Pulling from her and wiping himself with some wet disposable cloths, he rolled her onto her back. “You mean it... you’re not joking.”
“No, I mean it. I love you, Dravven. It’s why I’ve chosen to stay. Apparently, I was born a submissive, who knew? I’ve been looking for an alpha male my whole life, it seems.” She felt her cheeks and chest flush. It was a huge admission. But being honest with her dom and herself was the first step to becoming the princess of Gralon Empire.
Chapter Twelve
Sable looked around the dining room table at her family intermingling with Dravven’s family, and without a shred of doubt, she knew within her heart that it wouldn’t end well. Her family was outspoken—the women especially, at which Dravven’s family would end up being appalled.
She had done everything in her power to keep Nash away from Imperia, hoping that Dravven’s father Rexx, and Zadicus, her father would be able to keep a healthy distance between the two. The last thing she needed was her sister here, and the last thing her sister needed was the sadistic, mischievous Nash.
She’d taken great pains with the cook to have holo-place cards floating above each plate, and kept Nash at his father’s left and Dravven at Rexx’s right and doing the same with her sister and mother with King Dred. Keeping Nash and Imperia at opposite ends of the table would solve any issues.
“Oh, who did this?” Nash’s loud, brash voice rose above everyone else’s as they searched for their seat. “We can’t have the Dred women cloistered at one end of the table; it wouldn’t be right. Imperia, come sit with me down here by King Graeme. We have too many men down here, and having a delightful princess near us would lighten our conversation dramatically.”
“Oh, no—” Sable had started to say but was completely ignored.
Imperia giggled. “Why Nash, I’d love to sit with you and your father.”
Dravven shrugged at her before whispering, “It’ll be fine, Sable. Let’s just eat.”
The table had been adorned with covered dishes of food, filling the table with every delicacy and traditional food from their planet for their guests to try.
“Dravven, I hear that my daughter has decided to stay with you. I assumed when I read the email on my comm set at home that this meant you had succumbed to my daughter’s obstinate ways, allowing her to take control here as she did at home. But I can see from watching you two that is not the case. It appears that she’s submitted to you completely.” Zadicus stabbed his fork into the pile of food on his plate, obviously enjoying the various foods.
“Yes, King. Your daughter did give us a struggle at first.” Dravven winked at Sable, and she felt her cheeks become hot with her blush.
“I should say she did. You should have heard the yelling and throwing of things from their room, and the caterwauling during her paddlings had us all cringing for her. She’s a stubborn little thing,” Nash laughed, shoving a large dinner roll in his mouth.
“Nash, you’ll not interrupt. King Dred asked me; I’m sure he’ll direct conversation your way in a moment.” Dravven glared at his younger brother, and Sable shifted in her chair, looking out of the corner of her eye at her family to judge their reaction.
King Dred and the queen appeared taken aback; they weren’t used to such forthright rebukes, especially in front of guests.
“You’ll not speak to me as if I’m a child, Dravven. I know a thing or two about training and disciplining women, and I would not have coddled or taken such a light hand as you did with Sable. You didn’t do her or yourself any favors with your mediocre attempt at dominance. A firm, consistent hand is what women need to feel secure and know who is in charge.” Nash had stopped eating and was pointing his finger at both Dravven and Sable with his tirade.
Dravven wiped his mouth with his napkin, placing it on the table before leaning back in his chair to focus his attention on the churlish asshole at the end of the table. But it was Imperia’s red cheeks and giggling that had Sable concerned. Why was she acting that way? Did she think it was... sexy or funny? Did she not understand the seriousness of a sadistic dominant?
“Nash, last I knew you don’t have a wife. Or even a woman you can say you’re dating. You know nothing of the nuances or gentle care that must be given when dealing with the sensitive nature of a delicate woman. And at this rate, you may never know.” Dravven cleared his throat. “I would like to continue my conversation with the king, without interruption.”
Nash nodded. “Absolutely. But have no fear, dear brother, I’ll have a woman sooner than you may think.”
