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.