WARNING: This story contains strong language, explicit sexual content, and depictions of war and conquest, fertility issues, pregnancies, adult kidnapping, gaslighting, and graphic depictions of death that may not be upsetting to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

MIRANDA

"Are you close?"

His question drags me out of fantasyland, and my eyes pop open, slamming me back into reality. It's not George Clooney with his face between my legs, but Dr. Mark Mitchell, my boss.

His freshly shaved face shines with my juices as he licks his lips. He reminds me of a cat that's just finished cleaning his coat.

Except the only thing that hasn't finished is me.

While he looks bored, ready for the next place to take a nap, I'm like a dog in heat, panting, ready to go.

"Almost."

He gives me a dramatic eye roll and sighs, his breath tickling my clit.

I almost scoff—almost being the key word. If I express any form of frustration, it'll give him a reason to stop.

That's what happened the last time I bitched about not getting an orgasm. I could suck his dick for twenty minutes, my TMJ flaring up, jaw clicking—and he won't even attempt to return the favor.

Finally, after releasing his load, he offered to go downtown—and three minutes in, he's over it.

He taps my thigh like a coach giving their player encouragement. "Okay, well focus, because I have a meeting in twenty."

Dick. For the sake of my own carnal pleasure, I stifle the urge to argue. "Okay."

He ducks back down, and I reorient myself and lean back, staring up at the glass ceiling. It's three in the afternoon and stars twinkle against the blackness of space, the darkness disorienting my sense of day and night.

The space station is mid orbit, the edge of Earth just visible in the distance. I focus on the blue ball of my previous home. What is George Clooney doing right now?

Mitchell attempts to flick my clit with his tongue. Not only can't he find it, but just like a cat, his tongue feels like sandpaper.

George Clooney is probably better at eating pussy. That's a fact.

How the hell am I going to come in twenty minutes? At this rate I'll need an hour. Oh God, am I going to have to fake this again?

It's a Catch-22.

If I don't come, Mitchell's ego will take the brunt of it, and he'll refuse to get me off in the future. He'll probably blame my inability to focus and diagnose me with ADHD.

It could ruin the chance of actually coming in the future.

George Clooney appears in my mind again, but instead of his moist, luscious tongue gliding down toward my ass, he's cocking his head and whispering a question in my ear: You're supposed to be at that meeting.

My eyes pop open again and I stare at Earth. Thanks Clooney, you glorious God, you.

"Is this the meeting about the treaty with the Schovalis?"

Mitchell groans. This time he goes beyond just lifting up his head. He stands up and yanks on his boxers. "Seriously, Miranda, you are something else."

Oh, he's on the defense already? Well, then. "It is the meeting, isn't it?"

His jaw drops. "Here I am, trying to make you feel good, and you're bringing up work?"

I sit up. "The meeting is supposed to be tomorrow. Why didn't I get the message about it being moved up?"

He shakes his head. "I can't believe you. You've been practically begging me to go down on you, and when I try to pleasure you out of the kindness of my heart, all you can do is complain that you're not invited to a silly meeting."

"That's funny. Because a treaty with the Schovali alien race—which could literally alter the future of humankind—doesn't sound very silly to me. Or am I missing a memo here?"

His eyes narrow and he crosses his arms "You know what? You're right."

I throw up my hands. "Well finally you can see that—"

"—This was a mistake. You said we shouldn't start up again, and I can finally see that you were right. You're just too young."

I glare at him. "I'm twenty-seven."

"I'm not talking about age."

"Well, I hope not because you're pushing forty and if you want to quantify maturity, then we can sit down and have a long debate about it."

He sighs. "You just don't see what is important."

Is he serious? This is almost laughable. "I think a treaty meeting with the Schovali race about intergalactic technology is pretty fucking important."

He finishes buttoning up his shirt. "You know why you didn't get the update, Miranda. Because you just come off too strong. Your presence is just...too intimidating sometimes."

"Too intimidating for a woman, you mean?"

"Oh God. Not this shit again. You know I'm a male feminist."

He throws open the door before I've put my shirt on, and I topple out of the bed trying to scramble for my blouse.

"Goodbye, Miranda."

He spins on his heel and is out the door and now it's my turn to roll my eyes. My shirt is halfway on when I catch up to him down the hall. "You know we're living on a fucking space station. Goodbye is a tad bit dramatic, don't you think?"

We enter the lounge that all the dormitory halls connect to. More than one person glances up at us.

This again. It's not the first time Mitchell and I have had a public disagreement, and each time his reaction is the same as he attempts to pretend we're not fucking.

Even though the walls in the dorm are way too thin and my current sex hair is obvious.

He screws on his fake smile and whispers to me under his breath. "Let's just be professional from here on out." He presses a button for the lift.

"Oh, now you want to be professional?" Unlike him, I don't attempt to keep my voice down. "Look who's a comedian." The lift opens and there's no way I'm done with this conversation.

I follow him inside and the instant the doors close, he turns to me. "Captain Cole and I had a long discussion and we agreed that only the higher ups should sit in on this meeting."

