His Untamed Mate (Swarii Mates Book 1)

by Korey Mae Johnson

  He grunted with excitement, grabbed his length, and guided it to her little cunny, which was warm, welcoming, and practically dripping. She might have not gotten along with him very well, but her womanhood didn’t know that.

  As soon as he touched his length to her wetness, she moaned. He ground it into her little pussy and then aimed and pushed into her with a hard thrust.

  “Fuck!” she groaned, her head bobbling slightly with the power of the thrust. “Graham, Jesus. You’re so fucking deep.”

  “I need to wash your mouth out again,” he said, and meant it—although he had no intentions of doing anything right now except fucking the stuffing out of her.

  She growled at him, but he grabbed her hips, hoisted up her bottom, withdrew almost all the way out of her, and then quickly drove his hard rod all the way back in again.

  She let out a half-moan, half-cry and tried to get up on her hands. He pushed her upper back until her face was again on the mattress, her bottom up where he wanted it. Then he fucked her, as long and hard as he wanted, and she held her grip on the sheets and took what he gave her.

  She was moaning loud and he was grunting with effort, humping her like an animal, like he’d wanted to do the first moment he’d touched her. Nothing seemed more soothing or cathartic than this. This is exactly where he wanted to be, and what he wanted to be doing.

  He could feel her body tense up, and he gritted his teeth. He gave her a firm smack on the ass and she responded with an angry “Grah!”

  “Don’t you dare come yet!” he said firmly. “I’m not done yet!” The pressure was mind-boggling as she came anyway—of course she did. He fought not to come with her. He didn’t want to stop, so he rode her out like she was a bucking stallion, holding on.

  This actually made her louder; her moans were echoing off the walls, her bottom was meeting his thrusts. He grabbed a fistful of her long copper hair and rode her faster than ever. “Grah-ah-am!” she cried, and then she began to tense and tighten more than before.

  This time he couldn’t hold on. He groaned as if he had been holding his breath, and as her greedy loins squeezed his cock, he flooded the well-fucked channel with his seed.

  Afterward, he practically fell on top of her. They were both panting until she said in a smothered whine, “You’re heavy.”

  He exerted himself enough to pull out of her warm wetness and then lay down next to her. They were both exhausted, but he was surprised that, despite how roughly he had claimed her and how angrily they argued before, she still turned into him and put her head on his shoulder.

  “You’re sweaty,” she commented flatly.

  “Yeah,” he panted in agreement. He put his hand on her bottom and pulled her even closer.

  “Was that hate-fucking?” she asked, her tone simple.

  He’d never come across that term. He couldn’t think of one like it even in Swarii. But he shook his head adamantly. “Of course I don’t hate you. Believe it or not, you are not the first argument I’ve ever had. That wasn’t even the first time someone called me pompous and overbearing.” He closed his eyes, feeling exhausted. “It did make me feel better about it, though.”

  He thought about apologizing for the rough, passionate, angst-filled lovemaking, but then didn’t. He wasn’t sorry, and she didn’t sound like she thought he should be either. He felt her eyelashes blink against him, and he thought she had fallen asleep until she spoke.

  “I don’t feel properly satisfied at all,” Eleanor pouted. “Now I really want cake.”

  * * *

  There were a couple of good things about being an alien after all, Ellie concluded, eyeing the hovercycle she’d just put together using foreign parts, foreign tools, and an old tweaky tablet with plans written in a foreign script. And one of the good things was that apparently aliens were able to put things together quickly. Language had seemed to be one of those things.

  She hadn’t been there when Graham, Thorton, Fie, or Braum had learned English. They had been holed up in a cave for six months with humans, however, which she figured would be enough time to really learn a language. But Jio, who had never even heard a word of English before meeting her, had asked if she would like to split a dessert package with him the other day. She had been extremely surprised that he could put a whole sentence together and even understand her response, especially since he must have been learning English in the most casual way possible.

