Mating Fever. Grace Goodwin
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At least in the sex department. I was surrounded by men on the battleship, thousands of them. But I hadn’t had sex in over a year, and my body was not satisfied with the small taste I’d just been given. I wanted more. Which was just my luck, because I wasn’t going to be getting any action. Not for a few more days at least.
“Oh, good.” The woman’s voice belonged to Doctor Moor. I recognized her dark brown hair and kind face hovering over me. She was an Atlan female, which meant she looked human, mostly, except she was well over six feet tall with shoulders broader than most football players. The Atlan Warlords were big men, so I wasn’t surprised that the women were sized to match. She was dressed in the usual green doctor’s uniform, her hair cut short in a pixie style that made her big brown eyes practically jump out of her face. She was gorgeous. But more importantly, she was kind. Which was why I’d come to her for the Interstellar Brides Program testing. I was not about to let one of the Prillon doctors loom over me while I was having an intense sexual experience dream, possibly involving one of their kin.
No way. Not happening. Doctor Moor suited me just fine. And so had that dream.
Looking around, I recognized the dark green stripes lining the walls, the exam chairs that looked like the ones I used to sit in at the dentist’s office when I was a kid. Lying here, I felt small. These things were built to hold huge alien warriors, Atlans and Prillons being the biggest, most close to seven feet tall. And in beast mode? The Atlans topped out at eight or nine feet, like the Incredible Hulk minus the green skin. They were huge, brutally efficient killers, and sexy as hell. At least to me. Nothing made me happier than seeing a battalion of Atlan Warlords swarm the battlefield around me and literally rip enemy Hive soldiers in half with their bare hands.
So I had a wee bit of a violent nature. I’d made peace with that side of myself a long time ago when I joined the Army. Not everyone was cut out for flower garlands and peace protests. No one in my family, at least. But I was more than willing to fight and die to protect those who were. Put a gun, or an ion blaster, in my hand and turn me loose on anything evil. Terrorists on Earth. Hive drones in space. They were all the same to me. Evil was evil. Fighting them made me feel powerful. Made me feel like part of the family. My dad and both my brothers went into the military. Therefore, I went into the military, even though I was a girl. A half-black, half-Irish mutt from Boston.
I could pull the trigger on my rifle just fine.
I was also the only one who’d transferred from the Earth army to join the Coalition Fleet. Not that it made a difference to my mother. I’d fought the Hive for almost two years now—my term was almost up—and seen some seriously insane shit. I wasn’t a weak girl. I was a powerful woman who not only stood up to the Hive, but baited them, trapped them. Killed them. Killed their leaders. Sneaked behind enemy lines and lured the Integration Units away from their protective Hive Soldiers and Scouting units. We’d been targeting the Integration Units, the Hive responsible for torturing and assimilating their captives into the Hive collective mind, for months. But now I had bigger fish to fry. Top Secret fish.
We were hunting their Core communication units, the Nexus Units. A few days ago, we’d almost had one. But our intel was bad. They were guarded by a full dozen Hive Soldier class warriors, big, strong bastards that were hard to kill. The last op had almost killed me, and the Soldier unit had taken out the rest of the warriors assigned to the Op before I could do anything to stop them. We’d managed to get to one of the smaller Nexus creatures. Killed him. But his communications unit had been fried. Worthless. Three dead Coalition warriors…and all for nothing.
I couldn’t live with that, which was why I was going back down there. Tomorrow. The I.C., or Intelligence Core, the elite Coalition minds that ran the intelligence arm of this war, were assigning me a team of five highly trained killers to take into that canyon tomorrow. This time, I wouldn’t fail. My last mission would not be a failure. I’d hear my mother’s disapproving voice in my head forever if I walked away now. “Why can’t you be tough, like your brothers?” and “Stop your crying, little bitch. You sound like a girl.” And my personal favorite, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, you never shoulda been born into this family.”
The doctor circled me as the memories flooded my mind. Not of rough hands and desire, but of slaps across the face when my mother was drunk, and words that cut so deep I didn’t think my heart would ever stop bleeding.
My dad was a big, powerful black man, fierce and protective. He’d loved us all, when he was home, and I’d loved him with a fierceness that still filled my spine with steel. My mother had been better then, happy. But he died when I was nine and she never recovered, started drinking whiskey like it was water, and the more she drank, the meaner she got. My dad was dead. Had been for a long time. My brothers were tough assholes, still on Earth, still serving their country. I had no idea where they were now. Afghanistan? Syria? Africa? Hell, they could be shitting ice in Antarctica for all I knew. I got a message from my youngest brother about twice a year, letting me know they were all still alive. Even Shirley. Shirley Simmons. “Mother” was not a word I liked to use these days and he knew that.
I surrounded myself with strength. Tough men. Thick armor. Powerful weapons. I trained to keep both my mind and my body strong. I was almost six-foot tall. I wasn’t used to feeling small or vulnerable, but sitting in this damn chair made me feel like a child-sized doll. I was several inches taller than the average woman on Earth, but here? Here I was like a toddler sitting at the grownup table swinging two feet that didn’t reach the floor.
Fortunately, the commanders in the Coalition Fleet knew how to take advantage of my size and stealth. And my team’s mission tomorrow was proof of that. Sometimes, it was better to be the scorpion than the lion. Small but deadly. That was my motto. Hell, that was pretty much the motto of all humans out here in deep space. We weren’t as big as some of the alien races, but we were mean as fuck when we had to be. It was a matter of pride. To me, it was my personal mission.
“Are you with me, Megan?” The doctor leaned over, shining one of those stupid bright lights right into my eyes and I winced. Too bright.
“Unfortunately.” I wanted that big man, his huge cock. I wanted to feel beautiful and feminine and desired. Instead, I had one more mission, one more op wearing that heavy armor and helmet, coated in grime, killing things. One. More.
Embrace the suck.
That was practically my family motto, and I’d learned it well. Those three words got me through grueling hours of training, pain, and being stranded in hostile territory more than once in the last two years. I’d been cold, hot, starving, coated in sweat, blood, and every other body fluid I could imagine, and some I never dreamed of until I came out here into space. Outer fucking space. When I stopped to think about the fact that I was floating in a tin can in a galaxy far, far away, I still freaked. So, I tried not to think about it.
The doctor clicked off the penlight and I could see again. I looked up into her face in time to see her nod with a smile. “Good. I didn’t want to have to inject you with neural stimulants.”
She held up a small green cylinder I knew from previous experience could sting worse than any needle back home. Sure, there was no needle. But that just meant they forced the substance through your skin with something else. I didn’t know how they worked. Didn’t want to know. “No thanks. Keep that thing away from me.”
The doctor chuckled and handed off the cylinder to an assistant who took the dosing unit and hurried away like he was intruding on a highly personal conversation. Which he was. And that thought brought me back to reality faster than anything else. I was very much awake now. No dream guy. No dream cock. No taunting or teasing or edging. No incredible orgasm.
I was in the brides testing room in the medical wing of the Battleship Karter. Damn. I very much preferred to be back in fantasyland with a very dominant male who knew what to do with his hands, and his cock. It had been far, far too long since I had anything besides my fingers between my legs.
“Did I scream?” I could feel my cheeks heat. “Please, tell me I didn’t scream.” I’d kill myself with my own ion blaster if the males in the medical floor heard