by Cara Bristol
Under the stars, bathed in Naran’s glow, she was in her element as if she drew energy from starlight itself. He imagined her gliding on the wind beneath a moonlit sky on iridescent wings. How lovely she must have been. Still was. If he had one wish, it would be to give her wings again.
With two wishes, he would end her ex-husband’s miserable existence.
He moved closer. Her eyes rounded, and her lips parted in an irresistible invitation. He ducked his head and kissed her. She stiffened but then wound her arms around his neck and melted against him. He drew her closer, showing the effect she had, and deepened the kiss.
She tasted sweet, like an intoxicating delicacy, but with the punch of Cerinian brandy. He could get drunk on her. Perhaps he already was. Judgment had disintegrated then balance. His head spun.
He plundered her mouth, seeking satisfaction that could only be found in deeper intimacy. He suspected getting horizontal would only increase his appetite. His cock throbbed with urgency. Never had a simple kiss turned him on to this degree. Not simple at all. Complicated.
He buried his hands in her hair, stroking from crown to the ends tumbling below her hips. Amazing, incredible hair. Full, but as light as air, like strands of gossamer. She shuddered, moaning into his mouth.
He groaned when she slipped her hands under his shirt to splay over his back, smooth over his chest. With a delicate touch, she raked her fingernails across his skin, blazing trails of heat.
Breath mingled. Lips brushed. Tongues mated. Need rose.
Illumina broke away, her eyes molten, liquid pools. She skimmed her fingers over his shoulders to the first button of his shirt. Then the next.
He covered her hands. They could stop this now. Ride the transporter to the shop. Go their separate ways. Think before they acted. “Are you certain about this?”
“I’m certain about this moment.”
Perhaps that was the only guarantee anyone got. Life changed without warning. When you thought you had things figured out, the world crumbled beneath your feet.
He cupped her neck, slid his hands under her robe to push the garment off her shoulders. It slithered to the floor. Jesus, Buddha, Lao-Tzu, she was naked underneath. Smooth, slender curves. Small breasts tipped with rosy centers, a tiny waist flaring to narrow hips, slim legs. A nymph. A sexy siren temptress.
Faria did not blush. They silvered. They glowed. Her face grew luminous, light shining from within. She lowered her lashes in the most bashful way and proceeded to dispense with his shirt. The fastenings of his pants proved too sturdy and stubborn for her to undo, so he assisted and then they both stood nude. Stared. Admired.
“How about those Mets?” They spoke at once.
A bark of laughter burst from his throat, a giggle from hers. Awkwardness vanished under amusement before humor fell to desire.
He pressed a heated kiss to her throat, roamed his hands over parts he’d only been able to guess at. Softness registered against his palms and recorded itself in his brain and his computer network. His nanocytes snapped and sizzled.
She conducted her own exploration of his shoulders, his chest, his clenching abdomen, and his waiting cock. Without hesitancy, she grasped him in both hands, smoothing over the weeping head, the hard shaft. Her amazing hair cascaded over her shoulders to brush his skin, the lightness of the touch stirring a torrent of desire. She squeezed his balls.
“Good?” she asked.
“Sweetheart, you have no idea.” He sank a hand into her hair.
She gasped. “Maybe I do.”
He chuckled and then caressed her breasts, cupping each one, teasing the nipples. The curve of her waist and hips led to her mound then between her legs where he sought out feminine folds, her clit, her channel. Muscles gripped his fingers.
She continued to stroke his hard-on.
Calling to order this meeting of the mutual masturbation society. He snorted.
“What’s so funny?” she asked, but she was the one with the secretive smile, pulling away, retreating out of reach.
And then she leaped. He caught her but staggered a bit, unprepared for the launch although her weight was inconsequential, her bones as fine and delicate as reeds. Her legs locked around his hips, her arms around his neck. Her wet sex lined up with the head of his cock. A perfect docking. She rubbed against him.
“Well, this is one way of doing it.” He hadn’t thought ahead to the mechanics or choreography, but if he had, he would have assumed they’d be horizontal. Stupid to assume. He’d never been intimate with a Faria before. Maybe they had sex in flight.
“I was afraid you’d want to do it in the traditional Terran manner, but that’s too much pressure on my spine,” she said.
“I’m guessing you’re referring to the missionary position, but I don’t know that I would call it traditional.”
“Is this okay?”
“Perfect,” he said, and kissed her. He had forgotten about her injury—might very well have flipped her onto her back on a bench.
She wigged and lowered herself onto his cock while he thrust upward. Homme for the assist. Engulfed in her tight, wet sheath, heat surrounded him, and he sucked in his breath. Yeah, standing up worked, too. Gripping her ass, he raised and lowered her while thrusting. She buried her face against his neck, licked and sucked his skin.
No hickeys.
What the hell. His nanocytes would clear up the bruising by morning before anyone saw them, maybe before they left the room. And it would be worth it. Her mouth against his throat sent tendrils of lust curling into his abdomen. Suck away, sweetheart. He plunged into her then retreated. She was so slick, so warm so…he shifted her body to adjust the angle of penetration to catch her clit on the forward roll and again on the backward slide. She uttered a satisfied noise against his throat.
All righty then. He made another pass and was rewarded with another breathy moan.
All he had to do was remain upright, hang onto her, thrust, and hit all the right spots. Good thing cyborgs were multitasking masters—unless circuits got fried by an overload of pleasure.
