He moved his hand to where I could see a ring on his little finger. My pussy clenched in anticipation. I wondered why for half a second and he pressed the ring’s insignia with his thumb.
Vibration exploded in both my nipples and my clit followed with a small shock, like a zinger of electric current.
A scream left my throat as I arched off the table, but my mate grabbed my hips and held me to him, thrusting deeply over and over until the only sound I heard was his body slamming into mine.
Holy shit, it was some kind of remote for… what? Some kind of space vibrator. But on my nipples and clit?
Over and over. My nipples sent fire to my core and I exploded, coming so hard I feared I would pass out. My pussy pulsed and clenched around him and I lost control of my body, bucking and writhing like a wild animal as his huge hands held my hips, forced me to take more. My orgasm went on and on, until dizziness swamped me and I couldn’t remember where I was.
My mouth was so dry from screaming.
And then things did go black. Sensation faded, as if I were coming out of a dream, a dream I really, really fucking wanted to get back to.
That was the best sex of my life, and I wanted more.
In my experience, waking up always sucked.
“Miss Montgomery?” A stern, female voice called my name.
I shook my head, not wanting to answer. I wanted more of my mate, his hard cock, that incredible orgasm. Holy shit.
“Natalie!” The voice had increased in volume, and now sounded concerned. If I’d learned nothing during my long years of boarding school, I couldn’t make myself be rude. Good manners were hard-wired into my system by strict and sometimes ruthless teachers.
“I’m sorry. Yes?” My voice was raspy and weak, as if I’d not used it for days.
“Open your eyes, dear. I need to know you’re back here, on Earth, with me.”
Reluctantly, I forced my eyes open, the backs of my eyelids like sandpaper. It all rushed back to me. The cold, clinical white walls. The strange chair I was currently strapped into like a demented mental patient. The strange hospital style gown I wore with the Interstellar Brides Processing insignia all over it in a dark burgundy pattern like ugly-ass wallpaper. Even the serious eyes and solemn expression on the pretty brunette woman who was performing my testing. She didn’t look like she was much older than me, but the darkness behind her gaze told me she’d lived a hell of a lot more.
Time for me to do some of that thing called life. I was tired of being kept on the shelf like delicate china. I’d cooperated for twenty-four years, and look what that had gotten me. An Ivy League education, parents I never saw more than twice a year, and a fiancé so desperate for hot sex he’d rather pay for it than sleep with me.
True, he’d never rattled my cage like the dream I’d just had, but he hadn’t tried all that hard either.
Getting him to eat me out took an act of Congress. He was much more a rut-into-me-like-a-pig-and-walk-away kind of guy. And I’d put up with that for the last eighteen months to try to please my parents. Seriously? What was wrong with me?
To make it even worse, the best sex I’d ever had had been a dream. Although, if I was going to get more of that, if I accepted the match, then I was all for it.
“Miss Montgomery, are you with me?”
“Oh, sorry.” I blinked a few times and dismissed thoughts of Curtis Howard Hornsby III from my mind. Billionaire, silver-spoon, spineless, limp-dicked, cheating low-life. “Yes. I’m here, Warden. Sorry.”
“I understand. Take a moment to recover. I know the processing protocol can be intense.”
I flushed. “I didn’t scream too loudly, did I?”
She smiled, then looked away. “No, not too loudly,” she replied, but I didn’t believe her. The way I’d come apart in the dream, surely everyone in the processing center had heard me.
“Yeah, about that. Sorry, but it was… God.” I couldn’t even explain it.
“Yes, I understand.” The warden’s name was Egara. I remembered that now. But was that her first name? Or last? It was a weird name for a woman, but then, I’d heard rumors from some of the others being processed in the center the last few days that Warden Egara had been mated to not one, but two warriors from a planet called Prillon Prime. And they’d both died. She was a double widow.
Sad. It sounded so sad.
Warden Egara looked down at the tablet in her hand, one it seemed she always carried, and nodded briskly. “Excellent. You have a ninety-nine percent match.”
“I do?” Yes, that pathetically hopeful voice was mine. My mother would scowl at the unnecessary display of emotion. But screw her, screw my billionaire banker father and their decision to have a child simply to conform to societal expectations. I’d been raised by nannies and housemothers in boarding school. I’d learned to keep a stiff upper lip from the age of three, and I wasn’t even British.
As of today, my mother’s opinion no longer mattered. I needed to remember that. I was getting off this stupid planet. I was going to have a real life, with a man, an alien, mate, whatever, that was ninety-nine percent matched to me. I didn’t care what he was called, as long as he cared. For once in my life, I wanted someone to put me first.