Chapter 9

She crossed the room to the bathroom. Its door offered nothing more than the shallowest of shelters. He had already demonstrated his ability to open it, tearing the handle free from the wood. She used the toilet, wincing as doing so caused a sting and an ache, her flesh abused by his possession of it. The green-eyed man had been going to buy her, she was almost entirely certain of it, until her owner had spoken up. Her owner had more authority, was higher placed, and the green-eyed man had withdrawn as a result. What did it mean, though, that he had come here? Did he seek to buy her off her owner? She had finished and was washing her hands when her owner entered the bedroom. She came out to him stripping the sheets and covers from the bed. He deposited on the bared mattress an armload of fabric and walked out carrying the dirty. Her owner obviously expected her to remake the bed. She was tempted to leave the mattress unmade, and for a while she paced the line of the wall between the bathroom and window, regarding the pile of linen like an enemy. He expected it of her, and she feared what he would do if she didn t do what he expected. She flung the bedding onto the floor and began to sort through it, finding the fitted mattress protector and spreading it over the mattress. She covered the padding with a sheet, it s scent holding fresh air and flowers rather than sex and fear. A sheet went over top, folded back over a blanket, and a quilt over top of the whole. It was better she thought as she finished, but she knew that it was only a matter of time until these fresh linens became soiled with her owner s lust. She caught sight of him standing in the open bedroom door, naked and watching her, his expression openly covetous and his c-ck erect. She froze, her eyes at half-mast as he approached, his movements smooth stealth. He rumbled deep in his throat, somewhere between a growl and a purr, and she felt her body react, her chest tightening around her lungs making her breath catch, and her skin sensitizing in anticipation of the touch of his. His hair hung loose over his shoulders, a shadowy pelt that gleamed with good health against his scarred skin, and the startling blue of his eyes caught between the inky blackness of his lashes. He slid between the covers, and she watched the expression of his eyes change as he pushed her onto the bed. He covered her with his body, the heat of him fierce against her, and crooned the growl that made her bones want to melt and caused her skin to crave his against it. His eyes were lazy, smug, and his lip curled, knowing very well what he did to her. His erection brushed over her stomach, and she automatically looked down at it. The tone of his growl shifted as her hand cupped him, his eyes narrowing, and the pupils dilating. His beautiful mouth curled into a smile, and the growl lifted into a purr of sound. She stroked over him, feeling the bead of slickness build at his tip. She had learnt that she could delay him by touching him in ways that he liked, and any reprieve was one she seized upon gratefully. It was no hardness, either, to touch him. He was beautiful, his body sculpted into perfection, lean, large, and strong, and the scars that covered him were fascinating to explore. She stroked her hands over the texture of his skin, following the trail of scars through swirls that led to nowhere, along paths that wove over his chest and shoulders, to curl beneath his ear. She lifted onto her elbow to taste him there, feeling the texture of the scars beneath her tongue. His growl changed tone again, his lips resting against her ear, and his breath warming her skin. She dragged her tongue along the underside of his jaw, where the stubble broke free of his skin. His breath was heavy, and his erection pulsed against her stomach, his tip spilling his sticky milk onto her skin. He lowered onto an elbow and collected the seep onto his fingertip before lifting it to her lips. She knew better then to refuse and tasted the bitterness on the edge of her tongue. He watched her swallow with an avid attentiveness that was voyeuristic. He lifted her leg and lined himself up; her attempt to delay had been accepted but only for a short time. Sometimes he would lay for a longer time letting her touch him, at others, he would take over, impatient to enter her. He met her eyes and said the words that meant to look, or watch, directing her eyes on the joining of their flesh instead of to his own, something he did frequently. He entered her slowly, visually dramatic, the giving of her body to his, the stretch of her around him, the impossible size of him filling her obscenely. He met her eyes, and the expression of his was defiant and challenging. Her heart pounded hard against her ribs - its pulse echoed in her throat. Their eyes locked as he sank fully into her. His eyes were smug, and his lips curled knowingly as he rocked his hips against hers, rumbling the bone-melting growl. Her eyes wanted to close as her body gave to the pleasure of his against it, but she fought against the impulse, knowing he wanted her to keep her eyes on his. He stroked his tongue along her cheek in reward. He was impossibly beautiful, the form of his body perfection, the flow of muscles as he worked his body against hers magnificent. The brilliance of his eyes, the heavily boned form of his jaw, brow, and nose, was not so different than the men of her world, and in proportion to his size and musculature. The cords stood out in his neck, and he lost focus as he came. She felt the strike of his seed within her. He was deliberately trying to get her to conceive, she thought, by the frequency and consistency of his body on hers. That made sense, of the slave market, of the predominance of men. They were following their invasion by making themselves the