His Rebellious Mate (Primarian Mates Book 3)

by Maddie Taylor

  * * *

  With beads of sweat dotting her heated skin, Eryn stared with wide eyes up at the ceiling. Even in the semidarkness, she could see the ugly brown stain formed from a leak during the days of heavy rain a few weeks past. It would be an ever-increasing fixture considering the maintenance crew didn’t seem in any hurry to come repair it.

  Tired and on edge, her body wound tight like a guitar string, she rolled her head to the side and peered at the clock on her nightstand.

  Three a.m.

  A dispirited groan mixed with an exhausted sigh as she pulled her pillow out from under her and covered her face. She vented her frustration into it, hoping, though not really caring at this point, it was sufficient to muffle her cries and keep from waking Lana or her neighbors.

  When she stopped, Eryn threw her abused pillow to the side and listened to the rapid thud of her heart pounding in her ears. It raced, not from her mini fit but because of her hot and wildly erotic dream, starring a gorgeous, tawny-eyed alien with tons of rippling muscles and silky black hair.

  She could still see Ram above her, his teasing mouth and tongue leaving a trail of wet kisses down the length of her body, over her breasts, her taut nipples, and in a ring around her quivering navel, before moving in a straight line down her rounded belly to her pussy. His fingers spread her wide, and while he devoured her with his eyes, her hips arched in a wordless plea for him to ease her ache with his lips and tongue. Just as his head lowered, when she could feel the warmth of his breath on her damp folds, it happened—like it always did during a steamy, sexy Ram-dream. It ended abruptly.

  And whether poised over her clit or with his cock ready to slide deep inside her or if he had her against the wall, on all fours in front of him, or bent into the hottest, most arousing position ever, rather than finding release and drifting off into a post-orgasmic satisfied sleep, she woke without reaching the big finish, her mind frustrated and her body vibrating with need.

  It wasn’t the first time or the tenth. More like the hundredth, and it was starting to piss her off.

  “Why can’t we do it, already?” she cried out to the disgusting stain looming over her head. With no answer forthcoming, she pounded her clenched fists and her heels against her mattress in vexation.

  Pregnancy hormones sent some women’s libido’s through the roof, or so she’d read. In her case, they shot clear to the stratosphere. Whether lying in her bed or standing in a crowd, both day and night, dreams of Ram consumed her, making her burn with a fire inextinguishable by any of her solo or mechanically enhanced methods. A man well beyond her reach—her fault entirely—who had become nothing more than a figment of her imagination, a fleeting memory, and an all-consuming itch she couldn’t scratch.

  “Dammit!” she muttered, flopping onto her pillows. Uncomfortable on her back,

  she rolled onto her side, and, staring at her nightstand, she willed her desire away. It didn’t work, and she ended up reaching into the drawer where she kept her vibrator, a pale substitute for the real thing. Her choice was to get herself off or lose her sanity from sleep deprivation.

  Grabbing the device by the curved head, she twisted the other end to the super-duper instant orgasm setting. Nothing happened.

  While scowling in annoyance at her Pretty-in-Pink seven-function power vibe, she did the first thing that came to mind and slapped it against her palm. Still nothing, not even a sputter. She turned the dial back and forth. When it still didn’t work, she opened the end and checked the battery, replaced only a few days earlier.

  Seated with the poles in the right direction, just in case, she took it out and snapped it back in. Twisting the end once again, it didn’t even a sputter; the darn thing was simply dead.

  “Long-life my ass,” she muttered.

  Again, she dipped inside the nightstand again, this time searching for her spare battery. Way in the back, her fingers brushed across something smooth, flat, and wafer thin, but she couldn’t grasp it. Carefully removing her hand, she grabbed the knob and eased the drawer out more, though only a hair. If she pulled it too far—

  All at once, the whole thing came crashing down with a loud bang. Miscellaneous items bounced and clattered across the floor for what seemed like forever. When the last object stopped rolling and her room became quiet once again, she lay frozen, holding her breath, listening for the thud of Lana’s footsteps in the hall, on her way to investigate the latest dead-of-night commotion from her pain-in-the-ass roommate. With silence permeating the apartment minutes later, she blew out the pent-up air in her chest and went limp, still leaning over the side of the bed.

