Suburban Cyborg

by Gloria Martin

  Robert swallowed hard as he felt himself close to coming. He tugged at her hair then, urging her to stop. Reluctantly, Leslie eased off his dick and looked up at him, licking her lips. The look on her face was utterly erotic and would have been enough to make him lose it.

  He leaned down and grabbed her, pulling her up and onto his still-hard member. She slid onto it with a low moan before moving her hips back and forth. After some time their hips moved in sync. Leslie’s arms wrapped around his neck as his nails dug into her butt bouncing her up and down on him. She felt his teeth sink into her shoulder causing her to cry out as both their orgasms crashed through their bodies like a wave.

  The two fell onto the bed in each other’s arms, exhausted and satisfied. Leslie smiled at Robert as he pulled the covers over their damp bodies.

  “I could get used to this,” Leslie panted before placing a kiss on his chest.

  “Yeah, me too,” Robert responded with a laugh as he returned the kiss.

  *****

  “I’m going to have to face Max soon,” Leslie said the next morning as she watched Robert, in nothing but a robe, cook breakfast. She definitely was not complaining about the sight.

  “Yeah you’re right,” he said as he placed the French toast neatly on Leslie’s plate.

  “I mean he was a prick, and now I need to talk about what happened with Bri.” The thought alone was making knots out of Leslie’s stomach.

  Robert went over and placed his large hands on her shoulders massaging them a bit.

  “Haven’t you had enough drama for one week?”

  Leslie laughed and shook her head.

  “Apparently not.”

  One other thing that was bothering Leslie was that Robert would be leaving soon. She would be alone again waiting for him to come back and that put more knots in her stomach than the Max situation.

  “Do you really have to go?”

  Robert stopped flipping the French toast and turned around to look at her with a serious look on his face.

  “You want me to stay?”

  “You sound surprised,” Leslie said with her eyebrow raised, genuinely wondering why he’d be so shocked.

  “Well with everything, I just thought…” Robert didn’t finish his sentence but instead smiled and walked back over to Leslie seating himself beside her.

  “I’ll stay,” Robert said simply before placing a kiss on her hand.

  “That easy?”

  Leslie was dumbfounded; as far as she knew he had to go back to duty the following week.

  “Well you could say I’m retiring. I did my time and I’m grateful for it, even before all that bad stuff happened, I was ready to be leave.”

  Leslie playfully hit his chest.

  “Should have told me earlier,” she said before leaning in to give him a kiss. That was a huge load of her mind. She didn’t realize how much she had missed him until he was here. Even with the craziness she missed him like mad.

  “Think you can handle even just one more week of me?”

  Leslie tilted her head in the air pretending to think before facing him once again with a grin.

  “Only if you teach me how to throw a punch like the one you planted on Max.”

  Robert let out a hearty laugh and nodded his head.

  “Anything for you.”

  THE END

  Bonus Story 18/40

  Highland Vow

  March, 1593

  Lyla Glenn did not particularly wish to marry Niall. She supposed he was attractive enough, if one liked the constant smell of sheep dung in a man, but she had given her parents her word, and now that her father was several months buried it was time to keep it. Her true issue was that she and Niall had grown up as neighbors. While she could not speak for his feelings, she had always seen him as a friend and possibly the brother she had never had, and nothing more. She understood the wisdom of her parents’ wishes. She was their only daughter and Niall was his parents' only son. Their marriage would bring together the lands they both owned and bring greater prosperity. Still, just because she understood, did not mean she needed to be pleased with it.

  Their village, situated near Glen More was large enough to merit a small kirk but little else, and it was, without a doubt, the most impressive building in the area. The inn came a close second. Aside from that, however, Lyla's village was made of little more than sheep and cattle farmers. Occasionally travelers passed through, giving a glimpse of a world outside the boundaries of the village, but they rarely stayed for more than a day.

