He didn’t speak.
“Say it.”
He turned to her, his black eyes stark and uncompromising. “We’re going to Vesta.”
Her vision darkened. “What do you intend to do with me there?”
He turned at that, finally looking at her. Something moved in his gaze. Softening slightly. There was guilt there. But resolve too. “I mean to introduce you to my family. As my selissa. You’ll be a queen.”
A hostage was more like it. Her throat was so tight, she couldn’t breathe. “Please, don’t do this. Just leave me on a peace planet. Send me to Pax-Ahora like you said. I’ll find an embassy. I’ll get in touch with my father.”
“You’d be sold into slavery in five minutes on your own.”
“You promised to protect me.”
“I am,” he roared and slapped his chest. “This is me saving you.”
“I don’t like your methods for saving me.”
“You don’t have to like it. You just have to do what I say.”
All around, the stillness of the ship settled. She covered her face with her hands, willing herself to calm down, be rational. “Please,” she muttered. “Don’t do this.”
“I can’t. I can’t stop a whole government. Not unless you’re mine.”
His face was so hard. Where was the sweet Tor of the night before? The man who’d held her in his arms as she’d shaken and cried and begged for him. Who’d woken her in the night with kisses and sighs. Who’d made her body come alive in his hands. That man would have told her that he wanted her, that he cared, maybe even loved her. But that man was not here.
All she saw was lies.
He changed moods like they were dirty clothes, tossing them about at random. Hot one minute and cold the next.
“The laws of marriage are sacred on Vesta. No one will touch you. No one but me.” He clenched his jaw, like he was on the verge of talking more, but stopped.
She stood there, foolishly, pathetically, desperately hoping he’d say something about him, about her, something. Anything that would give form to the previous night.
His lips parted. “This could make peace between our planets, Klym.”
She caught herself with a hand on the black bulkhead. It was cold and unyielding. “So, I’m a pawn again. A piece on a political board to be shifted about.”
She clenched her fists, shame and humiliation rising up her cheeks like wildfire. She’d trusted him last night, with her whole body. She’d wept and cried and screamed for him, like an animal. And he was using her. “I refuse.”
He sipped his eeffoc, as calm and unaffected as if they were discussing the weather. “You’re not in a position to refuse.”
“When did you decide this?” The question stuck in her throat. She didn’t want to know the answer. She needed to know. Maybe he hadn’t known last night. Maybe last night at least had been real.
A long pause. He set down his mug.
His gaze was unreadable.
“Before last night?”
He lifted a shoulder. “What does that matter?”
It felt as though he’d punched her. Right in the gut. He might as well have. A physical pain, unlike anything she’d known. It mattered. Very much. It had all been a lie, last night. All of it. Every touch and kiss and word. Every whisper and mischievous dimple.
She didn’t want any more lies. “You are no different from my father. Or Spiro. Or Spiro’s father. Just one more man who’s decided the course of my life without so much as a thought to my preference.”
He stood, filling up the ship, so big and broad. It wasn’t an accident. He was reminding her of just how little control she had. He looked down at her from his great height and let his body do all the menacing it needed to remind her that she couldn’t stop him. She’d never be able to stop him. “I didn’t pretend to be a saint, amiera.”
“I’m not your princess,” she whispered.
A wry smile stretched across his face. “That’s right. You’re a queen now.”
“Never. I won’t ever Bond with you.”
“Yes, you will.”
“I’ll never forgive you for this.” She turned on her heel and headed to the only place on the ship she was sure he wouldn’t bother her. The same place she’d always gone to think and cry and be alone. There hadn’t been many places at the Institute where it was guaranteed no one would bother a person, but the bathing chamber had always been reliable.
So that’s where she went. To the cold comfort of a toilet. Toilets, whatever their other less attractive attributes, did not abduct people.
A crash echoed down the hallway.
17
Noodles in the face
TOR HAD TO GIVE KLYM CREDIT. The woman could hold a grudge. He’d straight-up abducted her this time, so he’d expected some amount of surliness and pouting. Maybe attempts to barter, escape, threaten him with a knife, but he had not expected the all-out war of frigidity she rained down on him.
Silent treatment again.
And this time, it wasn’t funny, or annoying, or even frustrating. Every time she looked at him, those gray eyes tightened, and she just looked as sad as if he’d shat in her breakfast, killed her prize pig, and broken her heart all at once.
He hated feeling guilty.
He considered a hundred times telling her about the peace deal with Franno, but it wasn’t even finalized, and she’d think that was the only reason he’d taken her, and it wasn’t.
If she’d think clearly for one minute, she would see that he offered her more freedom than she ever could have had on Argentus.
For two days, she moved around the ship as if he were invisible.
For two nights, she steadfastly refused to sleep in his bed. He’d considered pressing the issue, using brute force to get her there and tie her down, but sad Klym wasn’t any fun.
She’d taken a long look at Jasto’s bed, then carried a pillow and a couple towels down the hall to the bathing chamber, where she sat with her stupid holo-cam all day.