  She eyed the mess littering the circular rug, and the few odds and ends that found their way beyond the perimeter to the bare wood. Nowhere did she see the little silver disc. She sifted through the debris, cursing herself for being too cheap to invest in the thirty-year, money-back-guaranteed model with the promise not to leave you hanging on the edge of orgasm super cell.

  After several minutes of searching, including crawling around on her hands and knees and not finding what she needed, she suspected karma, kismet, or whatever created luck in her effed-up world had continued to conspire against her. Frustrated with her useless toy, she flung it onto the chair in the corner and climbed back into bed.

  “Maybe if I go to sleep, I can pick up where I left off,” she whispered to the brown stain

  then closed her eyes. She pictured Ram’s forearms bracing her thighs wide apart, his thumbs spreading her pussy, his mouth hovering a scant inch over her heated flesh, this time going one step farther, and circling her clit with his tongue.

  Eryn groaned as sleep continued to evade her, but her recall of his talented tongue did not.

  * * *

  The next morning, sunshine filtering through the sheer curtains covering her window awakened her. She sat up, warmth and light surrounding her, but the remnants of her dreams haunted her and a heaviness invaded her chest. A sense of loss of what might have been if she’d taken a different course. Would she have had what Maggie had with Roth, and Eva with Kerr, or what a host of her peers had found with these men? Or, would her determination, her boldness, and her damn inflexibility have earned what she’d had all along? A cold, empty bed with the only source of relief a pink vibrator—devoid of batteries—which also couldn’t do anything to ease her aching heart.

  She blinked back tears which she blamed solely on the hormones, and threw off the covers, forcing herself to get ready for another tedious, unfulfilling day. As she walked to the bathroom, she couldn’t ignore how her body still hummed with longing because once she’d finally fallen to sleep, she’d done so without getting to the good part.

  Damn. Most people’s sex fantasies had a happy ending. Not hers. Even while she replayed her fondest memories, they warped or skewed, leaving her unsatisfied and still incredibly lonely.

  8

  “Lockwood.”

  The sound of her name exploding like a photon blaster into the silence of the armory made Eryn jump, spinning around to see what was wrong. Losing her balance, she stumbled into the shelf behind her where a box of slayer grenades teetered precariously. One of the innocent-looking apple-sized projectiles contained enough explosive to bring down the entire building. She lunged, catching the ordinance just before it hit the ground.

  “Now I know something is up. You’re usually as sure-footed as a cat.”

  “I’m fine, Major.”

  “You can’t fool me, Eryn. We’ve known each other too long. You’re off somehow, preoccupied at work, which isn’t like you, and your reaction time has slowed. It could be the virus you picked up aboard ship or else they’ve missed something. Get back to medical and get checked out.”

  “I’ve already been cleared.”

  “Well, something is wrong. Forgive me if this comes off rude, but you’ve packed on the pounds, by my guess at least twenty. What gives?”

  Instinctively, Eryn slid her hand over her belly, conforming her uniform to her m
iddle. Too late, she realized her mistake and pulled her hands back.

  “Holy Christ, you’re pregnant!” Emily’s eyes locked on her expanded waist. “Dammit, Lockwood. Something like this is supposed to be reported to your C.O., at once. There are protocols.”

  “The ones that park me behind a desk for the next six months, you mean?”

  “Hell, yes. I can’t have an expectant mother leading troops into dangerous situations. It would be a public relations nightmare if something happened to you or the child and it leaked to the press.”

  “Thanks for your concern, ma’am,” she replied with poorly veiled sarcasm.

  Her old friend grimaced. “Of course, those same protocols are in place to protect you and your child.”

  “It’s unfair, Em… I mean, Major. I’ll lose my position, and I’ve worked hard for it.”

