Chapter Fifteen

 

 

“Go ahead and open it.”

Grinning shyly, I crouch down and flip the lid open. Thick white papers in a variety of sizes rest in a pile. Tucked beside them are several small canvases. There are paints, brushes, and long colorful sticks resembling chalks. Delight fills me as I rummage through the box of treasures.

I will be able to create artwork, for the first time in years. Utterly astonished, I smile up at Kenan through tears of joy.

“This is wonderful! Thank you, Kenan! How did you know?”

He pats the top of my head. Relief spreads over his face, as if he’d been fretting over whether or not I would like the present. “You spend a great deal of time looking at the artwork in our house, Laylah, and once you talked in your sleep and I clearly heard you say, ‘How can you do this to me? I love painting and creating things. It makes me happy.’”

I rise up and throw my arms around him, hugging him tight as a giggle erupts from my throat. “Funny. I didn’t know I talk in my sleep. Oh, thank you. This means the world, Kenan.”

Though he’d brought me books once, it had never occurred to me to request art supplies, or any other items from town, and I’m in absolute awe Kenan has surprised me with such a thoughtful gift.

“Were you an artist on Earth?”

“Well, I wanted to be, but it didn’t quite work out.” In the weeks that we’ve been together, we’ve shared tidbits from each other’s cultures, but I’d been rather vague about my parents and never told him of the brother and grandmother I lost under tragic circumstances. Or about my desire to attend a high school for the arts, only for my parents to insist I not change schools and instead start taking more science and math classes. Perhaps I ought to open up to him more.

Kenan carries the huge box effortlessly into the house and upstairs, but we don’t enter our bedroom. Instead, he ventures down the long hallway to a virtually empty room with three large windows and two wide skylights. Lots of natural light and perfect for creating artwork.

As he sets the box down, I start jabbering about all the things I’ve never told him, and the whole time, it feels like I’m unburdening my soul.

The rain has stopped, and the sun is already peeking through the lingering clouds. We sit in the middle of the empty floor and talk as if we’re long lost friends. I speak of the little town in Florida where I grew up, and of my brother’s and grandmother’s untimely deaths, and of my hardworking parents whose greatest fear was I would become my brother. As I tell him everything, he hangs on my every word, hardly blinking as he stares at me with apt interest.

Kenan’s face lights up when I mention the moons of Tallia and how, as a child, my love of painting and drawing began because I was intrigued by the beautiful images of this strange new world and reveled in recreating them with my own artistic flare. When I speak of giving up on pursuing a career in art, he caresses my hand and nods solemnly in understanding.

Once I finish, I urge him to describe his life after leaving the research facility his father raised him in.

“My mother returned to her mate, the Kleaxian who should have been my father. I was sent to be fostered here, in my uncle’s residence on Dennian Mountain. My uncle, Prince Diazan, saw past my human tendencies and raised me like a true Kleaxian. He taught me how to fight and embrace my full Kleaxian ancestral memories. Once he passed away, I became the protector of this mountain.”

“Who is the Kleaxian king? Your grandfather?”

“Yes, my grandfather, whom I’ve never met, is the King of Tallia. When he dies, my mother’s oldest brother is next in line. I’ll never be king, Laylah, because of my tainted blood. But I consider myself fortunate to have a place in this world, despite the sins of my biological father.”

“How often do you see your mother now?”

His face darkens. “I don’t see my mother. The last time I saw her was the day we were freed from the facility. Her mate has forbidden her to see me, as is his right as a Kleaxian male.”

“But that’s so sad.” I squeeze his hand. “I’m sure she probably longs to see you, Kenan. Have you tried contacting her?”

“It’s not that simple.” He smiles, though the grin doesn’t reach his eyes, then he stands up. He offers me his hand. By now, it’s dark outside, and only the sconces illuminate the room. “Come. Let us enjoy dinner on the patio. The sky always sparkles after a rainfall.”

Kenan’s right. The stars are brighter and the moons a magnificent shade of orange. He explains it has to do with the pressure change in the atmosphere after a precipitation, but I only half listen because I’m in awe of the beautiful night. Above the treetops in the distance, flashes of white and pink indicate the watchers of the night are out and about, come out of their hiding spots after the rain.

Heggal and another servant attend us, bringing forth seafood dishes and even a dessert that reminds me of chocolate cheesecake. Kenan allows me to partake in two glasses of wine but again shakes his head when I request a third. I don’t have much of a buzz from the two glasses I’ve already partaken, and I’m a tad annoyed by his refusal, and even a little suspicious my wine might have been watered down. The servants had poured my wine from a different pitcher than his.