"The higher ups? I'm the fucking lead aerospace engineer."

"And every other word you use is 'fuck.' We have a representative from the Shovali race joining us and the last thing we need are your disagreements to the plan."

"You mean, my integral opinions?"

The lift opens onto the circular space that leads to the conference rooms. A handful of men have already arrived and are waiting outside the door. "Miranda, we can discuss this later."

"Bullshit." My voice echoes across the vaulted ceiling and the group of men—my peers, and my supposed equals professionally—glance our way. They're quick to turn away.

Miranda—the girl whose wrath knows no bounds. I've heard them say it behind my back. But fuck them. It's because of my wrath that I got to where I am today.

I'm the only female aerospace engineer on this crew—a position I fought for. It's because I stand up for myself that I've gotten to where I am.

Before Mitchell can say another word, Captain Cole emerges from a lift with the Schovali representative. Of course the representative is a man.

His skin is a dark purple, and he's wearing a loose beige tunic, his expression stoic.

Beyond my educational training, I've studied the Schovali race. They're a male-dominated society. Not much different from humans when I think about it. At least the Schovalis don't pretend to be something they're not.

Captain Cole claps his hands together. "Gentlemen, are we ready?" He spots me and raises his eyebrows. "Miranda." He doesn't hide the surprise in his tone.

Mitchell steps in front of me. "Miranda was just filling me in on some last-minute details."

"Ahh yes," Cole says. He glances at me, and I can tell he's hoping I don't make a scene in front of the representative. "And you know we will fill you in on everything in the meeting with the rest of the crew."

I press my lips together. "Ahh yes, of course." I glance at the representative and offer him my hand. "Miranda Chase, Lead Aerospace Engineer."

He blinks—his eyelids closing vertically instead of horizontally. The men hold their collective breath.

Schovali women are invisible among their kind—something I refuse to be.

The representative stares at my hand like I'm flashing my tits. "And you are?" His voice is crisp, his diction sharp.

Since I already gave him my name, I offer up the next best thing. "Human woman. Earth."

There's an awkward silence and then Captain Cole claps his hands again. "Shall we?"

The Schovali representative doesn't shake my hand and I lower it as he walks past me into the meeting room. The rest of the men follow, and Captain Cole gives me a reprimanding look.

Mitchell is the last to enter. "We will be discussing this later."

I glare at him. "I'm sure we will."

I'm on the move before the door can close.

They don't want me to be in the meeting, then fine, I won't. But that doesn't mean I can't listen in on it.

They're undermining not only my tenacity but my intelligence. I'm an engineer, I have the blueprints of this station memorized. I press the button for the nearest lift and get off on the floor directly above the conference rooms.

It's the utility floor where the kitchen, laundry, and closets are located. Trotting down the hall, I open a closet that would be directly above the conference room on the floor below.

Shifting around buckets of cleaning products, I locate the air vent beneath a shelf in the back. It's not the first time I've done this, and it probably won't be the last.

Granted, when I've climbed into vents before, it was for the purpose of fixing things, or understanding where a mechanical problem might be located. This is a little different.

I slip my platinum necklace off, the first time I've removed in over a year probably. The heart shaped charm is strong—and slim—enough to fit into the screw like a flathead.

It takes a little effort, but I get half the vent open, put my necklace back on and slide inside.

I left my phone in my room, but the blueprint of these vents is embedded into my mind, and I know exactly where to go. My heart is racing—enclosed spaces have never been my favorite.

My mild claustrophobia nearly stopped me from taking this mission, and it was something I forced myself to overcome through immersion therapy. I concentrate on my breathing, keeping my focus forward as I hook a left and approach the conference room.

A cacophony of voices echo through the tunnel, and I'm getting close. I move slower, not wanting them to hear my movements.

I hold my breath as I reach the vent directly above the room and peer down into the meeting room.

Captain Cole and the representative are standing in the middle of a U-shaped table addressing the rest of the men. I lean forward, putting my ear to the vent to hear them better.

Captain Cole is speaking. "—on the parameters of the treaty. I think we can all agree that this is the best set up. But I do think we need to be careful about who we invite to the actual signing."

The Schovali representative picks up where he leaves off. "This treaty is highly confidential and something we request to keep under the radar. Only those who witness the signing will be involved in the actual unfolding of future relationships."

What the fuck? This is news to me. I've trained for this my whole life, determined to work directly with alien races once they announced their presence to Earth and offered peaceful relations with us.

Captain Cole continues. "We will release the final list later this week. I think this will be the start of a—"

There is an ear-splitting crack and before I can even react, the vent breaks beneath me. My stomach plummets and I tumble ten feet into the conference room, a group of unoccupied chairs breaking my fall.

Pain shoots up my ankle as I thrash among the tangle of furniture. "Fuck."

The ruckus masks my cursing, but it doesn't matter. Every single man in the room is staring at me.

I smile.

I'm pretty sure I just jeopardized the biggest opportunity of my career.

Fuck, indeed.