Dravven and Sable exchanged looks, and both of them glanced toward King Graeme and King Dred, not noticing any indication that either man knew what Nash was talking about.
Dravven continued speaking to Zadicus, hoping he could over-talk Nash, keeping him from adding to any confusion at the table. “Your daughter, King, has been instrumental in furthering the Prism Project and with her intelligence and coordination, we have almost finished the details and are hoping to launch it within a couple of months. She’s a beautiful woman, Sir. I’m very honored to call her my wife and partner.” Dravven squeezed her thigh, before leaning in to kiss her lightly on the cheek.
“I’m glad to hear it, Dravven. She’s a good girl, and smart. I had my doubts that she could adjust to your planet, but it appears that I was wrong. We look forward to the merging of our dynasties and are anxious to see what the future holds for our families.”
Sable smiled at her husband, nodding and smiling at the family members gathered. What had appeared to be a crisis—the end of her career and life—all those months ago had been a blessing. How many times had she seen that with herself or others? What seemed to be an end was actually a beginning, the start of something new—something grander and more glorious than she could have ever imagined for herself and was exactly what she had needed and desired for her life.
And now because of her prison sentence, losing her project, and her six-month captivity, she had watched her project become bigger and better than before, and she’d found the love of her life and was living a lifestyle that gave her immeasurable happiness.
She looked down at the end of the table and wondered if maybe her sister Imperia felt the same way or was she looking forward to a change? Did she want something that couldn’t be found on Draenor? And what about Nash? Did he desire a woman that the Gralon Empire couldn’t provide?
Life had a way of taking what seemed impossible and making it possible, turning what seemed to be the end of the world into something new and beautiful.
After all, Sable had found her happiness in becoming Dravven’s submissive.
The End
About Megan Michaels
#1 Amazon Bestseller in Erotic Western & Erotic Historical Megan Michaels writes BDSM Romance that is Contemporary, Western Historical, Sci-Fi, and Victorian. Her books delve into Domestic Discipline and Dominance/submission, and all of them have elements of BDSM. Megan Michaels’ books are a sensual exploration into erotic romance. She loves a strong alpha male who spanks, and if that man is a Dom, alien, or a cowboy...well then the perfect situation has been created.
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Swallowed by Darkness by Myra Danvers
Chapter One
Cold.
The sort of cold that lined the kidneys and chilled the blood, seizing her every muscle with violent, spine-bending shivers. Nothing else was relevant. Not how she’d come to be there or why she couldn’t remember... anything. Not her name, how old she was, or how long she’d been wherever here was. But it didn’t matter, for she knew—without opening her eyes—this was the sort of cold no human being could withstand for long.
Groaning, she tried to pull aching limbs into the fetal position. Tried to preserve bo
dy heat and keep her vital organs warm for just a little longer, but was stopped before she’d even begun.
Bound at wrists and ankles. Legs spread wide. Hands useless at her sides.
No leverage.
Pinned. Exposed.
Panic knotted her intestines into garish ribbons, but it was too cold to scream. Too hard to open her eyes and assess her surroundings. Instead, she flexed fingers and toes, counting them. Trying to force the feeling into stiff digits. Searching for a reason that she’d be strapped to what felt like a gurney, bared and alone, with nothing between naked flesh and frigid steel. Left helpless to stop her precious, fragile core temperature from plummeting.
She’d die betrayed by her own circulatory system. With her heart working to spread ice through her veins, it wouldn’t be long before her muscles gave up their pathetic trembling. Not long until the shivering stopped and everything went quiet...
Teeth grit, she clenched her fists, squirming to ease the ache of muscles fast approaching fatigue. Flexing, back arched, she came up against the bonds. Head swimming on an ocean of fizz, ears stuffed with a bizarre, rumbling click.
Drugged. She’d been drugged. That had to be it. The blurry distortion of rational thought tasted like anesthesia, but... aside from the glacier burning through her veins, there were no discernible injuries. No memories of illnesses that would require her to go under the knife.