  “There are ways to prevent this from happening, you know,” Emily pointed out drolly. “And your job is protected until after the baby is born.”

  “So, it’s a dreaded desk job.” She grimaced at the prospect, though it was better than a discharge. About to say exactly that, she noticed Em’s intense frown. “What is it now?” Eryn waited for the other shoe to drop, which it did without fail for her these days.

  “Something isn’t right. You’re showing and only returned three months ago. The Primarian you mated with briefly is the father, isn’t he?”

  Dear God, not this again. She wanted to scream but knew it wouldn’t go over well with her C.O. “I met a local man at a bar when I got back. It isn’t something I’m proud of, but there you have it.”

  “Mmhmm,” she hummed, her gazed fixed on her belly.

  “I remember my mother saying she got as big as a house when carrying me. I was over ten pounds. My brother weighed in a few ounces more, which is something I’m dreading, believe me.”

  Hiding a grimace, though not well, Emily nodded. “I’ll notify personnel and get you reassigned.”

  “Please, Em. We’re preparing for integration. Nothing major is going on. Except for routine training, my squad hasn’t been called up because of our assignment here. And I wanted to be involved with the new colony.”

  “Do you plan to head into space with an infant? In which service branch and what universe?” she shot back. “Or were you planning to give it up?”

  “No,” Eryn started, stunned. Adoption hadn’t ever been an option on the table. Agreeing wholeheartedly, her little one kicked hard beneath her hand. “I haven’t decided what I’m doing yet, other than I’m keeping the baby.”

  “You need to talk to someone, make some decisions, and come up with a plan for your career. Going it alone will be tough, Eryn. If you’re called up, who will care for your baby? Could the father—?”

  “No, he’s not in the picture,” she murmured. The same questions had spun around in her head.

  “Perhaps a civilian life might suit you better.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Security. There’s a big need for it with all the conflict in the world. Or you’d make an excellent trainer. God knows you’ve got the skills. Or, if you want something more stable, with an inside track to the colony down the road. I hear good things about your work with EPIC. That program will continue for years, if not decades.”

  Eryn couldn’t comprehend how her life and all she’d planned had changed so abruptly, but Emily had a point. With a child, she had to consider other options than the military.

  “Look,” she continued, “I understand. Shit happens and gets in the way of what you plan for your life. When it does, you just have to roll with the changes and make the best of it.”

  She scowled, unconvinced. “If you’re saying to take my lemons and make lemonade. I hate lemonade.”

  With a grunt that sounded half-amused and half-sympathetic, Em patted her on the shoulder. “Think about what I’ve said. I’ll consider the options and get your new assignment to you by tomorrow.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Her reply was by rote response when she really wanted to curse her shitty luck or, even better, cry.

  “I’m sorry, Eryn.”

  “Me, too, Em. And thanks for your concern. I mean it, this time.”

  * * *

  With her mother-to-be status outted, things moved swiftly. By 0800 the following morning, she had a new assignment. It came with an office on the second floor of the Personnel Service Center, and smack dab in the middle of it sat her nemesis in the form of a double-pedestal, seven-drawer, standard-issue desk complete with inbox and pencil holder. It had all the bells and whistles—climate controlled, integrated voice command, and a high-back, cushy chair with a seat wide enough to accommodate her ever-broadening hips. Anyone else would be happy being out of the sun, the heat, and, with all the storms in recent weeks, the mud. Not Eryn, mostly because she didn’t have a choice which made it more difficult to take.

  She’d barely had time to take it all in before Major Aldridge’s face appeared on her new desktop vid-screen.

  “Lockwood. Excellent,” came Emily’s version of good morning through the speakers. “I pulled a few strings and am pleased to say your comprehensive medical exam is scheduled with Captain Juna at 0900 today.”

  Startled by her inappropriate meddling, she gaped at her.

  “Look alive, Chief. That’s in fifteen minutes.”

  “Major, I appreciate your concern, but I can see to this myself.”

