, when the power went out for three days after a hurricane, I’d delighted in staring at the moon each evening, absorbing its beauty while I had the chance. I smile at the memory, because I’d spent the third night at Sheila’s house, and we’d slept in the treehouse in her backyard that had miraculously escaped damage. We’d eaten s’mores and giggled and flipped through silly teen fashion magazines, neither of us having any idea the surprises our futures would soon hold.

I wince, as I often do when a particularly joyful memory featuring loved ones I’ll never see again flits through my conscious. What I wouldn’t give to sleep under the stars in Sheila’s treehouse one last time.

On this mountain, the lights from the nearest town are occasionally visible through the thick forest, and only the faintest glow of light hovers above the town. Not enough to block out the moons or the stars. There’s no harm in admiring the beauty of Tallia, I decide, even if I am the captive of a fierce alien warrior, a half-human prince who rules with an iron fist, or so I imagine.

It scares me that executions are part of his duties, according to Heggal. Has Kenan killed anyone since I came to live with him? Has he sentenced any of his people to endure other harsh punishments? I wonder what crimes result in executions, and if Kenan ever sentences criminals to imprisonment instead. Though I’ve only been to town once, and it was a short trip, I didn’t see anything that looked like a jail.

Footsteps sound on the stairs, and my stomach does a little flip. The aching in my core intensifies, and my nipples tighten almost painfully. The door slides open and Kenan strides toward me. My gaze falls to the floor at his fierce expression. It’s hard to distinguish whether he’s angry or aroused at times, and though I know from the bulge in his pants he’s about to claim me, there’s still a sternness to his stare that instinctively prompts my eyes down in a show of submission.

“Part your legs,” he commands, standing over me. His shadow blocks out the glow of the nearby sconces, as well as the light of the moon.

Gulping, I move my feet apart and then stand very still, waiting for his next instructions. My heart pounds an erratic rhythm in my chest, and my breaths come faster and faster. Heat envelops my face when I detect the wetness of my arousal on my inner thigh. I glance at him in time to catch his dark knowing look.

“Put your hands behind your head and clasp your fingers together, Laylah.”

He hasn’t touched me yet, and God I’m aching for that first brush of his hand upon my flesh, or for him to grab me hard and squeeze. Oftentimes, he grabs my pussy or my breasts, firmly enough to make me gasp and writhe in his grip. However, now he seems content to torture me with the absence of his touch.

After a deep breath and a whimper I try to hide, I obey his instructions and clasp my fingers together behind my head. This causes my breasts to jut forward, and I feel exceedingly vulnerable and exposed in the center of the room while he circles me, still completely clothed.

Finally, he comes to stand in front of me again and reaches between my legs. But he doesn’t touch my pussy. Instead, he swats my inner thigh, prompting me to gasp.

“Stay very still, little human.” He swats the inside of my other thigh, his flattened fingers leaving behind a faint sting.

I tremble to remain standing in position. The throbbing in my womanly core is pulsing so hot, it’s all I can do not to clamp my legs shut or reach down to stroke myself to bliss. My urgent whimper only draws a dark chuckle from him. He’s reveling in my needy frustration, the bastard.

I strive to remain silent, not wanting to give him the pleasure of knowing how badly I wish he’d touch me already. Pressing my lips tight together, I resolve not to release another whimper, and certainly not a moan.

Walking behind me, he smacks the backs of my thighs, two times each. A delicious pain blooms across my flesh. More moisture trickles down the insides of my thighs, I can feel it on both sides now, a shameful testament to my inability to resist the erotic spell he’s cast upon me.

He rubs my ass then, and I quiver in place, suspecting he’s about to spank me. But what he does next is far more humiliating—he parts my bottom cheeks and kneels behind me to stare at my privates up close. This time I can’t help the whimper. I’ve never felt so embarrassed, but if I close my thighs or try to run away, he’ll make me hurt. There’s a part of me that also doesn’t wish to disappoint him, so I try my best to keep obeying him.

With my ass cheeks still splayed apart, he uses his free hand to delve between my slick nether lips. Spreading my moisture around, he finally succeeds in drawing a moan from me.

“Your little asshole keeps clenching, Laylah. Are you nervous that I will touch you there?”

“Please don’t, Kenan. Please—oh!”

He touches me there. Of course, he does. I jolt in place and try hard not to fight him, though every cell in my body screams for me to run away.

“Relax, little human. I’m simply touching it now, not fucking it.”

My breath leaves me in a rush and my heart skips a beat. One day, he will fuck my ass. I know it, and I can’t stop him. I’m hot all over at the prospect of submitting to him this way, of bending over while he inches his huge cock inside my most secret hole.

To my relief, he simply spreads the moisture from my core atop my anus. I feel myself clenching and flush, unable to stop myself from responding to his prodding touches. He applies the smallest pressure to my hole but doesn’t enter me.

“Such a pretty little puckering hole you have, Laylah.” His voice is deep and guttural.

“Please, Kenan. I’m shaking. I don’t think I can stand here much longer.”

“You will stand here like this for as long as it pleases me, Laylah. Unless you want to be punished. Is that what you want, little human? Do you want a spanking? Perhaps a belt whipping?”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt, chiding myself for begging. I should have known my pleas wouldn’t sway him, and angering him is the last thing I want.

His fingers are everywhere, some in my pussy and at least two still teasing my asshole, rubbing and causing my pucker to clench and unclench every few seconds. The more I try to control it, the more out of control all sensation below my waist feels. I can’t prevent the gathering moisture any more than I can stop my anus from wincing at his gentle touches.

My arms ache from holding position, but I don’t dare remove my hands from my head. His threat of a spanking or a belt whipping is fresh in my mind. Besides, if I’m a good girl, maybe he’ll bring me to pleasure. If I don’t come soon, I’ll be unable to keep from stroking myself—and I can only imagine his displeasure if I break position to rub my clit without permission.

He withdraws from my pussy and asshole, finally releasing my bottom cheeks. I shut my eyes briefly and focus on remaining upright, though my legs tremble harder with each shaky breath. He rises and I hear the familiar sound of clothes being stripped off. My pulse quickens and I pray he’s preparing to fuck me now. I need his cock buried deep inside me, and I need to feel either his balls or his lower stomach impacting upon my clit while he drives into me hard and fast.

Erotic images parade through my mind and I struggle for air. I’m as breathless as after sex and he hasn’t even filled me up yet, hasn’t even given me one deliciously hard thrust.

“Get on the bed, Laylah. On your hands and knees.” His deep rumble sets me ablaze with anticipation, and I scramble to follow his orders.

Once I’ve taken up the new position, he says, “Very nice. Now lean down more, on your forearms, and lift your bottom high. Present your little pink human pussy to me. That’s it. Very good girl.”

Despite myself, I melt under his praising tone.

The mattress dips as he joins me on the bed. “I’m going to pound you hard, Laylah, and you’re going to take it, every single deep, rapid thrust, and when I’ve finished fucking you and filling you with my seed, you will keep holding this position until I say otherwise.”