But it doesn’t matter how shameful we’re expected to feel about it – I can’t imagine any woman not at least once considering the appeal of running away to join an Aurelian harem; even wealthy, privileged women, like me.
And for those not born into wealth? It’s even more appealing.
For women who don’t live behind the protective walls of a massive estate, or go to bed with a full belly every night, the appeal is obvious. Some of the women who volunteer for the harems are fleeing poverty, or danger. Others just crave the feeling of an Aurelian’s harsh dominance – the eroticism of being owned, and punished.
I mean, I might be a virgin – but I’m not naive to the appeal of that. The Aurelians enjoy punishing women, and some women enjoy being punished. I’d be lying if I said the light spanking Brennan had disciplined me with left me with only a hot, tingling backside.
My panties were also flooded.
Aurelians crave dominating and controlling willing women – almost as much as they appear to crave fucking and seeding them.
Many women crave to be on the receiving end of such treatment.
I remember my book:
“The Bond draws out the deepest desires of the affected party.”
Is that what’s happening to me? Are my darkest desire being drawn out by the proximity of these three Aurelians? Is this what all women experience? Or is there more to it?
I shiver. I don’t know the answer to those questions.
All I do know is that if Aurelians really do crave the opportunity to punish human females, tomorrow will be a very good day for Brennan…
…and very bad for me.
I don’t know what Brennan’s going to do to me to make good on his threat of ‘punishment’...
…and I’m terrified he’s going to lose control when he does.
8
Natali
My eyes open. For a moment, I’m confused.
I’d expected to wake up in my own bed, in my own room – in the estate that’s been my home and prison for as long as I can remember.
Instead, I wake up in a cold, dank basement – staring at the face of a stranger.
It takes my brain a half-second to remember where I am, and to understand what I’m seeing.
The handsome, haughty face belongs to Brennan. He’s lying across from me, still sleeping. We’re facing each other – our cuffed hands stretched out until they’re nearly touching.
I never thought I’d get to sleep the night before, but apparently, I did. Exhaustion is a powerful tonic.
Now, I’m awake – and as I lie in the snug sleeping back, I stare across the cement floor at Brennan’s peaceful face.
Gods, he’s perfection. Flawed perfection, perhaps, but still a work of living, breathing art.
Brennan’s jawline is hewn as if from diamonds, wide and masculine. He has a stern, Romanesque nose and surprisingly full lips. There’s no pink tint to his lips – that’s what makes Brennan look the most inhuman. It’s as if those big, plump lips are carved from the same marble as the rest of his magnificent, muscular body.
It’s ironic to describe Brennan’s nose as Romanesque, because now he’s asleep he even more closely resembles those ancient Greek and Roman statues that Aurelians are so often compared to.
His perfect, alabaster skin reminds me that Brennan’s DNA is far different from mine. I can’t let myself think of this gorgeous man as human – to let my guard down. He’s an alien, through and through, with thoughts and desires that are equally alien to my own.
I shift my weight, not taking my eyes from my slumbering captor.
When Brennan sleeps, he looks so peaceful – right down to the tiny crow’s feet at the corner of his closed eyes. Crow’s feet might be a sign of age – maturity – but that’s what makes them so intoxicating. Those lines were earned from long days of squinting in the sunlight of a thousand different planetary horizons, or keeping watch long into the night in Scorp-filled caverns and tunnels.
Aurelians are intrinsically beautiful creatures – but it’s Brennan’s age and experience that makes him especially so. It’s the same with his two battle-brothers. The three of them are all beautiful, tormented creatures – but whether they’re demons or angels, I’m not yet sure.
Brennan’s eyes suddenly shoot open.
My breath catches in my throat. The moment he’s awake, the leader of the Aurelians loses all trace of his humanity. The huge, slate-grey orbs he’s staring at me with are totally colorless and blank – like the eyes of a statue. I wonder if there truly is anything behind them – or if Brennan is as robotic and inflexible as people claim Aurelians are.
As he lies there, Brennan’s hand slowly moves upward, pulling mine with his by the length of the short handcuff chain. He stretches across the distance between us – to gently touch my cheek.
I shudder. Brennan’s huge fingers slides down the skin of my cheek, paralyzing me with the intensity of the sensation.
His eyes widen as he meets my stare, as if he’s drinking in the sight of me.
Then, he breathes in deeply through his nose – and I know he’s now drinking in the scent of me.
Gods! Brennan is tasting me!
Embarrassment floods through my trembling body. I want to look away, but I can’t tear my eyes from Brennan’s slate-grey gaze – a look that stares deep into my soul.
The Aurelian’s massive fingers trace down my cheek. I want to push his hand away, but I can’t.
I feel utterly frozen. It’s as if the intensity of Brennan’s gaze has more control over my body than my own brain does.
I suddenly feel like I’m in the middle of winter
