by Cara Bristol
“No. I’m not,” she said with a sigh and spread her legs. She lifted her hips, and he found her clit. Circles. Sank into her again. Then stroked. Dip and circle. Dip and circle. Cadence rubbed herself against his hand.
“Fuck, you’re so goddamn sexy,” he said. Ass bordering on rose. Pussy pink, slicker than slick. Even the sound of his fingers squishing in wetness struck him as sexy. For all her squirming and thrashing, spanking stirred her libido. The fun kind of spanking. She tried to avoid the disciplinary ones, but in the wrong way. He recalled the times she had attempted to conceal her misdeeds. Of course, he always had found out, which had led to a sterner punishment.
“I wonder how many real spankings you’ve earned since I’ve been gone?” he mused aloud.
“None,” his wife answered quickly.
Cadence squealed when he heated her ass with several punishing slaps before pulling her off his lap. He cupped her face between his stinging palms and kissed her. She melted against him, pressing her tits to his chest, her wet pussy against his thigh. Heat radiated off her spanked ass.
Her touch did magical things to his body, sending zings zipping from nerve to nerve straight to his cock. He flipped her onto her back and kissed his way down her body. Rahm rubbed his nose and mouth against her soft curls, inhaled her scent. Teased himself and her with a gentle lick to her clit.
Just that small taste exploded in his mouth, and Rahm could not resist the lure. He buried his face in her pussy, rubbed his jaw against her vulva, smearing her wetness on his face, absorbing her scent. He brushed against her clit the way she liked, allowing the day’s growth of beard to graze the sensitive nub.
Cadence moaned.
“Is that all right?”
“You have to ask?” She arched and thrust her pussy against his mouth.
“Just checking.”
“You’re teasing,” she accused.
Guilty. He grinned. He parted her folds and licked. With a curl of his tongue, he delved into her channel to capture her taste. Images, remembered scents and tastes had remained with him throughout his deployment, but could not compare to the reality of her. He teased her clit, fluttered his tongue over the bud and plunged two fingers into her channel. Rahm’s cock felt heavy, aching. He needed her now, but he’d waited this long, he could last a little longer. Maybe.
She squeezed her muscles, and using her heels, pushed her buttocks off the bed and thrust at his face.
He accepted the invitation to swirl his thumb in her moisture then trace the rim of her bottom hole. Cadence gasped, held her breath. He wiggled the digit into her tight passage. She’d need retraining before he could take her there. But soon he would reclaim every part of her.
With two fingers in her pussy and his thumb in her ass, he pumped while sucking on her clit. “You’re killing me,” she moaned and thrashed her head. Cadence dug her fingertips into his scalp, unable to get a good grip on his hair, shorn military short.
Killing her? More like suicide. His cock ached like a motherfucker.
One last time, Rahm drew hard on her clit, and then released her. He scooted upwards and fitted his form between her legs.
Cadence wrapped her hands around his cock, smoothed her thumb over the weeping tip. He froze, ground his teeth at the sizzling sensations. He sucked on a red, beaded nipple, and when he couldn’t take the pleasure anymore, shoved her hand aside and positioned his cock at her entrance.
He rocked inside. Snug, wet heat enveloped him.
She locked her legs around his hips. Sweat broke out on his forehead, glistened on her cheeks. He thrust with a swivel to rub his shaft against her clit. Bracing on one arm, he slipped his other hand between their bodies to add more friction where she needed it most.
Cadence cried out as an orgasm shuddered through her, and her spasms triggered his.
Control shot to hell, he drove into her, his body shuddering with release.
Home at last. The way it was meant to be.
* * * *
Rahm’s Way (Domestic Discipline) Description
Before her military husband left for his tour of duty, Cadence Simmons relied on Rahm’s love, direction, and protection. His absence forced her to become more independent and make decisions for herself. After serving his country, he’s home for good and eager to resume their marriage as it was before. Only Cadence isn’t quite sure she wants things exactly as they were. Can domestic discipline guide this couple through some major changes?