So why was she here?
Pulling a breath between chapped, cracked lips, she clawed her way back to consciousness. Pressing her shoulder blades into the hard steel beneath her until the bones threatened to slice through her skin and grind themselves dull on the gurney. Relishing the sharp pain and its tethers to the waking world.
A long, low hiss pierced her ears, but still, she couldn’t pry her lids apart. Could do nothing but tilt her head to the right, trying to pinpoint the sound.
Footsteps, thumping above her head, bringing a second, deeper hiss. A pressure valve, letting off steam?
“‘Lo?” she slurred, voice ragged and hoarse.
Something wet landed on her sternum. Heavy. Pinning her flat.
She squirmed. “Noo...”
A wordless snarl reverberated through the air, doubling the weight on her chest. Compressing ribs and forcing the air from her lungs. Still beneath the assault, so as not to provoke further retribution, she waited. Counting the seconds.
With a chuff that reverberated the air in her ears, the weight lifted, leaving behind a sticky moisture coating her breasts. Trickling over her sides to pool beneath her armpits. Tingling as it mixed with the chill in the air, it stank of damp, dark things. Neither molding nor rotting, but... musty. As if in need of a good spring clean.
Certainly not something found in the pristine sterility of a modern operating room.
She took a breath, trying to peel her lids apart as feet scuffed the floor by her head.
Picking up a melodic tune, her captor began to hum, voice deep. Masculine. The song unrecognizable, but it was the metallic clink that gave her involuntary shivering new life. “Oh, god... Pl-please... let me go...”
The song stopped, mangled by a stream of harsh, guttural words she couldn’t comprehend—answered by an airy, light voice hovering by her feet. A voice thick with boredom and contempt, though she couldn’t understand the words. Careless hands finding purchase on her inner knees.
Blood rushed in her ears, drowning out the foreign conversation going on above her.
Two. There were two, and the latter stood with what must be a spectacular view of her spread nudity. With a squeal, she bucked, trying to pull her knees together by sheer force of will—a useless action driven by panic. She knew that. Understood the mechanics of her organs reacting to the terror signals her brain was sending them. By this point, her adrenal glands had dumped enough hormones into her blood to help her lift a car, or run until she’d beaten every Olympic world record for sprinting and distance ever held.
Useless here, while she was tied to a gurney not located in a hospital operating room. Blind and naked. Helpless to resist the man tinkering above her or the woman holding her knees apart. Couldn’t fight or flee. No, the adrenaline did nothing but cloud her judgment, when what she truly needed was a plan. A weapon. Some way to get leverage on her captors. Fool them into complacency so they’d give her a chance to fight.
Forcing her muscles to still, she exhaled through her nose, focusing on the high-pitched whistle as two streams of air passed over her upper lip. Tickling the tiny, fine hairs on her skin. The tide of rushing blood receded enough that she could pick out the conversation going on around her, punctuated with the clink and shiiiick of steel on steel.
Was he sharpening a blade? Preparing to slice into her though he knew she was conscious, knew she’d feel it? Was that what he wanted?
Breath in. Breath out.
“Please,” she whispered, licking dry lips, eyeballs rolling behind fused lids. “If you can—can understand me, I have money. I-I’m a doctor,” she rasped, seizing the tiny crumb of her broken memory. Not caring whether or not her words were a bluff. “I have a savings account, and—”
Fingers pried her lips apart, plunging past her teeth, palpating the flat of her tongue, then going deeper. Rushing past her gag reflex, in spite of her effort to bite through flesh and bone to stop it.
Slimy.
The wandering digits coated her lips, tongue, and throat in a thick, viscous slime. Probably the same gunk spread across her breasts, though she couldn’t see to confirm. She gagged again, abdomen and ribs heaving against the invasion, unable to scream as impossibly long fingers burrowed deeper. Stretching her throat. Making her jaw ache with the force.
