A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I'm adding as I'm inspired to.
She awoke slowly, her consciousness attempting to glean the difference between the dream and reality.
She was aware of aches and pains on her hips, her wrists, the tender flesh between her legs, which throbbed even now with the ghost of what she had surrendered herself to.
A hot weight curled against her back, heavy arm thrown over her body, fingertips grazing her heat. She needed to shower, to go get something to eat, to drink.
She moved slowly, arching away. The hand tightened on her hip.
"I have to go to the bathroom, Spock." She said condescendingly. The grip relaxed and she padded away, taking care of her needs and showering.
That done, she examined herself in the mirror. The way he had marked her. Bluish bruises which decorated her neck, the underside of a breast, her belly, her inner-thigh.
She stood on legs that were unsteady, sore at their apex. She had not stretched, -been bent in that way since she was a child taking ballet classes.
She occupied herself with pinning back her damp hair, tucking it under at the nape of her neck. She hated the way she looked without make-up, like a little girl, vulnerable, an easy victim. She suppressed the urge to apply some make-up, hung up her towel and followed her usual routine, finding one of her simple long night-tanks in Kirk's closet to wear.
She didn't bother with underwear. She was more comfortable without it and she suspected they would be gone again soon, anyway. Coming back out she noted Spock sitting in the kitchen with tea and soup.
He gestured at the small glass table. "Please." She was amazed at how immaculate the Vulcan could manage to look having only just rolled out of bed. Though she could see a shadow beginning along his bearded chin.
She sat down opposite of him, sipping the tea slowly and taking a few spoonfuls of hot soup.
"I am aware that the human palette for the most part, has a tendency to find traditional Vulcan sustenance bland."
"-It's fine." She said, cutting him off, her voice creaky and horse.
They both finished the late-early meal in silence.
After her last swallow of tea, she asked. "What did you do with Kirk's body?"
"Those loyal to me, helped me dispose of it while you slept. It is no longer on the ship."
"And those loyal to Kirk?"
"-Will serve me, lest I employ a small demonstration of what would occur if they do not. ...It will likely be required."
"Likely." She said, with a hard chuckle.
She played with the spoon in her empty bowl.
"-And, I would suggest, the fewer people who know about this, this..." Even now, she could feel him inside of her, taking up real estate within her mind, quite comfortable there.
"-Bond." He supplied helpfully.
She sighed. "The better." She did not know what she felt. This thing, they had what they had done was different from any other experience. It was the thing life had taught her to avoid for it's danger; that it would only weaken. This closeness to another meant she was vulnerable to him even as she knew he was also.
She wanted to hate him, wanted to have that power over him without surrendering her own, but she couldn't. Even now, she felt the exact opposite. And that terrified her more than anything ever had.
She could sense just what this Vulcan's true nature was. A crush of emotion held in check by simple disciplined practice. It could devour her easily in it's wake, if he abandoned it. This too frightened her, but also drew her in all the more deeply.
His hand slid across the table, two fingers gliding alongside her hand, that small touch conveying he wanted her still.
"It is curious. I find you much more desirable in this state, before you have taken the pains to purposely make yourself so."
"Spock. I'm-"
"There are other ways, Nyota." He stood and promptly collected their dishes and placed them in the cycler.
"Come." He said offering a hand.
"But we don't-"
"You usually spend on average eighteen point two hours in Kirk's company, which gives us another two hours before you will be missed."
"Come here." he said, a note of urgency slipping into his steady baritone voice.
She did as she was told, and he drew her to the bedroom, slipping both hands over her thin tank-dress, pressing his fingers into her back, along her spine, at her shoulders, and at the nape of her neck, until at the last she felt herself relax, her body becoming like liquid.
His hand drifted to her face, applying slight pressure to those key points and...
This place was different from the place she had willfully explored, these were not secrets of his youth, his family...No, these were secrets about her.
His desire for her, his fantasies. Red lips. Exposed belly. Long legs.
Nyota restrained. Freely applying fingers, cock, tongue...making her come for him, only him. She could feel what he felt in these indulgences, which as she learned, he had fought hard to suppress. But she invaded his thoughts, the more he suppressed them the more deeply the want became.
Then his pon farr was upon him and there was no longer a choice. He needed to mate with her and with her alone. She could see him trying and failing to substitute Ensign Lorel'l.
-Throwing her out of his quarters, as she was not satisfactory.
She could feel the tension, the hot flare of rage as he watched her with Kirk, the ease with which he had disposed of Kirk, the tension, the pain in his arousal as he straddled her, the relief as he finally entered her. She moaned aloud at this and pressed her legs together, it was like being fucked all over again.
At some point he lay her down on Kirk's bed, while he continued to feed her this...experience.
Pounding into her, tight and so wet... Her heat squeezing him, until... She screamed.
When she came back from the place he had taken her she felt a pool of wetness between her legs, and his hot breath at her neck. And then he was turning her over so she faced away from him, his hand at her throat, he was lifting her leg high over his thigh and he was pushing forward into her sopping wet cunt.
She could do nothing but allow him to fuck her, just as she needed him to; was now shamelessly begging him to.
This was her nightmare. To be completely beholden to another's whims, even as he was to her own.