“Twenty-five days,” the Inspector muses, “alone with her.” His imperious face hardens. “You can only keep her in the punishment brig for fourteen days – unless she violates some other ordinance.”
“We’re aware of that, sir.”
The Inspector’s eyes narrow.
“You know her weapons, of course."
I stand to my full height. The only man in the world I want to be proud of me is Inspector Haratar. Everyone else in the ranks tends towards stuffy bureaucracy or political maneuvering, tied with inflexible tradition. Inspector Haratar, on the other hand, is a man dedicated to the rule of law. He’s the only man in charge who’d be so blunt and honest as to bring up the risk Allie poses.
The risk of dishonor at her hands.
"You’ve read her file. You know what she did to those Elites. Allie Tabber’s weapon is that sweet cunt between her legs. She'll do everything she can to take control of you…
“…but we’re not weak-willed beasts, sir,” Daccia interrupts. “We will bring her back to you."
Haratar nods. "Good. The triad she fooled deserved to lose everything. They shouldn’t have let their guard down and allowed a con-artist to take their wealth. Their mistake eroded trust in the Aurelian governance, and they had to be made examples of…”
The Inspector takes a deep breath.
“…but – that being said – they were not bad men. She ruined them, and she must be punished.” His eyes narrow. “Good luck on your journey. Give me weekly updates on your status."
Updates weekly?
This means Haratar feels the need to be reassured that we didn't lose control – that we didn’t violate the law and mate with our prisoner.
The Inspector’s doubt in us stings…
…but, given how I’m constantly imagining having that gorgeous little slut bent over my lap, spanking her gorgeous, round ass with my huge hand… Making her beg to suck my cock…
Well, given how my body reacts with involuntary need for her, I can hardly blame the Inspector. This will be a torturous twenty-five days of travel.
Kitos stands. "We will not fail you, Inspector Haratar. She will be brought to you…” He pauses, before reluctantly adding: “…untouched."
"Good. Safe travels, men."
The feed cuts out before we can bid farewell – but that’s typical of Inspector General Haratar. He always was straight to the point – and never too scared to bring up uncomfortable details.
Daccia turns and looks me dead in the eyes. His slate-grey gaze mirrors mine, but his look is hard as stone right now.
"I know your nature, Hadrian,” our leader warns. “You will not snap, do you understand? If you do, I'll cast you out of this ship."
I clench my fists. Daccia might be our leader, but he doesn’t own me.
"We'll see, Daccia,” I growl. “We'll see."
Daccia opens his mouth to retort – but then an icon lights up on the console.
Daccia glances at it, and furrows his brows.
"It's her. She’s requesting communication."
Kitos sighs. "She is allowed it. Even in the punishment brig, she’s allowed one communication per day, minimum – and we’re obligated to answer."
So, she wants to talk with us. I don't know if I should be here to listen. Just looking at that perfect specimen of human femininity will drive me mad with desire…
…and yet, I can’t stop myself from wanting to see her.
10
Allie
The only things in my cell are my stiff bed, the toilet, the intercom button…
…and my wits.
Those even Daccia can’t take from me – or deactivate.
But the intercom is the only way my wits are going to be useful in this cage.
I know this much. I’ve failed to use their bodies against them... so far…
So now, I must use their pride. Aurelians are many things – but sex and honor are their most exploitable facets.
What I’m planning next is going to fucking hurt. I'll be sore for days, if I even pull this off – but it's my next chance to make them snap.
If they're smart? They'll refuse my plan.
But after that speech Daccia gave me when I was first brought aboard this ship, I’m betting that no matter how smart these Aurelians are – or think they are – their pride will ultimately win out. They’ve made it abundantly clear that I was expected to follow the rules of their law down to the letter…
…that forces them to do the same.
I press the intercom. It beeps once… Twice… Then three times, without an answer.
I tighten my lips. Maybe these Aurelians are smarter than I’d expected. They know that I'm dangerous. They aren't the sort of fools who’d underestimate me. The triad of Elites did that – and Daccia, Kitos and Hadrian will have learned from their mistake.
And yet, as codified in their prisoner transport regulations, I know that even while I’m confined in the punishment brig, I still am allowed one short, pertinent call.
Even Aurelians – a notoriously cold and callous species – view solitary confinement to be a brutal punishment. Strict laws have been implemented to protect prisoners as a result. Even if I’d murdered one of their triad, they’d still be forced to answer my demand for communication.
That’s why the Aurelians pick up on the fourth beep. There’s no visual connection, though – they don’t want to look at me.
"You have thirty seconds to say whatever you need to say," comes the grouchy voice of the Aurelian leader, Daccia. My lips curl. It’s satisfying knowing he must be filled with pent-up need after what he’d witnessed in the med-bay.
Ha! I don't care how much self-control he thinks he has. No Aurelian can see a woman tied up, helpless and naked, and not be on the verge of succumbing to their basest desires.
He might have resisted me so far, but for an Aurelian, desire is like a kettle. The heat and pressure keeps building and building as long as you apply the heat…
…until it explodes.
I am that heat – and I need to strike while kettle is still hot.
"Sir," I murmur to the Aurelians, using a term of submissive
