The Taming: Book 3 in the Tribe Warrior Series by Imogen Keeper (romantic novels in english TXT) 📕

The fury in the growl that rose in the back of his throat surprised him.

He stormed down the hall to the closet and dug through the tool box. His hand closed around the handle of the drill.

No more playing nice.

He stopped in front of the bathing chamber hatch.

The telltale splash of liquid on the other side of the door made him grin. Let her be naked. He’d give anything for a quick glimpse of those full tits floating on the water.

He pressed the drill bit against the first screw on the bathing chamber hatch.

It fell to the floor with a ping and rolled across the passageway floor.

The second and third screws landed not far away.

The hatch lifted off with barely a whisper.

Klym glared at him from the back wall, where she sat with her feet in the water, hands folded in her lap.

She was not naked, no tits in sight. So, he leered at her legs instead.

She crossed them.

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment.

He waggled his drill and backed out of the room, taking the hatch with him.

It fit in the hangar. Plenty of space there. He whistled as he headed back to his seat in the bridge.

SHE DIDN’T EAT DINNER either, though she had to be hungry.

She did the water routine again, filling a glass, refusing to look at him. The long column of her throat flexed as she swallowed.

“Eat your food.”

No response.

“Eat your food, please.”

Nothing. Not so much as a flinch.

“I said...”

Finally, she turned toward the plate he’d made for her. Her favorite root vegetables sat, cleaned and diced, beside the noodles and meat he knew she liked.

She picked up the plate.

“Don’t you dare take that to the bathi—”

The plate smashed right into his face and bounced to the floor with a clatter.

Sauce dripped down his cheeks, covering his shirt. Noodles stuck in his unshaved jaw.

She whirled and ducked into the hallway.

Something squishy slid down his nose and plopped to the floor.

He roared and tore the sodden shirt over his head.

With jerky motions, he yanked off his boots, and his now-filthy pants. He belted out a few loud curses.

In nothing but his socks, he padded down the hall.

When he rounded the open doorway into the bathing chamber still fuming, she flinched, backing into the corner.

The holo-cam played the holos of her mother in the endless depressing feed of a dead woman’s laughter and smiles, circling around the room, beside her living, glowering daughter. He grabbed the stupid digi and turned off the feed. Prowled across the room and got a grip on her arm.

He spun her so she faced the bulkhead.

He got his hand around her neck and squeezed, pulling her up so her feet nearly left the floor. Her hands touched the bulkhead, all five fingers spread. Her cheek pressed against it too, and he realized she was shaking.

Gone was the fiery temper he’d anticipated, in its place fear. Fear.

“Now you’re scared?”

Her lip trembled.

“I have never harmed you,” he growled. “I have wanted to, the gods know.”

“Yet you can at any moment. This is your ship, right? Your rules. You do whatever you want, and I just go along with it because I can’t stop you. You’re big and you’re mean and I’m just stuck. You’ve already proven you can kill, maim, steal, abduct, give punishment-orgasms. What won’t you do?”

“In all this time, have I ever once laid a hand on you?”

“You’ve laid quite a few parts of your hands inside me.”

“You wanted it,” he growled.

“You’ve hardly been gentle.”

“I’m not gentle.” He thrust his cock against her ass. “You weren’t so scared a minute ago when you threw fucking noodles at my face.”

She cringed again.

For a single second, he considered backing off, but a whiff of salted meat and spices stopped him. No one threw dinner at a Prime.

This had gone on long enough.

She was right. He was bigger and he was meaner.

And this was his ship.

He was done pandering to her.

He was offering her a place on Vesta. A good place.

A place of honor. By his side. As his selissa. She’d rule a whole country. She’d be respected and free to do as she pleased.

Any other woman would claw her eyes out for the honor, and she acted like he was trying to sell her into slavery.

“Maybe I should lay hands on you, maybe that’s how I would get your attention.” He tucked her hands together over her head and trapped them in one hard fist, grabbed the shirt and dragged it up, exposing that round, beautiful ass. He drew his hand back and brought it down with a loud, resounding smack that echoed in the air. He watched, mesmerized as the pink trace of his hand bloomed on her bottom and the skin jiggled in the aftermath.

She let out a sharp sound of Klym-shock, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t spank me!”

“I will.” He swatted her again. And when she protested, he did it again. “If you skip another meal or behave like a child again, I will spank you until you stop.”

“Please, Tor. Don’t—”

He did it again, until she stopped protesting and sagged against the wall, panting. The scent of her arousal was thick in the air—different from felana arousal. It was uniquely Klym, and immediately the scent of Prime rut filled the air too, in an intoxicated, humid cloud that made his head spin and instantly had his cock raging.

He licked her neck, tasting the salt on her skin, loving it when she sighed and pushed her ass back toward him.

It hurt to do it, but he backed away finally, admiring the art he’d left on her ass, and pulled her down the hall.

He shoved her down on his bed. “No more silence. No more sulking. No more fighting.”

She glared up at him, breathing furiously. When he thumbed her lower lip, she tried to bite him, sharp white teeth flashing.

Vintalla indeed. Not even a spanking could cow her for long.

He laughed quietly, but held her still by