Stranded with the Cyborg
Cy-Ops Sci-fi Romance, Book 1
Genre: science fiction romance.
It’s been ten years since former nemeses Brock Mann and Penelope “Pia” Aaron have seen each other when circumstances maroon them together on an alien planet. What Penelope doesn’t know is that Brock works for Cyber Operations, a covert, secret organization of cyborgs. In this scene, Brock was seemingly severely injured in the crash landing. As night falls, they need to seek shelter.
Brock was acting all tough and macho—no act, he was tough and macho—but she’d seen his back after he’d caught fire. His shirt had melted into his flesh. It astounded her he’d managed to trek through the woods. The man had more fortitude than any human being she’d met in her entire life.
She didn’t know what she could do for him, other than pump him full of pain meds, insist he keep the injury covered to minimize infection, and hope against all hope that help arrived as soon as possible.
Thank goodness she’d grabbed an emergency light. She’d found it on the floor near the pod, as if the fake captain had chucked it while making his escape. She’d shoved it into the burgeoning bag.
If she’d thought to grab her PerComm, they would have been rescued already, and Brock would be in the infirmary being treated by trained medical professionals.
Penelope steeled herself for what she would see and clicked on the light.
“Great universe!” She nearly dropped the illuminator. “Brock—oh universe!”
The burns had disappeared, the injury site replaced with fresh, pink glowing skin. How was that possible? A few short hours ago, his back had been oozing, charred clear through the dermis, the epidermis, the subcutaneous fat, all the way to the underlying muscle and tissue.
Pia rubbed her eyes. “Your burns have healed!” Gingerly, she touched his spine, and he stiffened.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.” He sounded like he was gritting his teeth.
She ran her fingers over his flesh in disbelief.
“See, I told you it wasn’t that bad.” He flexed his shoulder blades as if to shake off her touch. “You were worried for nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing!” She pictured his damaged flesh. She’d seen the flames! He had been on fire. His shirt proved it. Although the sleeves and front were intact, the back panel had melted away. Even if his injury hadn’t been third-degree, he would have been injured some.
“Then how come I’m not burned?” he said.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you suppose that in all the stress of the attempts on your life and the crash landing that you’re not remembering it correctly?” He paused. “If I had been severely injured, I wouldn’t have healed already, would I?”
“But—but—” She snapped her mouth shut.
“My shirt caught fire, but you extinguished it before it could do much damage.”
She squinted. He couldn’t have grown new skin in a matter of hours. Obviously, she hadn’t seen what she thought she’d seen. The pinkness probably came from a mild burn.
Certainty collapsed into confusion and self-doubt. “I’m losing it,” she said. The assassination attempts, the shuttle crash, being stranded, the loss of her mental faculties—she couldn’t take much more. She burst into tears.
“Hey, hey.” Brock took the light from her hand, switched it off, and then hugged her. He tangled his hand in her hair, which was probably as messed up as she was. “It’s going to be okay.”
“No, i
t’s not. Because I’m g-going to be like a—a dead…albatross around your neck.”
He chuckled. “You’re mixing your metaphors. It’s just albatross or dead weight.”
“See? I can’t get anything right.”
Having his arms around her so strong and secure made her remember his kisses. It proved how screwed up she was that she considered feigning distress so he would continue to hold her—not that she had to pretend much.
She pushed at his chest to free herself.
“Stay here.” He tightened his embrace, and she needed no more encouragement to wind her arms around his waist and press her face into his neck. To be where she’d longed to be.
She’d never hated him. She’d loved him from the deep churning well of her adolescent heart and had done everything she could to catch his attention, to force him to see her as something other than his protectee. But he never had. Hurt and rejected, she’d struck out in anger. Driven him away. Almost ruined his life.
Older and more mature now, she was still his protectee, his responsibility, his burden.