Eyes burning, she writhed, trembling beneath him even as his partner moved to pin her hips. But her tears wouldn’t fall, trapped as they were behind her eyelids. Which made no sense. Her tear ducts should have been free to function, unless her eyes had been sealed shut. Glued.
He withdrew from her throat, voice rumbling low and insistent above her as she gasped. Upper back thumping against the gurney with the force of her coughing.
“Unnngh—” She retched, bringing up a mouthful of slime and bile—though she couldn’t taste it. Couldn’t feel it as it splashed down her chin and chest. Numb. Her tongue was numb. Lips, throat, chest, everywhere the man had touched, everywhere her skin was wet with slime, she was numb. Blessedly so.
Topical numbing agent. Lidocaine, though it didn’t taste or smell anything like the product with which she was so familiar. Something similar, perhaps. Something... better. Faster acting. More thorough, for her vocal cords were all but useless now. Paralyzed, barring the smallest, most senseless sounds. Jaw working on wordless air as she tried to force the tiny muscles to work. Tried to scream, to reason with them, to do anything but gasp like a fish.
The man laughed, flicking her nose with the tip of a wet finger, cooing and hissing nonsense as he swiped at the mess she’d made of her front. She felt the impact of fingers on her lips without feeling much of anything else. Couldn’t stop him when he pried her jaws open once more, tilting her head back and fitting a bit of metal between her teeth. Opening her airway and straightening her throat.
She moaned, trying to shake her head, even as he fitted a clamp around her temples. Pinning her truly immobile and utterly at his mercy. Couldn’t move, scream, or thrash.
A shrill, two-toned beep brought a hum from the man and a silky chuckle from his partner. Whatever they were planning, whatever device they were preparing to use on her chirped twice more, then went silent. Leaving a tense, heavy moment in its wake, in which the only sound was her own labored breaths.
When those hated, slender fingers slid down her throat a second time, she could do nothing but take it. Even her gag reflex couldn’t be bothered to react to the intrusion, subdued as it was by the slime.
But she could feel him, moving inside her. Two long, nimble fingers searching for something. Agitating the delicate cartilage that, if brok
en, would mean her death.
A click, echoing inside her, and for one heart-stopping moment, she assumed it was the sound heralding the end. When that shrill, two-toned beep came from within her, however, she knew.
The device—whatever it was—was inside her.
Grunting, the man shifted his weight, what might have been his belly brushing against her forehead.
The woman murmured something low and soothing, cool, wet fingers tracing the backs of her knees as the beeping started anew. Picking up the pace, chirping a rhythmic tune in place of her voice. Speaking for her.
And then it expanded, making her throat bulge, exceeding the limits of the advanced numbing agent as skin and cartilage shifted, trying to accommodate, lest she tear.
She needn’t have feared, for a moment later, he set something hot against her skin, on the other side of her voice box. With a metallic click, the two pieces fit together, locking in place. One inside, the other out.
Above her, the man spoke, tangling his fingers in her damp tresses as her new parasite settled. He pulled the bit from between her teeth, keeping her motionless as her new voice began to heat. Tendrils of molten steel pulsed through her nerves, into her brain stem, and twined about her spinal cord. Becoming one with her skin, bones, and tendons.
It was then, as she lay there staring at the back of her eyelids without the strength to react, that she realized two things. Whatever had been done to her throat was permanent, and she was in shock.
Shock was the only thing capable of explaining why she couldn’t be bothered to whimper or fight. Her body’s way of protecting her mind when everything else was lost.
All of this should matter. Her heart rate should be elevated to dangerous levels. Palms sweaty. It wouldn’t be unexpected if she’d lost control of her faculties at some point, messing all over herself.
But she hadn’t. Couldn’t bring herself to get too worked up about anything at all.
Perhaps the slime had a sedative effect, even if they’d foregone the courtesy of truly knocking her out during their macabre experiments.
Alien Alphas: Twenty-Three Naughty Sci-Fi Romance Novellas Page 108