most populous species on the planet, breeding out pure humans. Within a couple of generations, there would be no distinction between natives and invaders. Her mind rebelled about this weaponization of her body, this reduction of her-self into the product of her womb meant to cement the invasion of this other people onto her world, this replacement of her people with the hybridization of both. What had happened to the elderly, the very young? What happened to those infertile, or too old to be of use to them as child-bearers? Where were the men? In the night-dark swing of his hair, she was reminded of the sway of the bodies on the lamp posts. In the flush on his cheeks as he reached orgasm, she remembered the pallor of the woman beaten and bound to the ground by her wrists. In the seep of his seed from her body, she remembered the slow drip of blood from the corpses fingers in the slave market. He lifted, frowning down at her as if he knew the working of her mind. He made that rumbling crooning growl, watching her reaction, before lowering back over her, sucking on her earlobe as he continued to purr into her ear. They were the perfect invading force, she thought, physically beautiful, savage in nature, ferocious and brutal, with inbuilt seduction in the form of their purr. It was a master-plan unparalleled, utilizing their strengths with skill and ruthlessness. She had to remember, she thought as he began to coax her body towards orgasm. She had to cling to her reason, and remember that his seduction was not affection, that his body on hers was not about him and her, but about the product they would make. She was a slave, a womb, a tool for conquering. He murmured and growled her body into orgasm, and then lay heavily over her, their bodies locked together again. As his breathing regulated, she brought her hands to his back, laying her palms on his skin when he moved slightly, and then lifting them slowly as he stilled again. She generated the energy to her fingertips, one finger at a time, and then released it. A childhood exercise, taught to her by her mother to encourage control and patience. She repeated the exercise on one hand, and then the weaker side, where her control flickered the power unsteadily and did not generate it as strongly. She felt the loosening of his flesh within her and closed her hand on the power as he stirred. He lifted onto his elbows, and stroked his fingers through her hair, murmuring something in his language, his bright azure blue eyes searching hers. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him as he rose, and drew her along behind him, taking her into the bathroom and starting the shower. They washed, the pattern known to her now, and she rubbed the soap into him as she knew he liked it, not ignoring his c-k, which hardened as she stroked him. Once dried, the process repeated with the oil, and she took her time oiling him, hoping to bring him to orgasm with her hands rather than her body. He had let her do it one time only, as if building her hope that her ploy could work on a more regular basis, encouraging her to keep trying. He thought he had won by getting her to touch him in this way, she thought watching the glimmer in his eyes, but she also won because arousing him in this way would cause him to come quicker than at other times. He released himself from her hands and gestured to the bed with his head. The scent of sex rose from between the covers as she crawled into them. As she had hoped, he was quick, coming with a grunt, and lay on her for only as long as it took for the swelling to release, before dragging his tongue along her cheek and rising. He dressed for the first time since they had entered the apartment, not just in the black uniform, but strapping on armour that gleamed like smoked glass across his chest, shoulders, and thighs. He spent a moment running his fingers through the dark hair, forming a functional type of braid, reminding her of the green-eyed man and the elaborate arrangement of his hair by comparison. She watched through the open bedroom door as her owner placed the items from the table into holders around his hips, before collecting a helmet with a face shield from the closet. He called out the word for come, and she slid out of the bed. He led her into the living area and pointed to her neck and then the lead that still hung over the door. Cautioning her not to try to leave. "Don t use the door," she repeated obediently. His lips curled in approval, and he stroked her cheek, before leaving. She stood for a moment, surprised by his departure and unsure if she was meant to remain standing by the door until he returned. She felt a breeze through the crack beneath the door blow cold over her bare feet as the air in the hallway beyond shifted. She crossed the room hesitantly and crawled back into the bed. Time ticked by and she grew bolder the longer he was away. She went to the closet and found that there was an array of clothing within, not just the uniform blacks, but the muted tones of their civilian clothing. She wanted to pull on one of the tops but didn t dare to do so. She used the bathroom and showered, reclaiming her body for herself, removing his scent as much as she could. He still had not returned. She explored the kitchen and drank water from the faucet over the kitchen sink. The doors out onto the balcony held her attention, but she did not want to step out onto it naked. He had covered her as they had left the slave auction, and she thought that it was not so much as to keep her warm as to hide her from other s eyes once she belonged to him. She sensed that being caught bare on the balcony would not be a pleasant experience. She returned to the living space, closing the door behind her, and stood before the door, looking at the lead, her fingers exploring her collar.