He tried everything. Prepared breakfast each morning before she woke. The painnea sliced and waiting, with lintorippi berry jam, just as she liked it. Her eeffoc black and hot, how she always drank it.
He stood there like a damned servant, and she didn’t even acknowledge him. Just left the plate untouched. Making her own food, eating it in the corner, and then retreating back to the bathing chamber.
Always, that migane of a bathing chamber.
Giving her space wasn’t working.
Time to change tactics.
“Your dress is dirty,” he said, on the third morning, staring at her curled up in her seat in the bridge.
It was true. It had stains from the kids at Syena’s house, and the hem was dirty from their walk through the town. She’d spilled eeffoc on her chest yesterday morning when he’d barged in on her.
Her head swiveled slowly, her brows raised in haughty disdain.
“It’s stained,” he said, tugging at his ear. “Don’t even get me started on your shoes. They’re nasty.”
Her chin jutted forward.
“I could put them in the washer for you.”
She inhaled sharply.
“But you’d have to take them off.”
Her chin lifted higher. “You could show me where it is. I’m sure I could figure out how to use it.”
“Nah, I need to sell this ship for Syena. Wouldn’t want to risk you jamming it. Repairs on washers take forever. Look, I didn’t want to have to tell you this...” He bit down on the inside of his cheek, remembering their first conversation back on Spiro’s ship. It would only piss her off more. “But you smell.”
Her nostrils flared, and her mouth twitched. She rose, skirts swirling around her ankles, and marched down the passageway.
“You’re going to have to meet my mother, and my father’s other felanas, and my sisters in that dress. About sixty women or so live in my house. Not to mention my brothers and the servants. And Vestige have powerful noses. T
hat’s a lot of people, eager to slap their eyes on you, their brand-new selissa. I mean, hell, the media might be there. It’s a big deal. Me coming home with an alien selissa in tow.” He trailed his tongue over his teeth. “You sure you don’t want me to wash them?”
She froze mid-step.
He smiled at her back. “They’ll whisper if you show up stinky and dirty.”
Her fists tightening by her sides, the elegant, angry steps resumed.
She’d come back.
She did. Faster than he’d have guessed.
He was distracted, tracking their progress—eight more days to Vesta—when a bundle smacked him in the side of his face.
It landed in a lacy pile on the floor by his seat. Her dress and bodice.
He turned toward her. She lobbed two soft objects in his direction, and he didn’t bother blocking them.
Two more small thwacks got him in the shoulder and chest.
Her stockings fell to his lap.
Then came the slippers. They landed softly on the console.
And then her corset. And that he did catch, fighting back a smile, because at least she was fighting back now, and Klym in a temper was a sight to behold.
She’d put on one of his shirts again. Her tan, smooth legs gleamed in the ship’s daytime-simulation lights. That mass of golden hair drifted down her shoulders, and he was certain, beneath those crossed arms, her nipples were dark and hard against the thin, white fabric.
She crossed her arms, head cocking slightly, legs spread like a righteous vintalla, the female warriors on Vesta. She looked proud and furious and strong, and mammia di Vaniiya, he’d never been so hard.
Misery of the dark abyss, she was beautiful. Queenly in her fury. This was the Klym who railed and fought. The one who’d kicked an enemy soldier twice her size, knocked him down for an insult. The one who’d taken a knife to a prisoner because she’d wanted to be free.
This was the woman hiding beneath the lace. This was the woman he wanted. This was the woman he’d taken. She was his.
His mouth went dry. His balls burned. He trailed his thumb along the still-warm fabric of her bra, and rose to his feet.
Her gaze followed her stockings as they fell from his lap to the floor, then back up again to linger briefly on his groin, where his cock tented the front of his trousers. He dropped her slippers on the console, right beside the dents he’d left there when he’d punched it after their last showdown.
He put his hands on his hips, letting her get a good, long look at what the sight of her did to him. “Get used to it, amiera. I doubt this will change anytime soon. My cock likes you.”
She dropped her folded arms, lip curling.
He’d been right. Her nipples were tight beads, and he knew exactly what they’d feel like against the flat of his tongue.
When he stepped toward her, she shifted back, the shirt catching on her nipples. He didn’t pretend he wasn’t looking. They were past pretending.
He backed her up against the bulkhead, staring down at her, frustration momentarily assuaged by the beautiful glimpse of submission in her eyes, the flare of fear tempered by recognition of his greater size, by the strange power they had over each other. The scent of her, hot fruit and arousal, rose in the air, and made his eyelids heavy. He got a grip on her ass and pressed against her belly. “Good girl, amiera. That’s how a woman looks at her Prime.”
Her face registered confused arousal. Dilated eyes, pink cheeks, parted lips.
She felt it for him too. He shoved his nose into her hair, sucking in more of that elusive tropical fruit, and slid his hand down the curve of her ass, between her cheeks, down farther over the smooth skin, to the hot place between her thighs.
Her pussy called to him constantly, and he wasn’t disappointed or even surprised to find her wet for him, because his cock called to her too, even if she chose to ignore it. He slid his finger inside, groaning against her temple because he just knew all that warm, slippery flesh would feel like a thousand fucking heavens on his engorged and furious cock.
