Page 34 of Radakk's Mate
I reach around and stroke my tender bottom. Yes, still sore. I turn onto my stomach and close my eyes, once again trying to drift off, aching for the oblivion of sleep. But then my eyes shoot open as I worry I’ll have dreams of Emperor Radakk. What if the dreams don’t stop even though I’m here? Fuck. What if he consumes my days and my nights?
My face heats as I continue replaying the events of today. He’d strip searched me, checking my orifices for contraband, an embarrassment I don't think I’ll ever recover from. Then there was the spanking, when he’d draped me over his knee, keeping my legs spread wide as he punished me. Another embarrassment.
God, how will I ever face him again?
I became highly aroused as he thrashed me, and I don’t understand why. The pain had been terrible, yet my core ached and my clit throbbed, and I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter during the entire shameful experience.
The way he’d held me afterward though… I could’ve sworn there was tenderness in his embrace. I’d liked it. I’d leaned my head against his chest and soaked up that comfort. But now I wonder if I’m a fool who only imagined it, because I’m here in this room all alone.
Warmth quakes in my core as I remember how he’d kissed me and stroked my nether folds while I remained on his lap, how I’d shattered into a million pieces.
I try to stop thinking about the carnal activities we shared, but the memories won’t stop coming. I recall the actual claiming, when he’d bent me over the bed and surged inside me with his lower shaft, and eventually, his upper one. Oh God. Now I’m sweltering. Unable to get comfortable in bed, and I can’t stop the ache that’s pulsing in my center.
I reach a hand down my pajama bottoms and into my panties. Wet. I’m soaking wet, my pussy swollen with what I’m coming to understand is arousal. I stroke a finger through my moisture and gasp when I touch my pulsing clit.
Maybe… maybe I could bring myself to a release. In secret. Then I could settle and finally, finally get some sleep. As I lean back against the pillows and commence stroking myself, I envision how Emperor Radakk’s muscles had tensed as he’d held my head in place while he claimed my mouth.
Four times. He’d pummeled my mouth four times and spurted his seed down my throat, forcing me to swallow. Twice with each of his shafts. I’d been so full from his deliciously sweet blue essence, that when he offered me a meal later in the evening, I hadn’t been able to eat much.
I flush as I recall the comment he’d made, his dark purple eyes blazing as he stared at me from across the dinner table. “Don’t worry, little spy. Even if you don’t eat much food this evening, you’ll remain well-nourished for the day. A Darrvason male’s seed is quite nutritious. In fact, thousands of years ago, when my people faced a famine on our homeworld, our males were able to keep their mates healthy by instituting daily feeding sessions.”
Waves of ecstasy start to descend. I’m close. So close. I draw moisture from my core over my button and caress faster. My hips arch and a soft moan escapes my throat.
“What are you doing?”
I gasp and lurch upright. I remove my hand from my pussy and clutch the covers to my chest, peering at the huge Darrvason male who’s standing in the doorway.
Emperor Radakk.
My heart races as horror washes through me, and my entire body heats with shame.
He caught me.
I was trying to pleasure myself in secret, and he caught me.
At a loss for words, I simply stare at him. I can’t think of a plausible lie to explain my actions. I mean, he has a very good sense of smell, and he walked in just as I hovered on the brink of a climax.
As I sit higher against the pillows, the wetness of my arousal rubs between my thighs.
He stalks into the room, completely naked, his erect male appendages proudly on display. A growl rumbles from him and he rips all the covers off the bed, tearing them from my hands. Even though I’m wearing pajamas—my own pajamas that the captain packed for me—I feel so utterly exposed that I might as well be naked.
Emperor Radakk’s eyes are dark, and I can’t be certain whether he’s angry. Have I broken a rule? I remind myself he never explicitly forbade me from touching myself. Technically, I haven’t done anything wrong.
But why do I feel guilty?
“What thefluxxare you wearing?” The question is almost a roar.
“Pajamas,” I force out, my tone shaky. After he sent me to my room for the night, I bathed and donned my usual nightclothes. What else was I supposed to do? As my gaze drops to his erect shafts again, I wonder if all Darrvasons forgo pajamas.
His nostrils flare, and he grips my upper arm. I cringe, worried he might strike me. The rage in his eyes is so stark, I’m starting to fear for my safety. And yet… the warm, quaking pulses between my thighs keep coming faster. It seems his presence has stoked the flames of my desire, causing me to ache so fervently I’m having trouble breathing.
“Please.” I whimper and lower my gaze, ashamed and scared and so unsettled I don’t know what to do with myself. If he orders me to go to sleep without allowing me a release—whether by his hand or mine—I doubt I’ll survive it. I’ll toss and turn all night, and in the morning, my nether folds will be drenched, my thighs coated with my arousal.
He sits on the bed beside me, still gripping my arm. “Have you done this before?” he asks in a raspy tone. “Touched yourself? Stroked yourself to a release?”
“No,” I confess. “Never.”
“Explain yourself, then.” He lowers his face to mine, and nerves skitter through me, as well as another deep pang of heat in my core.