“I’m not a child, you know,” I say, crossing my arms.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Are you finished with your dessert?”

“Yes, sir.” I don’t know what’s gotten into me, but I’m totally sassing him. He’s revealed so much more of himself today, the darkness and the light, than he has during the last few weeks, that I’ve dropped my guard.

His eyes glimmer dark, and he shifts in his seat. I would bet a trip to Earth he has a raging hard on. We rise from our seats and, sure enough, there’s a huge bulge at the front of his pants. I pretend not to notice, though I sway my hips as I move toward him, ever aware and rather excited by the effect I have on him. As he turns, obviously expecting me to follow him into the house and upstairs, a naughty impulse strikes me and I snatch up his half-full glass of wine.

“Don’t you dare, Laylah.” His voice comes out as a deep growl.

He doesn’t turn around, but he must have heard me pick up the glass. More than once, he’s told me Kleaxians possess senses superior to a human’s.

I lift the glass to my lips and start tilting it back.

“If you drink a single drop of that wine, little human, I will make you sorely regret it.”

I hesitate, though I don’t put the glass down. I’m almost certain he’s teasing, but then perhaps I shouldn’t risk inviting his wrath. Don’t be stupid, Laylah. Put the glass down. But my hand starts shaking and the wine tips across my tongue before I have a chance to obey.

Oh my God.

He turns and strides toward me. He takes the glass and sets it on the table then touches a finger to my lips. When he brings his hand away, his finger is stained red with the wine. He lifts an eyebrow at me in censure, his mouth pressing in a firm line as his jaw tightens.

My stomach drops to the floor. Somewhere, in the midst of all our cheerful banter during dinner, I’d forgotten how large he is compared to me. And how absolutely terrifying he is when tested. On Earth, had I committed a transgression as minor as drinking a few drops of wine when I’m not supposed to, no one would particularly care.

I study Kenan’s dark expression, trying to determine whether he’s truly angry. Even when he’s in a good mood, he doesn’t always appear happy. He presses himself against me, and I gasp as the hardness of his erection touches my stomach. Through the layers of our clothing, heat emanates from his huge manhood.

He sighs and twists his fingers in my hair, but he doesn’t pull hard. “Go upstairs and take your dress off, Laylah. You’ve been a naughty girl, and you’re going to go over my knee for a long, hard spanking on your bare bottom.”

Still holding me, he smacks me lightly across the face.

I gasp and our eyes meet.

He still hasn’t released me, and, for a reason I can’t fathom, that light slap on my cheek felt…like some kind of shared intimacy. Maybe because he could hit me so much harder, but he only gave me that light, very careful slap. All while he’s holding me close and his erection is pressed to my stomach. He smacks my cheek a second time, then a third time, barely hard enough for the impact of flesh hitting flesh to resound in the night, before he releases me entirely.

I rush upstairs, rubbing the faint sting from my cheek as my heart rises in my throat. I don’t know if I’m really in trouble, or if this is some kind of Kleaxian sex play. He’s always been rough taking me in bed, and once he promised to hurt me sometimes simply because it pleases him to redden my bottom and watch me squirm. I hope that’s the scenario about to happen, because the thought of ending what has become a beautiful day with a real punishment brings tears to my eyes.

I berate myself for the silly stunt with the wine. What the fuck had I been thinking to even play at disobeying him? I hope he does nothing more than slap my thighs a little, as he’d done several weeks ago while forcing me to stand still in the center of the room while he tormented me in the most delicious and devious of ways. But then he’s promised to turn me over his knee, and my tummy flips over and over again, because deep down I know I’ll be getting worse than a few lightly stinging slaps to my thighs, or my ass for that matter.

For a brief moment, I cup my bottom over my dress and wonder what it will feel like—receiving a spanking from Kenan. Will it hurt, but still increase my need for him? I can’t deny the throbbing below my waist at the prospect of being turned over his knee for play, or even for punishment.

I’m naked by the time his heavy footfalls echo in the hallway. Naked, trembling, and filled with uncertainty. If I don’t know Kenan well enough to surmise whether or not he’s being teasing, I ought not test him.

He enters the room and slowly circles me, twice, his stance tall and his muscles tensed. His black locks rest upon his broad shoulders in a haphazard manner, as if he’d climbed the stairs in a hurry, anxious to teach me a lesson. I want to ask if I’m really in trouble, but I’m too choked up to speak, my pulse racing faster with each second.