  But then, just a couple of days after getting her ‘injection,’ she suddenly realized that she understood something of the electronic tablet she’d been fooling around with. The language was beginning to make sense, and she was beginning to remember a lot of the words she’d learned and been exposed to. A week later, she found that she could now also piece together strings of Swarii words into a sentence, however choppy that sentence may be.

  And that wasn’t the only thing that was getting weird. She was also getting… smarter. Oh, she always knew she kicked ass in putting just about any machine back together, but she had never experienced clarity of thought like she had now. Things just seemed too easy now. She could almost feel her brain working at full speed.

  Her workspace was beginning to look more like a mad scientist’s lab than anything else. She had half-built machines lying around, tablets hung on walls and open to a variety of images and words. Tools were strewn about and black and blue grease stained the floor and walls.

  Now, it was time to test the hoverbike. She was excited about it, although the seat sat so high that it was practically at her head. She pulled a chair next to it, hoping to climb on it that way. If she was reading the manuals right, then it should work, and work well. Just in time. She was hoping to be able to use it when they made it to the space outpost where they were going to sell the ship. Supposedly the outpost was about the size of a small moon, and they were planning to find a buyer while they waited to be picked up by a representative from a Swarii mothership.

  She was excited. Even as she climbed clumsily on it, she felt like she was a badass. It brought to mind her brother and cousins, just because she was sure that they would be mad jealous if they saw what she was sitting on. The only thing missing from this experience, she decided, was a pair of shades, a leather jacket, and the song ‘Bad to the Bone’ playing. She frowned as a sudden nostalgia hit, but she hoped that once she turned the hovercycle on, all bad feelings would go away.

  She was wrong. Instead of the ‘vvvr—vrrooom!’ sound she was hoping to hear, all she got from turning the ignition was the sound of a plane roaring to life. It wasn’t exactly what she was going for; it hurt her ears, and the longer it was on, the louder it seemed to be. She rushed to turn it off, planning to continue when she’d found a pair of earplugs. But instead of turning it off, a button was slightly pushed by the side of her hand and the hovercycle lurched forward. It hit the wall at full force, sending her flying off.

  People were running into the room, she distantly noticed, as she was seeing stars and trying to assess if she’d just broken herself. Thorton and Graham were the first at the scene. They took less than a second to assess what to do before Thorton launched himself at the hovercycle, which was still trying to speed through the wall, to turn it off, and Graham was at her side on his knees, looking her over with startled concern. He was saying something to her, but she couldn’t make it out over the roaring from the machine.

  “Eleanor!” he shouted as soon as the sound turned off, which was as sudden as a light switch.

  “What?” she shouted back, reaching up to rub her head.

  “Are you alright?” he asked her, his voice now much quieter, but he seemed much calmer than he had before she reached up to assess herself.

  She didn’t know how to answer. She didn’t feel okay. Slamming into the wall knocked the wind out of her, and she hurt everywhere. “I don’t think anything’s broken,” was her optimistic but pained reply.

  When she looked up at him, she saw him searching around the room, seeming to take everything in.
He had the expression of someone who discovered their friend had built a pool of jello in their bedroom. “Is this what you’ve been doing for the last few weeks? What is this place?”

  She looked around but didn’t see anything interesting except Thorton pulling her hovercycle back to standing with surprising ease. “What do you mean? It’s my workshop.”

  “With…” He picked up his hand and seemed incredulous to find that his palm had been stained with bright blue machine grease. “What—How—Where—When—Why—?” he stuttered, starting a singular sentence as many times as possible. “I can’t…” he grumbled and, looking down at her, he pulled her up to sitting and said, “Did you make that or carry it from somewhere?”

  “That thing weighs at least five times more than I do,” she replied flatly, already feeling a headache coming on. “What do you think?”

  He gave a thick, exasperated sigh and began to gather her up into his arms.

  “Is she okay?” Thorton asked, coming up behind Graham.