  Being the daughter of the village leader gave Lyla some liberties, but not many. Her house was nicer than most of the others, and her family was wealthy enough to merit a servant. Her life, for the most part, was comfortable, but simple. And God, the thought of sharing her bed every night with a man who stunk of cattle was the least appealing thought that came to Lyla's mind when she mused on what she could do with her life. Still, there were worse things that could happen to her other than marrying a decent looking man with lands of his own and a bit of coin to his name.

  She did not exactly throw herself with abandon into the wedding preparations, though it was enjoyable enough. The ceremony would be small, of course, as necessity demanded, but it would be a pleasant sort of simple. Lyla could imagine what kinds of weddings the nobility would have, and thought perhaps they were far too focused on showing off the host's wealth, and far less on the bond between two people in the eyes of their peers and of God. At least Lyla's wedding would be genuine.

  There was a small outcropping of rocks near the village, one that the shepherds often used to sit on when their flocks were on the hills, where Lyla would go when even the soft busy noise of the village grew too much for her to stand. Her father's death still weighed heavy on her heart, and she imagined it would continue to do so for a very long time to come. Not simply because it meant she must now marry the neighbor boy. She loved both of her parents, but her bond with her father had been special, and not a day went by when she did not miss him greatly.

  The climb up to the top of the small crag could be dangerous when the weather was foul, but on a bright sunny day like the one that blessed the village now, it took nothing more than watching where one placed one's feet to make it safely to the vantage point. Lyla had climbed it countless times before when she wanted peace and quiet, or during breaks from her lessons when she was a child. On occasion she brought a book, but mostly she just filled a small basket with food swiped from the kitchens and had her lunch atop the flat rock long worn smooth by rain and countless hands.

  She had quite the view from her perch. On a clear day she could see for miles. It simultaneously took her breath away and made her feel incredibly isolated, for nowhere on the horizon could she see any sign of the other towns she knew were out there. The clouds in the distance, however, threatened to ruin what had otherwise promised to be a beautiful day. Lyla knew their darkness well, and as she ate her small lunch she watched as the wind blew them closer and closer, the shadows they threw across the fields and hills growing longer. The rain would reach the village by the afternoon and Lyla knew she would have to sit inside her home and watch the raindrops slide down the parlor windows.

  Until then, however, she could enjoy what remained of a lovely day and eat her lunch in peace and let the gentle breeze blow her dark thoughts away. Being up on top of the crag reminded her how large the world was and, strangely, gave her hope that she might be destined for something more than being a shepherd's wife. She was still dwelling on it when her lunch was finished and a sharp, cool wind brought the smell of rain. Lyla knew it was time to leave, lest she wish to be soaked in the coming downpour.

  She thought the rest of the day would be quiet and boring and spent indoors, at least until the rain ended. It was certainly looking that way, and the clouds were thick enough to merit lighting a handful of candles when the house grew too dark. A sudden scream, loud enough to penetrate the walls of the house, startled Lyla so badly that she almost
dropped the candlestick she was holding. She held a hand to her pounding heart and set the candle down before it did fall from her fingers, then rushed to the front door. Poking her head out into the storm revealed that many other villagers were doing the same, at least those who were in their houses. Those still outside in the rain were already stiff with fear, and when Lyla looked down the road, squinting to see through the rain, she saw why.

  Armed men, at least a dozen of them, were riding towards the village, and it did not look like they meant to continue on. Even though the sky was overcast, Lyla could still see the dull glint of pistols and swords, and she knew the colors the men wore as well. Cameron. Which could only mean one thing; the clans were feuding again, and this time, Lyla's village had been caught in the crossfire. Either that, or it was the target.

  The latter was proved true when the Cameron men began to round up the villagers left out in the open, herding them towards the middle of the village. At least there was no fire, but that could change swiftly, and the sky was already beginning to lighten. The rain would end soon, and then it was almost certain that the village and its fields would be burnt to ash, and its people slaughtered. Lyla did not know what Clan Mackintosh had done to warrant such an attack, but either it had been a horrific event, or Cameron had sent men unprovoked to strike a blow to catch their rivals off guard.