  “Yet you haven’t,” Emily stated succinctly while staring pointedly at her from the screen. “So, I made sure it would be done and arranged it for you.”

  “I can’t believe… We go way back, but this? It’s…it’s…” Eryn sputtered, so incensed at her meddling C.O. she couldn’t think straight. “This is an unbelievable privacy violation.”

  “Shut it, Eryn. I didn’t say why you needed to be seen. That would be a violation.”

  “You’re walking a fine line, ma’am.”

  “Yes, between command and friendship. Your superior is having you reassigned; your old friend is worried and made the appointment.”

  She had too many powerful friends, she decided, but her anger dissipated at her concern. She needed to see a doctor, regardless.

  “You have to do this, Eryn.”

  “I know, Em.”

  “Good. So you’ll be there, on time, and fully disclose your status.”

  “Who’s talking now? The friend or the major?”

  “Both. Do it. No more debate. You have your orders, Chief.”

  She had to laugh. “I see how it is. You can take the friend out of the major, but not the major out of the friend.”

  Emily ignored her comment, though her lips curved up a bit. “With all this discussion, you’ve cut your window to eleven minutes. You better get your ass in gear.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she replied, accepting the inevitable, but Emily had already disconnected, leaving Eryn staring at an empty screen, feeling like she’d been run over by a tank with a vanity tag that read Major Pain-in-the-Butt.

  Ten minutes later, she sat in a stark, cold exam room which smelled of disinfectant, wearing a thin disposable gown, sans panties and bra.

  The air came on, shooting an icy blast through the vent above her head. She shifted on the hard, vinyl table and carefully tucked the end of her flimsy gown under her rear end, as she waited with waning patience for Juna to return.

  Watching the old-fashioned wall clock, she frowned when the hands never seemed to move. Out of sheer boredom, she began to count. She reached sixty for the third time and could swear the minute hand hadn’t so much as twitched. If she was wrong, and it somehow kept accurate time, it meant she’d been waiting for an hour.

  What was taking so long?

  She’d already confessed the truth to Juna, who, once over her initial shock, lectured her on the importance of prenatal care and the risks of delaying it well into her second trimester. This had led to a heated discussion, Eryn insisting she was only three months along, and Juna guessing more l
ike six months.

  Eryn argued, of course, repeating her date of conception, while giving minimal details of her drunken, stupid, one-night stand with Brett. Or was it Chet? Or Brian?

  She’d closed her eyes and groaned at that point, silently calling herself a slut for being unsure of her baby’s father’s name.

  * * *

  Then she’d been weighed—the sight of the scale climbing higher than ever before, most unpleasant—measured, poked and prodded, including giving up four vials of blood and peeing in a cup.

  Then, daring her to move a muscle until she got back, Juna had left her.

  She’d been waiting, wondering, and worrying ever since, and was starting to get hungry.

  In silent support, the baby kicked.

  Reflexively, her hands came up and pressed against the place below her ribs, her baby’s favorite spot to jab her with a heel or an elbow. As her palms slowly circled the mound that grew bigger by the day, she agreed with Lana, Emily, and now Juna, she seemed huge. No way did she look three months along.

  “If you’re a boy, you’ll be big like your uncle Jacob, I bet.”

  Her younger brother had taken after their father. Still a kid when she’d last seen him, he already topped six feet four and weighed at least two hundred forty pounds. She wasn’t petite by any measure, but when he’d hugged her tight while seeing him off at the airport for his deployment, the top of her head fit right under his chin. If her baby took after Jake, it would be tall, ginger-haired, with stunning azure eyes.

  Eryn prayed for it because, for her drunken one-nighter, she’d chosen a lean, hazel-eyed blond guy, shorter than her by at least two inches; the polar opposite of Ram. She hoped her child didn’t inherit too much from Chet, or was it Charles?—she was such a slut!—and become a lifelong reminder of a night she’d rather forget.

  “Your daddy was a shrimp, baby,” she murmured, her hands continuing to circle. “So why do I look like I’m ready to pop any day?”