  “I’m taking her to bed. Get Fie to come to our room,” Graham ordered him.

  “Urgh,” she groaned. He lifted her body and held her against his chest as they left the room. “I don’t need Fie. I’m fine. I just—”

  “Put together a hovercycle and then tried to…” he paused, searching for a word for a moment then wincing with confusion, “ride it? In a room the size of a closet?” He shook his head. “I feel like I should be impressed, but you ruined that for me.”

  “I was making sure it worked,” she assured, also feeling exasperated. “I wasn’t going to ride it. I was going to wait until we got to the space station tomorrow.”

  “Listen, I’m going to be very clear on this,” he said after a long pause. He opened the door panel with his elbow and took her inside. “There is absolutely no reason in existence for you to step foot outside of this ship when we land.”

  Aghast, she began to whine, “Why—?”

  “There are so many reasons why,” he cut her off, “that I don’t even have time to get into it. Even if the space station was safe, and filled with cuddly creatures or something of that sort that could pose no threat to you, Mary, or anyone else, it would still be near-freezing, uncomfortable for you, and you’d slow down our mission drastically.”

  Her eyebrows instantly narrowed. “You’re taking Peyton!” she exclaimed, incredulous.

  “And if he slows us down or gets in our way, I’m sending him back to the ship. His safety isn’t exactly my priority, in any case. He’s not a female, and he’s not my mate. What he does is completely up to him.” By the determined frown on his face, he seemed to think that she should be used to decisions like this, like it was obvious.

  She distantly wondered if this had been what it was like growing up as Penny. Her smaller cousin had always been treated differently just because she was a girl, whereas with Ellie, they had always just conveniently forgotten what sex she was. It felt just as unfair as she had imagined.

  “Do you listen to yourself talk? Or do you just repeat what comes out of your ass?”

  Graham clenched his teeth, and she saw a vein in his neck begin to bulge. Graham, she had long recognized, probably wanted to throttle her at least half of the day, but luckily the other half wanted sex, which seemed to keep him just sane enough not to. Every now and then, however, she did worry that he was going to lose it. “I am tired of this, Eleanor. Whether you respect me or not, you’d better start at least acting like it or I don’t care if you ever sit again. And if you think I’m not making a very literal threat, then think again.”

  She worried, for a moment, that he would be upset with her enough to actually start ‘putting his foot down,’ and so pouted, “I’m injured, and you’re threatening me?”

  His eyes narrowed, filled with suspicion. “Only because you were building something you knew I wouldn’t approve of,” he replied, although from his frustrated tone, she could tell that he wouldn’t ever spank her when they were waiting for the doctor, at the least. As much of an asshole as she thought he was, she decided that he wasn’t a malicious asshole. He was just unbearably stubborn with an added ailment of being intolerably responsible. The fact that he was the one of the youngest commanders in his fleet, from what she’d been told, she found unsurprising: he didn’t seem like the type of man who liked to have a boss. He was the type who thrived on being the most important person in the room.

  She was positive that, if they had been on Earth living in the same town and on the same street, they still wouldn’t have met. Their lives and mannerisms were so completely different that they probably wouldn’t survive being in the same line at the grocery store. Yet here they were—annoying each other, and eternally bound to one another.

  “If I worked in the private sector,” Fie said conversationally as he walked inside the room without knocking, “I’d be making a small fortune from you, Commander.”

  Graham’s frown lines all deepened. In the fluorescent lights in the room, she felt like she could witness him aging before her.

  With a mighty sigh, Graham explained what he had walked in on.

  “I’d heard from Mary that you were working on a secret laboratory in the engine room,” Fie admitted to her as he shined a light into one of her eyes without further prompting. “I thought she was exaggerating. Humans do that, you know—they are the universe’s greatest storytellers.”

  “Thanks for putting that stereotype out there for me to enjoy,” she said dryly.

