Page 41 of Sold to the Nalgar
She was not what he had paid for.
She wasmore.
His fangs pressed lightly against the inside of his mouth. Not with hunger, but with restraint.
He could have taken what he wanted. Pinned her, tasted her, and torn past every barrier. She was small. He was big. He was a god on this planet, and she… an acquisition, a luxury. Mere chattel.
Or so he told himself.
She should have meant nothing.
So why was he holding himself still?
Why did he want her tolook at himagain with something other than loathing?
Zarokh exhaled slowly and steadily through his nose, his breath measured. A deep rumble stirred in his chest, like distant thunder over cold mountains.
This was not what he had planned.
And yet, he found himself wanting to see what would happen if he waited. If he let the frost melt just a little.
Just enough... to taste what lay beneath.
Zarokh’s gaze remained fixed on her.
She sat beside him as if sitting beside a blade: aware of its sharpness, its danger, yet refusing to show fear. Her posture was still guarded, arms wrapped around her knees beneath the folds of purple silk. The collar at her throat gleamed faintly under the low ambient lighting. A reminder. A symbol. She belonged to him.
But not yet in spirit.
Her mind was still fortified, encased behind walls of fury and grief. Behind loss. Behind the shattering of her world. He saw it. Respected it, even. But it was inconvenient.
She would come to him. He would see to it.
There were ways. Techniques whispered in courtrooms, traded between powerful warlords, used by Dukkar traders with delicate cargo like her. Stories of humans, their reactions, theirsoftness. How easily they yielded when handled correctly.
Their pleasure centres, it was said, were not so different from those of the Nalgar. Touch. Sensation. Stimulation. They responded to pleasure. Could beretrainedby it.
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye. She was still silent, pretending to be made of steel, not flesh.
But shewasflesh.
Warm, pulsing, sensitive flesh. And that was his advantage.
He shifted slightly on the bed, slow enough not to startle her, but deliberately enough to draw her attention.
Her dark eyes flicked toward him—watchful, resentful…
But curious.
He let the silence stretch between them, allowing it to grow heavy and intimate.
Then finally, he spoke, his voice low and rich, curling through the translator like a caress.
"You are not ready to give me your mind," he said. "So perhaps... I will take your body first."
Her eyes narrowed. She shifted and recoiled slightly, but didn’t rise. He had expected resistance. He wanted it. Resistance made surrender sweeter.
He tilted his head thoughtfully, as if studying a puzzle. "Do you know, human," he said, "that many of your kind, when taken... eventuallybegfor what they once feared?"