A gust of air traveled over his cheek when she breathed, skimming over his neck, her slim fingers digging into his biceps. And he thrust a second finger in, shoving in so hard she dragged up to the tips of her toes. He took more of her weight on his forearm, hooking her thigh up around his waist, and thrust deeper, mimicking the motion that he’d do to her someday soon when he fucked her. He wasn’t gentle, because that wasn’t what she needed. Right now, she needed hard, she needed to know that he was stronger. He was big enough to protect her from the Alliance, and Spiro and her father, from anyone who would ever even think about hurting her. She was safe now. With him, she was home. She just had to accept it.
It was working. She shuddered in his hands, gasping and crying out, her leg tightening around his hips, the air so saturated with the sweet smell of her that it took everything he had not to lift her higher, drop his trousers and lower her onto his shaft.
But if he did that, he really would be the asshole she thought he was, he’d be no better than his father. No, she needed to get used to him, she needed to see him clearly, she needed to choose him.
“That’s right, amiera. Soon, you’ll do that with me inside you.” He trailed his teeth along her ear, down to her parted lips, tasted her with his tongue, gratified when she bucked and came all over his fingers, her body going slack and her head falling against his chest, subdued for the moment.
She blinked up at him with wide, confused eyes.
“Every day, Klym. That’s what we can have together. You’ll be my selissa. You’ll be the mother of my children. You’ll spread your legs when I tell you to, willingly, and I swear on your gods and mine, you will enjoy it.”
Her face paled, and her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want that.”
He released her, taking his hands from her body. “It could be like that all the time. Just accept it. This will be easier.”
She dropped her leg and shoved away from him, all her warm softness leaving his cock cold and frustrated.
He reached a hand toward her. She backed away like he’d slapped her.
Her feet didn’t make a sound as she turned and fled down the hall, back to the bathing chamber.
That damned bathing chamber. She lived in there.
Breathing hard, he looked down at his bulging cock and shook his head. Maybe he’d mishandled that.
He picked up her stockings and dress. It would take a long time to get the dress clean. He’d make sure of it.
She’d just lost clothing privileges for the remainder of the trip.
For eight days, there’d be nothing between him and her sweet, soft pussy but one of his own shirts.
And tonight, she wasn’t sleeping on the floor like an animal.
SHE STOPPED EATING. Hunger strike to go with the silent treatment.
Tor made lunch. A nice one, with extra vegetables and berries.
She swept right past him and filled a glass with water, drank it down and disappeared down the hall toward the bathing chamber again. Oh, amiera. You are fucking with the wrong man.
He’d grown to hate that room. And he was sick of pissing down the waste-ejector.
The fury in the growl that rose in the back of his throat surprised him.
He stormed down the hall to the closet and dug through the tool box. His hand closed around the handle of the drill.
No more playing nice.
He stopped in front of the bathing chamber hatch.
The telltale splash of liquid on the other side of the door made him grin. Let her be naked. He’d give anything for a quick glimpse of those full tits floating on the water.
He pressed the drill bit against the first screw on the bathing chamber hatch.
It fell to the floor with a ping and rolled across the passageway floor.
The second and third screws landed not far away.
The hatch lifted off with barely a whisper.
Klym glared at him from the back wall,
where she sat with her feet in the water, hands folded in her lap.
She was not naked, no tits in sight. So, he leered at her legs instead.
She crossed them.
They held each other’s gaze for a long moment.
He waggled his drill and backed out of the room, taking the hatch with him.
It fit in the hangar. Plenty of space there. He whistled as he headed back to his seat in the bridge.
SHE DIDN’T EAT DINNER either, though she had to be hungry.
She did the water routine again, filling a glass, refusing to look at him. The long column of her throat flexed as she swallowed.
“Eat your food.”
No response.
“Eat your food, please.”
Nothing. Not so much as a flinch.
“I said...”
Finally, she turned toward the plate he’d made for her. Her favorite root vegetables sat, cleaned and diced, beside the noodles and meat he knew she liked.
She picked up the plate.
“Don’t you dare take that to the bathi—”
The plate smashed right into his face and bounced to the floor with a clatter.
Sauce dripped down his cheeks, covering his shirt. Noodles stuck in his unshaved jaw.
She whirled and ducked into the hallway.
Something squishy slid down his nose and plopped to the floor.
He roared and tore the sodden shirt over his head.
With jerky motions, he yanked off his boots, and his now-filthy pants. He belted out a few loud curses.
In nothing but his socks, he padded down the hall.
When he rounded the open doorway into the bathing chamber still fuming, she flinched, backing into the corner.
The holo-cam played the holos of her mother in the endless depressing feed of a dead woman’s laughter and smiles, circling around the room, beside her living, glowering daughter. He grabbed the stupid digi and turned off the feed. Prowled across the room and got a grip on her arm.
He spun her so she faced the bulkhead.
He got his hand around her neck and squeezed, pulling her up so her feet nearly left the floor. Her hands touched the bulkhead, all five fingers spread. Her cheek pressed against it too, and he realized she was shaking.
The Taming Page 12