Elite Starfighter, Game 3 by Grace Goodwin

Epilogue

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CHAPTER ONE:

CJ, Interstellar Bride Processing Center, Miami, Florida

“I stand. No bed.”A deep, rumbling voice filled my head. My mind. My body. This body knew that voice. Knew it and shivered in anticipation. Somehow I knew this male was mine. He was huge. Not in his normal state. He had some kind of sickness. A fever that would cause him to go insane if I didn’t tame him. Fuck him. Make him mine forever.

I felt the softness of a bed at my back—my naked back—and then I was hoisted up as if I weighed nothing. That was a joke because I weighed plenty. I wasn’t a tiny waif or a Victoria’s Secret model. Well, I was tall like one, just over six feet, but I had boobs and hips. Strong hands banded about my waist, spun me about so my back was pressed to his front. His naked front. Hands slid up and cupped my breasts.

Oh.

Wow.

Um.

Yes.God, yes.

This was crazy. Completely crazy. I didn’t like to be manhandled. Hell, I did the manhandling. I ate weak men for breakfast and made stronger ones cry by lunchtime. All in a day’s work.

But I wasn’t at work now.

I had no idea where the hell I was, but this guy knew just how to push every one of my hot buttons. Or should I say, her hot buttons. I wasn’t me. Well, I was here, but this wasn’t me. The thoughts going through my head, the knowledge, wasn’t mine. But the reactions? One tug on my nipples and my pussy was wet and aching. Empty.

I felt the hot throb of his cock against my back. He was tall, really tall based on how far down the bed was from me now. Yet his hands cupped all of my breasts. They usually were overflowing. Triple Ds tended to do that, but not with him. Nope.

I felt…small.

But, this wasn’t me. Was it?

It felt like me.

“Better,” he growled, walking us both slowly toward a table. We were in some kind of room, sterile and impersonal, like a hotel room with a big bed, table and chairs. I couldn’t see much else, but I wasn’t looking because as soon as my thighs bumped into the cool edge of the table, he leaned forward, forcing me down over the top. I resisted. “Down, mate.”

Mate?

I bristled at the firm hand pushing me down, at his commanding tone. That word. I wasn’t anyone’s mate. I didn’t date. I fucked, sure, but I was the one to walk away. I was the one on top, in control. But now? I had zero control, and it was uncomfortable. But the need to let go, to let this guy take over? I wanted it. Well, my pussy did. My nipples did, too. And the woman whose body I inhabited, she wanted it, too. But unlike me, she wasn’t afraid. She didn’t fight this, or him.

She resisted because she knew he wanted her to. Knew it would make his cock hard and his pulse race. Knew it would push him to the edge of control. She wanted to make sure that when it came to control, she had none. The thought of the cuffs—cuffs?—she knew were coming made her pussy clench with heat.

Which was just damn weird to me, but there was nothing I could do about it. I was a witness and participant, but I wasn’t really here. I felt like a ghost inside her body, living someone else’s fantasy.

Hot fantasy, sure. But not real. This wasn’t real.

This body was all about letting the big brute do anything he wanted. My mind had other ideas. But I had no control here. This body wasn’t mine. The thoughts going through my head weren’t mine either. This woman—me—whoever I was right now—wanted to push him. She wanted to be dominated. She wanted to be conquered. Controlled. Fucked until she screamed. And I was simply along for the ride. “I don’t like to be bossed around,” she/I said.

“Liar.” I saw a big hand settle onto the table beside me, saw the blunt fingers, the scars, the dusting of hair on the wrist. Felt the other big hand pressing into my back. Harder. More insistent.

I hissed when my breasts came in contact with the hard surface, and I put my elbows out to keep from being lowered all the way, but he changed tactics, his hand moving from my back to my pussy, two fingers sliding deep. “Wet. Mine.”

I felt the broad expanse of his torso against my back, his skin hot, the hard length of his cock rubbing along my wet slit, teasing. And he was right. I was wet. Hot. So eager for him I was afraid this crazy woman—whose body I currently inhabited—was going to break down and beg. Beg!

His lips brushed along my spine, fingers slid my hair to the side, and his kisses continued along my neck as his hands worked their magic. One pressing me slowly, inevitably toward a prone position on the table. The other rubbed my bare bottom, huge fingers dipping toward my core, sliding deep, retreating to stroke my sensitive bottom again in a repetitive tease that made me squirm.

The gesture was gentle, reverent even, and completely at odds with his dominance. Two metal bracelets came into my view as he set them down in front of me. Silver toned, they were thick and wide, with decorative etchings in them.

The sight made me hotter, the woman’s reaction nearly orgasmic. She wanted them on her wrists, heavy and permanent. They would mark her as his mate. Forever.

I had no idea where they came from, but my mind wasn’t working properly, and I couldn’t figure it out. Not with the soft lips, the flick of his tongue, the prodding of his cock over my slick folds and the rush of longing filling me.

The bracelets looked old and matched ones that were already on his wrists. I hadn’t noticed them before now, but that didn’t surprise me.

He shifted, opening one and putting it on my wrist, then the other. Even though I was pressed into the table by his formidable body, I didn’t feel threatened. It felt like he was giving me a gift of some kind, something precious.

I just had no idea what.

“They’re beautiful,” I heard myself say.

He growled again, the rumbling of it vibrating from his chest and into my back. “Mine. Bad girl. Fuck now.”

I had no idea why I’d be a bad girl, especially if his cock was as big as it felt. I wanted it.