So why kiss me?
Was he acting like he liked her as part of his cover as her husband? Or did he think she would cause trouble if he didn’t show her a little attention? It wasn’t unheard of for bodyguards and their charges to become sexually involved. The nature of the business forced closeness, intimacy. Brock was a virile, sexual being. Now that she was an adult—
Brock cupped her chin and raised her face. In the pitch blackness, she couldn’t see, but she sensed his gaze. Moments later, his mouth covered hers.
* * * *
Brock hated to see Pia so upset. Circumstances had forced him to undermine her confidence, make her doubt herself, question her senses. He kissed her to comfort her, to quell his guilt, but, once his lips touched hers, he recognized his reasons for the lies they were.
He needed her. She filled the void, allowed him to pretend he was a whole man and not part machine, an artificially enhanced grunt, one level above a baggage droid. To feel her against him, to know that a woman wanted him, that this woman desired him, allowed him to forget what he was and to dream of what might be. He stroked her mouth with his tongue. She filled his senses, warmed his blood, invaded his head, his marrow, his cells. Temperature spiked; his computer brain signaled his nanocytes to cool his reaction, but he countermanded the directive, ordered his microcomputer into sleep mode so the man could awaken.
Pia moaned, a sexy sound that shot straight to his cock. He pulled her closer, and she wound her arms around his neck. Pillowy soft breasts pressed against the hard wall of his chest.
Take it slow. Don’t rush it.
He threaded his fingers through her hair, letting silken strands flow over his hand. As soft as her hair was, it wasn’t as smooth as her skin, the perfect line of her jaw, her throat, her delicate collarbone. The trail led to her breasts, and it was perfectly natural to cup one generous mound. Her nipple hardened against his palm.
Pia nibbled his lower lip, sending electrical currents up his spine. He hadn’t touched a human woman in this way since before his transformation. And this wasn’t any woman, but Pia. Former teenage termagant, bane of his existence, maddening, stubborn, persistent, indomitable, beautiful, sexy Pia. The ambassador. His protectee.
And he was a cyborg, not lover material, not a man who could be there for her long-term. It wasn’t right to mislead her, to use her to soothe his loneliness, to try to ease an ache that never subsided. What he would take from her could not be given back.
Brock released her breast and wrenched his mouth away from her lips. Unhooked her arms from around his neck. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” He dragged air into his lungs.
“I think it’s a great idea.”
She walked her fingers up his chest to trace his jaw, lighting fires along the way. Her self-confidence had rebounded. Good for her; bad for him.
He went rigid, steeled himself to her touch. “There are things you don’t know about me.” He could admit that much.
“There are things you don’t know about me.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’m not easily deterred.”
Despite his emotional upheaval, he laughed. “Pia, that was the first thing I learned about you.”
“Then you know resistance is futile.” She kissed him, and his willpower collapsed. Repercussions and recriminations could hold until morning. He took control of the kiss, plundering as if a siege could calm his torment.
Her neck beckoned, and he nipped and nuzzled her soft skin then pushed aside her collar to get at her shoulders. He pulled it off and then dispensed with her tunic, and, for the first time since they’d initiated this crazy, ill-fated venture, was thankful for his cyborg enhancements.
He could see her, the iridescence of her skin, full, hard-tipped breasts, eyes sultry with desire. “You’re beautiful,” he said.
Her lips quirked. “How do you know? It’s dark.”
“I just do.”
The tangle of limbs and smaller branches formed a natural cradle. He tore off several large fronds and laid them out then spread his ruined shirt over the leaves.
“What are you doing?”
“Making us a bed.”
“Use my tunic, too, and the blanket in my bag.”
Brock’s gaze never shifted from Pia as they finished undressing. He drank in her small waist, her curvy hips, her shapely thighs, the vee of her mound. He shucked out of his pants and then laid their clothing over the branches for extra padding and covered it with the blanket.
