Chapter One
Kristin Webster, Interstellar Brides Processing Center, Earth
When I felt the press of a cock…there, I stilled, my breath catching. My first thought was panic. How did he know? I’d never told anyone my secret.
Never.
Wanting him there now, stretching me, filling me—it was wrong. So wrong. Oh, I knew guys wanted anal sex, at least if every porno was to be a guide. And I knew too much about pornos since I’d worked in the human trafficking division of the FBI for three years—but I’d never been asked to try this. Never even been prodded by accident. Not even a whoops, I missed your pussy and ended up in your ass instead conversation.
I’d been vanilla in bed, never admitting to anyone what I really wanted or needed. Always afraid. Until now.
Now, I felt that cock pressing against my back entrance and wanted it to open me up and slip inside. Slide deep and fuck me. Stretch me. Make me burn a little. His cock was bigger than anything I’d ever played with, bigger than I’d imagined. And it was slipping just inside me. There. Against all reason, all sanity, I wanted him to hurry. To go deep and fill me up, stretch me open until I begged for mercy, sure nothing else would fit. To fuck me the way I’d been too afraid to admit to any other man. Ever.
Why?
Because there was a huge cock stretching my pussy already—but one cock wasn’t enough. Not for me. Not for naughty, naughty Kristin.
I was a bad girl. And no one knew. No one suspected. But, God, I wanted to be a bad, bad girl…I wanted him to pull my hair and make me beg, bite me until it hurt and pinch my nipples until they burned. And every single one of those desires was buried so deep inside me that I’d never spoken them aloud. Not once. Not even to myself.
But dream me didn’t care. She lusted. Ached. Was completely at ease between the two powerful male bodies. She didn’t worry about asking for what she wanted. Admitting she needed more than the standard wham-bam, missionary position nightmare that most people settled for in life. Somewhere, deep inside, she knew they’d take care of her. Give her everything. Make her scream and come and beg for more.
I wanted to beg like that. To trust. To let go. Surrender.
This was a dream. It had to be. I’d never had a real threesome. Not straight laced, FBI agent Kristin Webster. Men were afraid of me, or thought I was too hard, too cold, too jaded by what I’d seen in the field ever to want to be dominated in bed.
They were wrong. So, wrong.
But this didn’t feel like a dream. No, it felt real. The cocks felt real. The hot skin of the man beneath me—I was riding him like a Wyoming cowgirl—his thick cock filling my pussy so completely, rubbing against places inside me that had come alive for the first time. Was that my G-spot he was hitting?
I whimpered when that flared head nudged it, again and again.
My clit rubbed against him every time he thrust up into me. Deep, so deep that he bottomed out. I arched my back, shifting so I could take as much of him as possible. More, even. My hands pressed against silky sheets by his shoulders, cool against my heated skin and I arched my back, offering myself to the man behind me where he played. By body begged, saying what I could not speak as I spread me knees wider and clenched my muscles, hoping to draw his attention.
We were all slippery, and I knew it was some kind of oil that made us slick, the aroma rich and exotic. Heady. The smell blended with sex and skin and man. My men. Their unique scents familiar to me, to this body, and they filled my head with lust, and memories of other encounters, orgasms. Pleasure. They drowned me in pleasure.
Big hands were on my hips, guiding me, moving me at the whim of the man beneath me. A second set of hands reached around from behind to cup and play with my nipples. They were hard points, so sensitive I clenched and squeezed my inner walls with every hard pull. Since when had my nipples been tied directly to my pussy?
With one delicious twist, I moaned.
“I’m going to come,” I cried, and I didn’t recognize my voice. Who was that wild woman? I couldn’t play with my clit even if I wanted to because I didn’t have permission, and that made me hotter. More desperate. I knew my mates wouldn’t let me. Knew my orgasms belonged to them. How I knew this, I had no idea. It was a dream. A strange, hot, incredible dream.
I wasn’t going anywhere and I didn’t want to. I wanted them to finish what they started. I wanted them to break me open and take everything, every last ounce of pleasure and control. I wanted to belong to them, completely. No holding back. No freaking rules. Just me…and them.
Mine. They were mine.
The ferocity of the thought had me sinking down onto my mate’s cock and wiggling, riding him with my clit, reaching for what I needed. I was mindless now. I needed to come. I needed them to let me come.