“Yes. Do it!” I spread my legs wider, not sure what he expected, but knowing I didn’t care. I wanted him to fuck me now. I didn’t want to be good. I wanted to be bad. Very, very bad.

Evidently, I’d lost my mind because I had no idea what he looked like. Who he was. Where I was. But none of that mattered. And why did the idea of being manhandled or even spanked appeal like it never had before?

He shifted his hips, slid his cock over my folds, and it settled at my entrance. I felt the broad head, so big that it parted my slick lips, and as he pressed in, I whimpered.

He was huge. Like enormous. He was careful as he filled me, as if he knew he might be too much.

I shifted my hips, tried to take him, but my inner walls clenched and squeezed, tried to adjust. My hands couldn’t find purchase on the smooth surface, and I lowered myself down, put my cheek against the wood, angling my hips up.

He slid in a touch farther.

I gasped, shook my head. “Too big.” My voice was soft, breathy. He wasn’t. He’d fit. He might hurt me, might shock me, but I wanted him. Every damn inch.

“Shh,” he crooned.

From nowhere, a memory surfaced of this male speaking to me when I’d been worried about this moment. His beast—what was a beast?—You can take a beast’s cock. You were made for it. You were made for me.

As he slid in to the hilt and I felt his hips press against my bottom, I had to agree with him. I was milking him and clenching down, adjusting to being filled so much, but it felt good.

God, did it ever.

“Ready, mate?”

Ready? For what? He was already in.

But when he pulled back all the way so my folds clung to him before he plunged deep, I realized I hadn’t been ready.

The pounding stole the breath from my lungs, but I almost came. I had no idea how because I’d never come from just vaginal penetration only. I needed to rub my clit with my own fingers.

When he did it again, I realized fingers were definitely not needed.

“Yes!” I cried. I couldn’t help it. I wanted it. Needed it. I shimmied, pressed back as he plunged in once more.

His hand moved, gripped my wrists, held onto the bracelets.

He held me down and fucked me.

There was no escape. No reprieve. No stopping him as the orgasm built into a dangerous thing. And I wanted all of it. I wanted him.

“Come. Now. Scream. I fill you up.”

He was a dirty talker, too. Not much for complete sentences, but that was part of his charm.

I was so drenched for him I could hear the wet slap of our bodies as he pounded into me. I could feel the wet coating in the cool air, slipping from me and down my thighs.

Holding me down with one hand, he grabbed my bottom with the other, a full lobe in his grasp, pulling me open. Wider.

He pushed deeper. Harder. I thrashed on the table, both excited and vulnerable, stretched out before him. Unable to move. Unable to resist. I had to accept whatever he wanted to give me. Trust. Surrender.

The thought made me groan, my body spiraling ever higher as I fought, holding back my final fall.

He released my bottom, a single sharp spank landing like liquid heat on my bare skin. And that orgasm he commanded from me? The one I was holding back? Yeah, there it was. I screamed, arched my back, my hard nipples chafing against the table top as I lost control, went blind, an abyss opening up to swallow me as I shattered.

I lost all sense of myself, my only reality the hard thrust of his cock as he pumped into me as my pussy milked him.

“Mate,” he said, just before he sank deep, settled, then roared like an animal.

It was like a beast had filled him, taken over. Claimed me.

I felt his seed, hot and thick, coating me deep inside. It was too much for me to hold as he moved again, fucking me through his release, his hot seed sliding from me and down my thighs.

I felt so good and so wrong. Controlled. Overpowered. Blatantly claimed.

Bad. Bad. Bad. I was soooo bad right now.

I didn’t even try to get up, not even when he released my wrists and grabbed my hips to pull me back. Hard. He lifted my ass off the table and pulled me onto his cock which was already swelling. Ready for more.

I groaned, trying to move my arms. No luck, but something rattled. The sound odd. Out of place.

“Stay.” He grunted the order and thrust into me again. Submitting to him went against everything I was, and yet…my pussy clenched with his barked command. Perhaps I wasn’t everything I imagined.

His fingers dug deep, pulling me back until he bottomed out inside me.

Yes!

I was hot all over again. Ready for more. Needy. I could go for hours…

“Caroline.” The voice came from out of nowhere. Cold. Clinical. A woman’s voice.

Who?

Everything faded even as I struggled to stay in that body, as he pulled out and slowly filled me again. Spread me open. I groaned, fighting for it. Fighting to stay with him.

“Caroline!” Sharp this time. Insistent. Like a teacher scolding her student.

Oh God. The testing…

I gasped—this time not from pleasure—and my eyes flew open.

Instead of bracelets about my wrists, I had restraints. I was naked, but I wasn’t bent over with my lover’s hands on my hips. I was shackled to a medical exam chair wearing an Interstellar Brides Processing Center gown. The logo tracked up and down the hospital-style gown in neat, perfect rows of burgundy on gray fabric.

Clinical. Sterile. All business.

I wasn’t pressed over a hard table. I wasn’t being filled and fucked until my entire body exploded. There was no giant man.

There was only me and a stern looking woman in her late twenties. Gray eyes. Dark brown hair coiled tightly into a bun at the base of her skull. She looked like a grumpy ballerina, and her name floated to the surface even before I read her name tag.

Warden Egara. She was doing my testing. Testing for the Interstellar Brides Program. A process which would match me to an alien and send me into outer space to be his wife.

Forever.

Interstellar Brides® Program: The Colony: Her Cyborg Beast NOW!