When he stops in front of me and holds my face in his large, powerful hands, my shaking increases.

“I want you to place yourself over my lap, Laylah, and offer your bottom up for your spanking.” He releases my chin and moves to sit on the bed, then pats his thigh, giving me a pointed look. One dark eyebrow is raised, and nothing about his expression seems playful.

As I walk over to him, I pray he’s not angry and is just a good actor. Because the bed rests so high off the floor, he lifts me up beside him and then I maneuver myself over his lap. My breaths come in quick, shallow puffs, and my heart nearly beats outside my chest.

But, despite my nervous fear, the growing ache pulses harder and faster between my legs. Before I part my thighs and lift my bottom up, in the manner I imagine I’m expected to offer myself for punishment, the heated slickness of my arousal escapes my pussy.

The sharp intake of his breath reveals I’m having an effect on him, as does the mounting hardness of his massive erection. He cups my right ass cheek and gives it a firm squeeze.

“You were a very naughty girl, weren’t you, Laylah?”

A shuddering exhale leaves me. “Yes, sir.” God, I’m getting so wet. There’s no hiding the cresting level of my arousal. My face heats with embarrassment when he touches the opening of my pussy, at the core where all my moisture is gathering.

He spreads my wetness around, trailing it over the smooth lips of my spread sex.

“I’m proud of you for walking to me and placing yourself over my lap, little human,” he says, still caressing my aching center. “Should you earn a real punishment, this is how I expect you to behave. Should you earn a real punishment, I will expect you to submit, even if you are frightened, because you are my mate and I am yours.”

I chance a peek over my shoulder. Relief fills me when he gives me a brief, encouraging smile, before he gestures for me to lower my head back onto the bed.

“I am going to spank you now, Laylah, and it’s going to hurt. I’m going to make you cry.”

“But this isn’t a real punishment. You said…” Panic swirls through me, and I squirm over his lap.

“If it were a real punishment, a serious punishment, I would be taking my belt to your bottom or your breasts. Or I’d fuck your face and take away your ability to speak, to make you feel especially chastised.”

“But you said you’d make me cry.” I bite my quivering lower lip, trying to hold back my emotion.

“Tears keep you sweet. Pain keeps you sweet. Having a healthy fear of your mate keeps you sweet and submissive and always ready to be taken.”

I shake my head against the covers. “No, it doesn’t. I’m not like Kleaxian females, Kenan. I’m not. I’m not, I’m not, I’m not.” Yet, even as I protest, I understand his meaning, and maybe, maybe, I’m more like Kleaxian females than I would like to admit.

My clit throbs and throbs, and beneath me, my nipples ache to be touched, the hardened points sensitive against the bedcovers. I’m hot all over and long for him to sink his rigid cock into me and start pounding away. At the same time, my bottom cheeks tingle in anticipation of that first stinging smack.

The light slaps to my face had been a tease and awakened a part of me I’m only now becoming truly aware of. Before this moment, I had tried to deny this awakening, tried to ignore it. But in a dark part of my mind, a part I’ve been trying to close myself off from, I wish he’d slapped my face harder minutes ago. Not hard enough to knock me down or cause real damage, but hard enough to allow the sting to last more than a few seconds. Hard enough to send a sharp wave of endorphins rushing my head at the very instant a blast of heat seizes my feminine core. How odd, that a hard slap might produce the same submissive euphoria that his gentleness in the wake of his roughness can. But when I fantasize about him slapping me harder, this is how I imagine it will feel, and these thoughts only increase my longing for Kenan.

Fucked up doesn’t even begin to describe what’s happened to me since I’ve become the captive mate of this huge alien prince. But maybe this is the only way I’ll find a glimmer of happiness on Tallia—if I stop trying to shield myself from Kenan and surrender to the delicious fucked upness of our relationship.

“Laylah,” he finally says, “you are more like a Kleaxian female than you realize.”

I know. I already know it.

He smears my hot arousal up and down my inner thighs, demonstrating how wet I’ve become in the anxious yet delicious buildup of a promised spanking.

Of promised pain.

“Kenan, please. Please don’t make it hurt too much. Please be gentle.” Though I crave it, I also have a need to at least try to control it, despite knowing he won’t be swayed by my words. I want him to hurt me, but not too badly.

His hand leaves my bottom and I tense, expecting that first slap to fall at any moment.

“You can have your gentleness, Laylah, but not until I have your tears.”