Page 8 of Kenan's Mate
“You will obey me in everything, Laylah, or I will make you hurt.” He growls, a dark animalistic noise that vibrates over my aching breasts and makes me quiver harder beneath him. “Well, I will make you hurt sometimes for no other reason than because it pleases me. But the times you are disobedient, I will make you hurt especially bad. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Ke-Kenan.” It feels odd uttering his name for the first time. He holds so much authority and brute strength over me I instinctively want to call himMr. Kenan, orsir. “So, is-is it ov-over, then?” I sniffle, wishing my hands were free so I could rub the pain out of my stinging breasts.
“Not yet, Laylah. You’re repentant, I can see that, but not repentant enough.” His voice is strangely gentle, as if he’s trying to coax me into understanding that I’ve been a bad girl and I actually deserve this.
He shifts slightly and squeezes my wrists tighter. The belt trails over my sore breasts, like a dark seductive caress. He raises it up, and I start struggling anew and issuing incoherent pleas for mercy.
But he pays no heed to my begging and starts lashing my breasts again. Tossing my head from side to side, I bite my lip until I taste blood and try to endure this seemingly endless torture.
Whoosh. Crack. Whoosh. Crack.
As he beats me, I cry not only from the physical pain, but also for the profound loss of my former life.
Earth.
Earth is so far away it might as well not exist. I will never see my mother and father again, or Aunt Mabel or any of my friends. All my hopes and dreams are now nothing but dust.
Before our ships destroyed the Stargazer, we closed the wormhole. You are stuck on Tallia, little human, for the rest of your days.
His pronouncement still rings in my ears, along with his promise to claim me after he finishes doling out my punishment. A haze of pain consumes me. Each breath is a struggle. There’s no relief in between the slaps of his belt; the stinging throb persists even in the brief pauses before he hits me again.
At last, he stops the whipping and throws the belt down. It thuds to the floor, and I glance at my breasts and gasp at the red welts covering them. I feel brutalized and hopeless. And, yes, repentant because I’m so sorry I ran from him.
When he releases my wrists and cups my face, another sudden flash of tenderness in his eyes leaves me stunned. He wipes at my tears, and his touch is so gentle compared to the harshness I’ve endured, I find myself leaning into his caresses as if I’m hopelessly starved for affection. Perhaps I’m simply relieved the whipping is over.
“Shh,” he whispers. Before I understand his intentions, he has me seated on his lap and wraps his arms around me. He rubs my back, taking his time and handling me as if I’m a delicate flower, and lets me cry quietly against his chest.
I try to pretend he’s not Kenan, but a different, nameless man who’s rescued me from my tormenter and is comforting me.
He holds me for a long time. I melt against him, perversely grateful for each tender touch and caress. I can’t remember the last time I sat on someone’s lap. When I was a young child, I suppose. I fall into a lull of warmth and contentment, pushing away all my worries about what’s to come, though, in the recesses of my psyche, I attempt to understand how Kenan can switch from being brutal and sadistic to being tender so quickly. It’s as if he’s two completely different people.
What if I never escape this alien called Kenan?
Maybe this is the only sweetness I’ll know in my new life.
Maybe I’ll have to take beatings in order to receive a hug or a comforting touch. This thought pushes a new batch of tears to my eyes, but I blink them back and try to compose myself.
“Put your arms around me, Laylah.”
I obey, and God it feels nice to wrap my arms around his waist. My hands don’t meet, he’s that wide, all muscle-bound and huge, and I start to wonder if I’m going crazy. His mere presence, let alone his closeness, should repulse me. But it doesn’t. Not even a little.
Another peek at my breasts show none of the welts have broken. I’m not bleeding, but holy fuck they still hurt. I wonder if I’ll wake up to find my chest covered in bruises tomorrow, bruises inflicted by the alien who’s now combing his fingers through my hair and nuzzling his face against my head, all while he continues rubbing my back soothingly.
Then I detect the hardness beneath my bottom.
My eyes go wide.
I hold still, even stop breathing, in hopes the unmistakable bulge of his erection will wither. But it persists in growing larger and harder beneath me.
My heart leaps when he places me back on the bed. He flips me over and arranges me stomach down with my legs dangling above the floor. I bury my face in the soft covers.
I should run. I shouldn’t let this happen without a fight. But the pain of my punished breasts pressing against the bed reminds me of what happens when I disobey. I get beaten. I don’t want him to hit me again, with his hand or his belt or any other implement, so I remain in the vulnerable position.
He taps the insides of my thighs, forcing me to spread wider. The cool breeze dances across my exposed pussy lips and I start shivering.
“So pretty and pink and smooth.” He prods at my entrance, sliding his fingers around in my essence.
Whimpers leave me as he goes deeper, and deeper still, until the intrusion begins to burn.
