Page 35 of January Bell

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

ZAN

Lily is the most stubborn being I have ever encountered in my entire life.

I love that she is mine. Love that I am the one to get to tame this stubborn, willful, perfect, beautiful female. Me, and only me.

And all of those men left her wanting—she said I do not have to worry about going back to Earth and making them pay, because I have the final reward. I am the one who gets to taste her honey, I am the one that she is begging for more. I am the one who had her sweet little mouth wrapped around my cock.

And she acts like she is the one who has won, when I am the one who will win.

Adorable.

“There should be a change of clothes in one of the other panels,” I tell her. “All of these domes are equipped with supplies for the front.”

“Right,” she says, dragging out the word.

It doesn’t miss my notice that she is completely wobbly on her feet, like a newborn aalach-hinnen calf from my world. All because she is too stubborn to admit that she needs me to taste her again, that she needs my cock to fill her up with my seed.

That’s fine. If she wants to be stubborn, she can be stubborn. I will make her beg again soon enough, and she will get what she needs.

And I have an awful artificial intelligence to thank for that. Not that I ever will. If anything, I should thank my tongue, because it is the piece of me that loosened up the armor around my Lily’s heart enough for her to wobble so beautifully, her ass jiggling as she walks.

I like how she is a study in contrasts. Muscled legs and stomach, lean arms, with the tiniest buds of soft deliciousness for tits, and an ass that would make a lesser male weep.

I have a feeling I might be one of those lesser males one of these days. If she makes me work too hard to have her back, I might be brought to tears over that ass myself.

“Stop looking at me,” she says.

“Why should I?” I ask, still lounging on the bed.

“If you’re going to be insufferable about it, I’m not going to let it happen again.”

She keeps touching the wall panels in different spots, clearly not having any idea where the clothes are. And I don’t make a move to get up and help her, enjoying the show too much.

She lands on the compartment where the textile supplies are kept, including several changes for the bed, extra pillows and sheets, a quilt or two, and several days’ worth of clean clothes in the Draegon style.

“Ha,” she says as the compartment hisses open.

“You found it.”

“No thanks to you,” she snaps.

“Why would I deprive you of the pleasure of finding it yourself when you’re so proud?”

I track her every movement as she pulls out several blankets until she finds garments.

“You don’t know that I’m proud,” she tells me.

“I can scent your pride. Not to mention see it in the line of your body. Or have you forgotten that you’re currently naked?”

“Oh, did I forget that you ripped my clothes off last night?”

“Yes, and I tasted quite the thanks for that, didn’t I?” I smirk at her.

I get a glare as a reward, which I treasure, because it means that she’s paying attention to me.