  Lyla knew her village lay close to the border between the two clans’ lands, but she also knew that it had been clearly claimed by MacKintosh for decades, and never before had Clan Cameron bothered to try and take it, at least as far as Lyla knew. Her mind whirred. The rain was slowing. Soon the Cameron men would light torches and there would be nothing left of her home, and no one left to remember them. She refused to allow that to happen. What would her father have done?

  She stepped outside the house before she truly registered what she was doing, pulling her wrist out of her mother's weak grip when she reached to keep Lyla inside. With her head held high, Lyla walked through the rain towards the riders, whose leader pulled up short when he saw her. The rain had darkened his golden hair. With one hand he slicked it back from his face, the other easily keeping his horse under control. The bay snorted and pawed at the ground. Lyla clenched her hands to hide their trembling.

  "Who are ye and what have ye come here for?" she asked loudly, thanking God that her voice was steady.

  "Lachlan Cameron," the leader replied with a smile, "and I've orders."

  "What will it take for ye to leave us in peace?" Lyla asked. Her father would have tried for peace, even if he died doing so. Lyla hoped she could do him proud.

  Lachlan shifted in the saddle and looked around the village, oblivious to the slowing rain. "What could ye possibly 'ave to give me tha' I don' already possess?" he asked with a mocking smile as he turned his blue eyes back to Lyla.

  Lyla hesitated, her throat tight, trying to think of what she could possibly offer him. She looked him over closely, inspecting the drenched clothes clinging to his body and the weapons at his waist, then finally to his hands where they rested on the saddle horn, unadorned. Behind him, his men were already preparing torches. All the wet tinder in the world could not stop an inferno, and there was plenty in the village that would still burn.

  Lyla caught sight of Niall, standing ramrod stiff near one of Cameron's men, and suddenly she knew what she could give.

  "Myself," she said, a flash of pleasure burning through her at seeing the shocked look on Lachlan's face. "I offer ye myself. Ye are in need of a bride, aye? Leave this village be and I will marry ye, and I promise, on my honor, that these people will pay their tribute t' yer laird, and not to MacKintosh."

  “Lyla!” Niall shouted, struggling against the hand that suddenly wrapped around the collar of his shirt. “Ye cannae do-” A harsh cuff silenced him. Lyla swallowed hard and spared him another glance, shaking her head, willing for him to be quiet. He was a good man, and regardless of Lyla's personal opinions towards marrying him, she did not wish to see him harmed.

  But Niall shook off the hand that held him. “Ye cannae marry this brute!” he continued, ignorant of the armed men glaring at him. “How can ye be sure he'll keep his word?”

  “This is my will, Niall,” Lyla replied, loudly and firmly, her gaze focused on Lachlan.

  Lachlan ignored the outburst and at least gave the appearance of mulling Lyla's proposition over. He glanced over his right shoulder to an older man, who examined Lyla with a hawk-like stare before finally nodding. Lachlan turned back to face Lyla and nudged his horse forward, leaning down until he could speak softly to her, and only to her.

  "I accept," he said. "Ye have a day t' pack what ye can carry. We'll be staying here 'til then." He straightened then, and called out, "Someone tend t' mine and my men's horses, and don' think about tryin' to send out a warnin'. Anyone seen leaving this village will be shot."

  An undercurrent of fear rippled violently through the small crowd gathered. A young man named Dougall came to fetch the horses as Lachlan and a few of his men dismounted. The ones remaining set up a perimeter and sat, hands on their pistols or rifles, and did nothing but watch.

  Lachlan lingered as the men accompanying him made their way to the inn, staring down at Lyla as he gently rubbed his horse's nose. The beast snuffled at his fingers, then nudged into them, looking happy for the attention. Lyla could feel her shaking grow worse, but she held Lachlan's gaze, her jaw set in determination.