He drew her into the cradle of the boughs, and they stretched out nose to nose, limb to limb, chest to breasts.
Brock sucked on a berry-tipped nipple, rolling the bud in his mouth, his tongue recording the pebbled texture, the salty-sweet taste. Pia closed her hand around his shaft and swirled her thumb over the head. White heat rocketed through his body, lighting a fire hotter than the flames that had erupted from the shuttle explosion.
He sucked in a shuddering breath and ran his hand over her abdomen to cup her mound, curling his fingers between her legs to find her folds slick with dew. He dipped into her pussy, scooping out more of her wetness, and then brought his fingers to his lips.
Her scent filled his head, her taste imprinted on his brain. He scooted down her body.
“Careful, don’t fall,” she said.
Too late. He’d fallen the moment she’d disembarked the shuttle from Terra.
His calves and feet hung out in open air. After pressing her knees to her chest, he began with tiny licks, whetting his appetite, teasing them both. But the merest sample exploded in his mouth like the finest Aurealian ambrosia. With his fingers, he opened her to his mouth, swept his tongue over her clit. She clutched his hair.
He eased a finger into her channel, groaned at the snugness, how her muscles gripped him. Brock added a second digit and fucked her slowly while licking her clit. Pia arched and dug her fingernails into his scalp.
Her cry split the night as she came, her hips thrusting against his face. He didn’t stop then, not even when she tried to push him away, but continued to lick and suck, bringing her to the edge of orgasm a second time. Then, he guided his cock to her entrance. Rubbed the head in her wetness. Tested. Prepared. Go slow. He gritted his teeth.
She locked her heels around his buttocks. “Hurry,” she gasped.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” She was so tight. When she’d grasped his erection, had his size registered with her? With androids, it didn’t matter. They were built to take anything.
“You won’t. Fuck me already!” She thumped her heels against his buttocks.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. Gathering his self-control into a tight grip, he eased into her. Slick muscled walls closed around him. Hot need burned through his blood. He groaned.
She rocked her hips and squeezed, tightening more around his cock.
Brock shuddered. “Penelope,” he gritted out.
She raised her head and licked his nipple, sucked on it. A torrent of sensation shot from his chest to his groin, and he lost it. His hips drove forward hard. Pulled back. Plunged deep. Again. Again. Liquid fire consumed him.
Hadn’t he feared it would be like this with her? Exquisite. Devastating.
Pia’s neck arched. He fastened his mouth on her throat, tasting and nipping, trying not to mark her. She moaned. He shifted his pelvis to catch her clit on the forward thrust.
Like the machine he was, his body pistoned into hers. A streamlined, driving force.
Pressure and tension built in his balls, his cock, his chest, his heart and soul.
Pia gasped, mouth wide open, eyes squeezed shut in climax. Her pussy rippled and clenched around him, wresting the control from his grasp. His body answered only to her. Not to his mind, not to his computer brain. Not to his nanocytes, but to her. He came, his cum like lava fire erupting from a deep well. As he emptied himself, the edges of the void closed in, and the ache receded.
Perspiration stung his eyes. His body threatened to collapse, but he shifted and fell beside her so he wouldn’t crush her against the hard, rough branches, inadequately padded by leaves, clothing, and the blanket. Chest heaving, he flung a forearm over his eyes and hand, laced the fingers of his other hand through hers, clinging to the pretense he could have what normal men took for granted. That he could have her.
“You called me Penelope,” she said.
He had no recollection of anything he might have uttered. “That’s your name.”
“I’m surprised you know my name.” Her voice shimmered with amusement. “You always call me Pia.”
She’d gone from being a pain in the ass to an ache in his chest. His life would have been a lot simpler if she’d remained the former. He’d been stupid to kiss her, to start something that led only to a dead end. And sleeping with her?
Fuck.
All it had done was taunt him with what he could never have: a life with her. There could be no waking up next to her each morning or coming home to her every night.
