alongside Atlans in beast mode. He put football players, human strongmen competitors, hell, even mythical Vikings to shame. He had black hair and eyes so dark I couldn’t see the difference between iris and pupil. From across the room I couldn’t miss the sharp cheekbones and square jaw. Regal nose. Full lips. If he had on glasses and a tie, I’d rip open his shirt and find a giant S emblem on the shiny suit hidden beneath. His superpower would be panty destroyer, because mine were ruined.
The latest version of a superhero movie had come out just before I’d left Earth and volunteered for the Coalition, and this guy was a darker alien doppelgänger of my favorite ass-kicking hero.
He was going to fuck me. I was confident about that. Besides womanly instinct, his gaze didn’t falter, only raked over my face, my mouth, what he could see of me sitting down.
One look from him and lust burned through me until I trembled with it. I’d eyed a guy across a bar before, on Earth. Flirted. Fucked. I was a woman and I had needs, nothing I was ashamed of. But I was more aroused by just eyeing the alien before me than I had ever been from any guy on my home planet. Hell, any guy I’d ever slept with.
The alien was… potent, and that was at twenty paces. If he touched me…
I licked my lips, trying to imagine what he would taste like on my tongue, feel like beneath my hands. The small flicker of my tongue over my lips made his gaze narrow, and he moved toward me like I’d tied a rope around him and yanked on my end. Hard.
No one got in his way. No one dared.
He stopped on the opposite side of the table. Looked down. Pheromones pumped off him. He exuded sex, even smelled like it, and I had to plant the soles of my feet onto the floor in a conscious effort to keep myself from standing. Because if I stood, I’d move. And if I moved, I’d be wrapped around him in half a second flat. I’d climb him like a monkey, and that wasn’t the way to go unnoticed around here.
“You shouldn’t be here, female.” The deep rumble of his voice rippled across my skin like the bass beat through a speaker, and my nipples were instantly hard as rocks.
As they said on Earth, those were fighting words. Now that I was out of the Coalition, no one told me what to do.
“I can take care of myself,” I countered with a snap, eyeing him. Hell, eye fucking him. I took my time, inspecting every perfect inch. Those lips. So full. So firm. His disapproving gaze encouraged me to defy him all the more. I didn’t see fangs, but then I’d heard they only came out when these Rogue 5 hybrids took a mate. Since I definitely wasn’t his mate—I belonged to no one—it meant I wouldn’t get that experience, which was just fine with me. I liked sex a little wild, but fangs and biting?
He studied me in silence, and I stared back, refusing to look away. The standoff made my pussy wet with heat.
“Hey, Lieutenant? You all right?” One of the humans from the ReCon unit nearby called out to me and I frowned. Damn it. I’d been honorably discharged from the Coalition Fleet, but my neural implants were still active and could be scanned by other fighters if they were wearing their Fleet uniforms loaded with active tech. That tech in the newest outfits constantly scanned for friend and enemy alike, picking up Hive frequencies no matter how subtle.
When Prime Nial of Prillon Prime, the leader of the entire Coalition of Planets and the big boss in charge of all the military, said veterans contaminated with Hive tech could go home, well, figuring out who was going to be dangerous and who wasn’t had become a pretty big priority for the Coalition Intelligence Core. No one wanted a warrior, fighter or warlord with implants to get pinged with Hive signals and go on a killing spree.
So the new uniforms had scanners, and all service members had transmitters imbedded in their flesh that those uniform scanners could read. Bad news for me at the moment. Once a lieutenant out here, always a lieutenant, even if I didn’t wear the uniform.
Before I could respond, the giant alien in front of me growled, the sound a low warning to anyone who might think of interfering.
The ReCon team stood as one, their hands on their blasters, ready to take on an alien from Rogue 5 for me, which meant they would die.
Brave but stupid. No doubt the whiskey had clouded their heads beyond safe levels.
I rose and put my back to the alien, a calculated risk that made my skin tingle and my entire body want to weep with pleasure. Maybe he’d wrap a hand around my neck and pull me to him. Perhaps he would spread my legs and take me from behind while everyone watched. Somewhere in the last few years my fantasies had grown dark and needy. Taboo on Earth. Too wild.
Shoving those thoughts aside, I held my palms out toward the table of honorable fighters who were just trying to protect one of their own. It wasn’t their fault. “Stand down, ReCon. I’m fine. Don’t break the I.C.’s station rules for me.”
The man who’d spoken tilted his head and, looking over my shoulder, sized up the Rogue 5 male. “You sure, Lieutenant?”
I didn’t bother telling him not to call me that. He wouldn’t listen. “I’m sure. Thank you. Enjoy your time off.” I thumbed over my shoulder and grinned like I was sharing a secret. “He’s a friend.”
That brought a round of chuckles from the group and one wide-eyed look full of envy from the single female among them. “Damn. You go, girl.” She grinned back and raised her glass in salute just as a very large hand came to rest on the curve of my hip. His hand. His warm, heavy, even bigger than I’d imagined hand. God, yes.
I grinned back at her, wrapped my hand around as much of the large male wrist behind me as I could, and blindly dragged the alien male toward the nearest door.
Shoving it open, I pulled him through—I was well aware he was allowing me to do so—and slammed it closed behind me and activated the lock. Fortunately, we were in a deserted gaming room filled with more than a dozen empty tables, chairs and the space version of billiards.
When I turned around again, it was to find him grinning down at me, his cock an obvious and very large bulge beneath his uniform. I’d been right, he was proportional.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to be on Zenith Station? It’ll be really, really hard”—I glanced down at the hard cock I wanted him to think about—“for you to fuck me if I leave. And it will be impossible for you to do so with your pants on.” I pressed my back against the door to bar any kind of escape.
One dark brow winged up, but he said nothing. He wasn’t leaving. Oh, he was big enough to pick me up and handily move me out of the way, but he wouldn’t. Not with his cock pressing thick and long beneath the black fabric, and getting bigger as I watched. How had he walked around the canteen with that? How was it not busting out the seams?
I licked my lips, realizing all of that was for me. Because of me.
My eager need wasn’t as readily apparent, but if he were an Everian Hunter who could scent a female’s arousal, he’d know my pussy was hot, wet and primed for him. He could no doubt see how hard my nipples were. Space bras weren’t anything like the Victoria’s Secret bits of lace and satin I used to wear on Earth. But after four years with the Coalition Fleet and the last six months as a bounty hunter roaming the rogue-controlled fringe areas of space, I’d learned a space guy—an alien—didn’t give a shit about lingerie. Or weight. Or height. Bra size. High heels. Makeup. Hairstyle or what name-brand handbag a woman carried. None of the things I’d grown up worrying