  The shadow of a smile crossed Lachlan's lips. "Ye're a brave lass," he said, then left his horse to be taken away and followed his men inside. Lyla, left with little other choice, returned to her own home. She caught Niall staring at her but refused to look, and managed to maintain her composure until she had shut the front door behind her. She sank to the floor, water dripping from her hair and clothes and seeping into the wood beneath her, and gulped in desperate, shuddering breaths. Her heart pounded so fiercely she could barely breathe. She had been reluctant to marry a boy she had known all her life, and yet here she was, having offered herself to a complete stranger.

  And there was no wriggling her way out of this agreement. Even had she been the kind of woman to break her word once given, the fate of her village rested heavy on her shoulders, and it was only Lachlan's word she had to ensure that it would still remain standing when the day was done. She could only hope and pray that Lachlan was a man of honor.

  *****

  Lachlan had said to pack only what she could carry, and so Lyla did her best. Her mother circled around her, crying and fretting, constantly trying to undo Lyla's work.

  "Would ye rather he kills all of us?" Lyla finally asked. "It's what Father would have done."

  "There must be another way," Elspeth said.

  Lyla took another dress from her mother's hands and laid it neatly in the chest in front of her. Surely Lachlan wouldn't begrudge her a cart and pony to pull a single chest. She hoped he would take no issue with it.

  "I was to be married anyway," she said. "What difference does it make if 'tis to Niall or to Lachlan."

  "The difference is he's a Cameron and ye are not," Elspeth said sharply.

  "He will burn th' village, Mother," Lyla said tightly, her jaw clenched. "This is my choice."

  "Is there nothing I can say t' change yer mind?"

  Lyla sighed and turned to face her mother, hugging her tightly. She had changed after Lyla's father had died. She looked older, thinner. She began to fret more and eat less. Lyla's worry gnawed at her, but marrying Lachlan was something that needed to be done. She knew in her gut that there was no other option. First impressions aside, he seemed at least reasonable, if nothing else. Otherwise Lyla was sure he would have simply laughed in her face and had his men carry out their original orders regardless of her offer.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "This is the only way, and it least it means ye'll be safe. I'm certain he's not so bad."

  For a moment the two women stood embracing, many more words going unspoken. When they broke apart, the
y both had tears in their eyes. Lyla wiped hers away with the tips of her fingers and cleared her throat pointedly.

  Elspeth crossed her arms loosely over her chest and jerked her chin towards the remaining dresses spread across Lyla's bed. "Take th' green," she said. "Th' other's don' fit ye nearly so well."

  Lyla obediently packed it away and put the others back in her wardrobe where they belonged. There would be a few final necessities to be packed come morn, but otherwise she was finished. Her life, in a chest, and a stranger from a rival clan waiting for her only a few buildings down.

  Lyla and Elspeth left the room, going down to the dining table where a small, silent dinner would be served. Her mother's prayer before they ate was full of pleadings for safe keeping and good fortune. Lyla echoed her sentiments. She forced herself to eat, despite her lack of appetite, knowing she would need all her strength for what lay ahead.

  After a sleepless night, the time came for Lyla to join Lachlan's band and travel with him back to his home, wherever it was. He and his men were lightly provisioned so doubtless it was relatively close by. Despite her anxiety and reservations, Lyla could not help wondering what kind of place it was that Lachlan called his own. Did he live in a village much like hers, or was he lord of something larger? And he was a lord, at least of some kind, that much Lyla knew. It was in the way he carried himself, and in the way his men looked up to him.

  He was waiting for Lyla outside her home come morning. The storm had long passed, but the scent of rain still lingered in the air. The road had been turned to mud, and standing puddles of water still littered the tiny village square. Two of the village men carried Lyla's chest out of the house. With a gesture, Lachlan sent his own to fetch it from them. A tiny cart was brought and a placid pony hitched to it. As for a mount for Lyla, there was nothing.

  Lachlan stepped forward, his golden hair gleaming in the pale morning sunlight, and offered Lyla his hand. The other held the reins of his bay, who snuffled at his clothes looking for treats. A lump in her throat, Lyla slowly placed her hand in Lachlan's and let him pull her forward. Her mother quietly wept behind her. Lyla kept her eyes on Lachlan's knowing that if she looked back she was lost.