“You ready to share what you know, yet?” His thumb tracked back and forth over the hardening nub, his movements lazy, but precise, like the lazy flick of a Tigos tail. Coupled with the tight rope surrounding her breast it ignited a sharp, breathless pleasure beyond what she could have imagined was possible. “All this stops when you give in.”
She let out a low moan, her elbows rising as her back arched and she melted into his touch.
It was shameful. It was wrong. Her skin sang anyway, greedily soaking up the contact like the thirsty Dragath clay did the rare rains.
“Your body likes my touch.” He sounded nearly as surprised as she. “I’ve never seen someone so responsive.”
Heat flooded between her thighs as shame filled her soul. She yanked at her bonds, but there was no escape.
“If I slide my hand between your thighs, I’ll find you soaked, won’t I?” His free hand circled her throat, holding her in place. “Primed and desperate to be filled by me. The same savage you zapped the shit out of not too long ago.”
He was right. Her body wasn’t responding as a blessed pack female should. Instead, a low whimper of supplication slipped from her lips.
This did not feel like punishment. It felt like a revelation. Like a prayer whispered and answered.
“You watch my hand as if you can will it to rub that throbbing clit.” The beast’s low baritone was as relentless as his touch. “That’s not happening. Not until I get what I need.”
His fingers dipped low, skating across her quivering stomach—leaving burning heat in his wake—before slipping beneath the rough harness at her hips.
Except he never came near the terrible ache that needed him most.
Had Talg known this would be part of her punishment? Was this why he’d picked her to trade with the Others in the first place?
“Who the fuck is Talg?” The grip at her throat tightened.
She stifled a gasp. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud.
“Answer the question.” Another quick tweak to her nipple. More terrible, scorching heat seared her skin.
She whimpered, her eyes fluttering shut, her head lolling back as far as his hold allowed.
Which left her unprepared for the snap of the harness between her legs.
“Ah!” She bucked in her restraints, her vision dimming as pain and pleasure collided and painted everything red.
“Who. Is. Talg?” He tugged hard on the cable three more times. Snap, snap, snap. Each time sent her higher onto her tiptoes as the rough rope slapped her throbbing center and every drop of blood rushed to the punished area between her thighs.
“P-please.” Keening, past the point of caring, she thrust her hips and tried to keep the exquisite pressure from disappearing.
“Won’t work, wild thing.” He released the harness, his hand sliding up her inner thigh, his light caresses only leaving the ache worse than before. “That’s the power of edging. Only I can give you what you need. But you’ll have to give me something in return. Who is Talg? Does he have the missing slaves? Is he the one that gave you the glowing spear?”
She shuddered as firm strokes swept across the small of her back, the side of her ribs, the rise of her buttocks, whipping her need higher, leaving no part of her unclaimed.
“Tell me what I need to know,” he growled. “Or I’ll work this pretty pearl so hard you’ll be begging me to do anything and everything I want to you.”
His thumb stroked her woman’s center. Finally.
The first time anyone besides herself had touched her there.
It was too much.
Her lungs stuttered. Her senses shut down.
10
Grif caught his captive before she dropped and the full weight of her body tugged on the restraints and caused permanent damage. What the fuck had just happened?
Her body was so light it was easy enough to hold her up with one hand while he unhooked the binds with the other and, using his toe to drag the anazi beneath her, laid her on the ground. Her hair a wild tangle, her too-thin golden limbs still and pliable, his rope harness still wrapped tight around her breasts, waist, and hips.
Crouching above, he pressed his hand to the pulse at the base of her neck. Her heart beat sure and steady.
He sucked down a shuddered breath. Plenty of subjects had fainted on him during an interrogation, but he usually saw it coming.
She moaned, twisting in place, her legs falling wider open.
Lust returned with a vengeance. He fought it. It wasn’t as easy as it should have been with her spread on the ground before him. A fucking fantasy of submission and surrender. Just the way he liked his partner.
But that wasn’t what she was. Not at all.
He splashed some water on her cheeks. Then he lifted her head and forced small sips between her lips, tracing the edge of her tiny fangs with his thumb. Up close, they were almost adorable. Fierce, to be sure. But so tiny and delicate. Like the rest of her.
He’d crossed off warrior princess as a possibility. She just wasn’t fierce enough. Her inability to conceal her worry for the feathered creature also indicated a definite lack of training. Same with her inability to hide her desire. He’d never come across anyone who seemed to get so easily lost in her need.
Jury was still out on some kind of priestess, but if she was a novice, then shouldn’t she be safe in some temple? Not out on her own trading metal for food and humans, or tied up in his ropes guarding her secrets from an opponent three times her size?
She just seemed…vulnerable. In need of safeguarding rather than punishment.
That kind of gray was not comfortable for a man like him.
“Grif! You there?” The shout came from outside the cave, but it was loud enough to echo through the space.
He bit back a curse. His captive never stirred.
A surge of something that felt a lot like protectiveness ran through him.
He told himself to get a fucking grip.
A quick loop of her wrist in a double column tie. Another quick check to make sure the rest of her restraints were in place, and he stalked to the rock that blocked the entrance, grabbed an ax, and slid the boulder open just enough to slip through. He had no interest in spectators while he worked.
“What are you doing here?” He stood in front of the rock, arms crossed over his chest, ax held loosely on one hand.
“That’s a nice greeting.” Ryker, his superior and second-in-command—for now—was the first to speak.
“I’m working.”
His teammate Malin surveyed him from head to toe. “At least today’s work doesn’t mean being covered in dirt.”
Could the shaved-headed fucker get any more patronizing? “I was digging pits then. I’m not anymore.”
Malin and his thick neck were gunning for the second-in-command position, too. They’d never been close, but the tension between them had definitely ratcheted up recently.
“We were patrolling.” Ryker said at last. “Thought we’d say hello.”
The other three teammates who’d come: Bain, Zale, and Quil, nodded as one, expressions blank.
Grif called bullshit.
They were here to check up on him. Probably sent by the commander.
He got it. He did.
First, he’d screwed up and let the enemy get the drop on him. Then, he’d returned from the slave camp with headcase written all over him. He was no shrink, but he suspected his less-than-pleasant stay with 223’s gang had brought up some unfinished business from his past.