Grace Goodwin - The Rebel and the Rogue

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 about.

Coalition or not, these alien males liked a female willing . Bare. Wet. Ready. And if she wasn’t any of those things and he wanted her, he’d get her that way.

This male would find out soon enough I didn’t need any help in that department. Except maybe for the naked part. I was already wet, willing and ready.

I wasn’t worried about foreplay, and I didn’t want to know his name. Neither were needed. Hell, just looking at the gorgeous specimen of a stranger was all the warm-up necessary. Because, wow. I wanted hot, wild sex and no strings. I wanted him. Now.

“And it will be impossible for me to lick that pussy with you wearing yours.” The deep rumble that was his voice had felt like a challenge out in the canteen. His current words were one sentence of foreplay. But the promise I saw in his gaze and the thought of what he planned to do to me caused a whimper to slip from my lips.

He heard it, and the corner of his mouth tipped up.

Damn and holy hell, he was too gorgeous to be real. But he was here, living, breathing, eye fucking.

Real or not, I wanted him to lick my pussy. God, yes. I was horny. I wasn’t ashamed. I was single. Alone in space. I wanted some cock, and I was going to get it. The dinner I’d eaten earlier had filled my body. I’d craved the food, and it left me sated. Now I craved him , and I wanted him to fill my body. He’d leave me sated, too, but in a completely different way.

“You’re still dressed,” I said.

His gaze darkened, his voice dropping to a growl. Another challenge that made my legs tremble. “So are you.”

For two people who wanted sex, we weren’t getting very far. We were at a clothing stalemate. We were positioning, testing our power, who would dominate. At this point it was even.

I liked that. A lot. But I knew he was holding back, could turn me and take me against the door at any moment. Knew that I wanted him to take me, make me wild, give me no choice but to let go and give in to the pleasure.

But I would never admit that, not to a dominant, bossy male alien like him. Because if I did, he’d want to own me. So I would give him the green light, get his cock inside me, and hope like hell he was as wild as he looked.

Our hands went to our clothes at the same time. It was as if we’d both reached the tipping point of need and neither of us wanted to pretend for another moment

Shutting out the world, my mission, my past, everything but this moment, this little sliver of time, I focused on him until he was all I saw. All I wanted. And we still hadn’t gotten to the good stuff.

My shirt went flying. His boot bounced off the wall where he kicked it. Pants dropped. We were both bare within seconds, everything we wore like a yard sale around us. There was only a locked door between us and the full canteen. The knowledge of that, the rush that someone might discover us, made this all the hotter.

The air was cool on my heated skin. When his gaze raked down my body, taking in every inch, I shivered. I wasn’t perfect. I had every feminine doubt Earth’s culture bred into women. I wasn’t a supermodel, not before the accident and definitely not after. I had a scar running down my neck and half my spine. A big scar, one giant among dozens of smaller battle wounds I’d earned the hard way. A ReGen pod could heal a lot, but not if it took too long to get in one. Not after the body had begun to heal itself. Even after ten hours in a pod, my scars remained, and I waited for him to notice the marks visible on my thighs, abdomen and shoulders, waited for some kind of reaction.

He stared at me all right, but his gaze flickered past my scars like they weren’t there. Instead he focused on all the right parts and in a very appreciative way. For him I was tall enough, but my boobs were too big, my hips wide. My ass… well, my ass was glorious. It was my vanity.