Grace Goodwin

I’d been vanilla in bed, never admitting to anyone what I really wanted or needed. Always afraid. Until now

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.

Big hands were on my hips, guiding me, moving me at the whim of the man beneath me.

I heard the rough rumble of men’s laughter

“I know firsthand that Prillon males are very virile. Possessive. Dominant.”

My work hunting sex offenders and traffickers had ruined me for any guy on Earth

Yes, you are matched to one Prillon warrior, but they always claim a mate with a designated second

No more sex crimes unit. No more bad guys. No more FBI. Hell, no more Earth. Just what I’d wanted

They attempted to mask their pain, but the anger? The anger was clear in the tense lines of their bodies, the grim set of their lips, the complete lack of humor in their gazes. They were warriors of the Coalition Fleet, had survived capture and torture at the hands of our enemy, the Hive, and now they were here

When the first mate had been assigned to someone on The Colony, a woman from Earth named Rachel, I’d been skeptical. But watching as she’d held one of us as he died in her arms had changed my mind about the Interstellar Brides Program. About having a mate. I’d wanted a female’s gentle hands to caress my flesh, to look upon me with something other than fear