  Fie shrugged without apology and then, after looking thoroughly over her neck and back, claimed that she only had a few bruises on her neck and shoulders, but luckily no concussion or anything else that a couple of days wouldn’t cure on its own.

  “She’s lucky,” he said to Graham, although more as if it was an explanation for why she wasn’t hurt than an observation. He then looked back in her direction and raised an eyebrow. “How did you put something like that together without any directions or anything?”

  “I had directions,” she replied.

  “Not in your language,” he reminded.

  She shook her head. “No, but I’ve picked up a lot of your language,” she replied haughtily, puffing out her chest a little bit with unhidden pride. “You don’t need a big vocabulary to read directions.”

  Graham said something to her in Swarii immediately after that, and she couldn’t catch a word. After a moment of looking at him, she turned back to Fie. “Well, it’s easier when reading.”

  Fie looked at least slightly impressed by this. “That’s excellent. You understand shal’ta, so you can communicate a little that way. You can at least understand what others are saying to you if they use it. If it wasn’t for your endless stream of antics, I’d say you’ll be able to integrate into our planet’s society like a fish to water.” He looked up at Graham and added, “Braum told me to inform you that we heard from Mothership Starscape 5-13. It’s meeting us at the rendezvous.”

  Graham’s eyebrows lifted in surprise and then she saw a definite wince. “Five-thirteen?” he echoed, a groan escaping his tone.

  Fie nodded, but she came alert at Graham’s expression. He suddenly seemed very tense. “What’s so special about that ship?” she asked.

  “It’s under Admiral Masterson’s command,” Graham replied, his throat sounding dry. This wasn’t surprising, then. She had heard of Admiral Masterson from the others. Graham’s men used him as a ghost story. Apparently, the admiral was a cranky old asshole that expected the impossible and crashed down hard on everyone who couldn’t give it to him.

  These stories, of course, meant nothing to her when she heard them, but then she frowned, something tickling the back of her head. Finally, she realized that the last name was similar to Graham’s, but she wasn’t sure about that. She had trouble pronouncing Graham’s surname correctly, just like she had some trouble pronouncing his real first name correctly—although she had long given up on that—but it was possible that this Admiral Masterson had a name
only similar to Graham’s. Like Smitt and Smith or Johnson and Johnstone.

  “Ah,” she said, and nodded like she knew why Graham was tense. “So? It’s not like you did something wrong on your mission.”

  “Except now he’s going to try to criticize my matehood and how I handle you,” Graham grumbled, standing up and pacing to the window.

  She pursed her lips at this. “Well, tell him it’s none of his business.”

  “He’s my father, Eleanor. It’s unlikely that he’d view it that way,” he sighed as he reached the window that merely showed a lightless, empty darkness with a few white specs out in the far distance.

  Ellie snapped her neck in Fie’s direction, but he didn’t look interested in her surprise. He was reading something on the undersized tablet in his oversized hands with deep concentration. So she just sat there, feeling stupid with nobody to confide her surprise in. Maybe she should have figured it out. She had heard Thorton refer to Graham’s father as being an admiral, but then Graham had always talked about Admiral Masterson as ‘the admiral’ or ‘Admiral Masterson.’ Not ‘my old man’ or ‘Pops’ or even ‘Father.’

  Fie excused himself now, saying that he’d check back later, but all his absence did was compound the silence in the room. “So you think your dad wouldn’t like me, I take it?” she assumed, deciding to restart the conversation.

  “I have no idea what he’ll think.” He turned around, his hands behind his back. “But I want you to stop your fool-play right this very moment, Eleanor. No more secret laboratories. No more accidents. No more fights. No more attitude. It stops. It must stop. We should have adjusted to each other’s temperaments much more over the last three weeks. You can’t keep speaking to me with disrespect, and you have to stop being belligerent and poking around at things that aren’t any of your business.”

  “Hey, just stop being an asshat and making asshat requests of me and we’ll be dandy as candy,” she shot back, trying not to let his demands raise her pulse.