Gripping her buttocks with one hand, he dug the other into her hair and wound it around his fist. Her pussy fluttered. Could her hair be that sensitive? He combed through the length. She gasped and clenched around him. Contractions rippled over his dick like a massage, sending pleasure rolling in a wave. His legs shook. Oh fuck me.
“Don’t stop,” she cried. Her heels thudded against his ass, and he thrust into her, doing his best to hold her and stroke her hair. Cheating—but his legs were ready to give out.
Her head fell back, and her hair dusted his knees.
Deep in his cyberbrain, an alert blipped. Network breached. What the fuck? Distraction lasted for the nanosecond it took physical sensation to eradicate conscious thought. As she climaxed, her channel convulsed, milking his cock, pushing him beyond the point of no return. Orgasm loomed. Legs failed. He staggered to a bench and fell, twisting in the nick of time so that his ass hit the padded seat. A hard landing, but they maintained the connection.
He flopped onto his back. She straddled him, sitting high on his lap, her hair streaming around her. He cupped her breasts, rubbing his thumbs over the hard nipples, and then seized a handful of hair. Her face contorted with bliss.
Warning. Another ping. What the hell?
Pressure built; his cock contracted. Alerts evaporated like they’d never been. For sure, he didn’t care. Caught up in the searing ecstasy, he came. Illumina cried out as she climaxed a second time.
She collapsed atop his chest. They lay there, panting like they’d run a race. Her hair covered them in a featherlight blanket. He eased his hands underneath to settle on her shoulders. “If I touch your hair, is it going to…you know?” At the ripe old age of thirty-eight, he’d thought he’d figured out the mysteries of a woman’s body, but the hair thing was new.
“I don’t think so.” She lifted her head and smiled. “I’m good now.”
After coming twice? I’
d hope so. He stroked her arm from shoulder to elbow and back up. “What happens when you get a haircut?”
“Faria don’t cut their hair. It grows to a natural length and stops.” She ran her hand over the bristles on his head. “You cut your hair, then?”
“Yes. I keep it short. Easier that way.”
She rubbed his scalp. “You don’t feel anything when I do this?”
“There’s a sensation,” he said. He welcomed any touch from her. “It won’t make me come, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Oh.” She looked disappointed.
“Hey, you can always rub my other head.”
“I’ll keep that in the mind.” She snuggled against his chest.
He smoothed his hands over her spine and encountered two bony protuberances covered by roughened skin. The vestiges of her wings.
She went rigid. He stilled his hands. Tactile receptors continued to relay information to his brain. She wasn’t fully healed. Perhaps would never be. She would always bear the damaged skin and hard nodules—and perhaps the scarred psyche that accompanied the maiming and attempted murder.
“The wound still pains you, doesn’t it?” he asked.
“It’s not so bad.” She dismissed the injury but tensed like a board.
He recalled her stiff walk, her avoidance of the missionary position, how she perched on a chair edge never leaning against it. Probably her back hurt all the time.
Cybermed had achieved great strides in pain management. Doctors there might be able to alleviate her discomfort. “There are pain treatments—”
“I don’t need anything. Drugs dull my senses.”
He wished he could examine the scar, but she’d never go for it. “Not necessarily drugs. A computer chip might block the pain receptors—”
“I don’t want to talk about this.” She pushed off him, her hair tumbling forward to cover her breasts. “I’d better go. Early shift and all, you understand.” He did understand. He’d literally and figuratively probed a wound, and she had bolted. Illumina couldn’t have guessed how well he could see in the dark or she would have averted her backside. When she scrambled for her robe, he assessed the damage. Angry, red puckered skin stretched over hard ridges. It looked raw. He winced.
She yanked on her gown. “Um, thank you for uh…showing me the observatory.” She ran for the descender.
He would have liked to have taken her to his quarters to spend the night, but that wasn’t going to happen now. “I’ll come down with you.” He rolled to his feet.
“You don’t need to do that.” The vulnerable woman who’d cried in the transport, the sexy one who’d leaped into his arms and fucked like a bunny—both had disappeared. By morning, the guarded one in military dress would return. Dale didn’t want that to happen. He’d always been drawn to helping the misfortunate, the defenseless, and Illumina needed him. Whether she knew it or not, whether she wanted it or not. She did.
If for nothing else than to activate the descender. “You don’t have clearance to operate the transport.” He pulled on his pants.
She waited, her rigid posture shouting don’t touch me. His cybersenses picked up her fear in the pounding of her heart, her racing pulse. “Illumina…”
“Please. Let me be.” She stared at the sealed exit.
After he opened the door, she entered and executed a military-sharp pivot, facing forward. He did not board, but reached in and accessed the computer with a hand swipe. “Put your hand on the scanner,” he instructed her.
She glanced at him but then palmed the screen. A light blinked and then went solid. OPERATOR ADDED flashed.
“You can use the controls now and come to the observatory any time you wish.” He stepped back, and the doors closed. The transporter whirred as it descended.
* * * *
Captured by the Cyborg description
An ex-Cyber Operations field agent, Dale Homme has kissed danger and betrayal more times than he cares to count. Now he runs a clandestine factory beneath the surface of the moon Deceptio, where confidentiality and security matter more than anything. When a beautiful young woman arrives seeking a job, Dale knows within minutes she’s lying. Everything about her is false: her past, the people she claims to know, her reason for being on Deceptio. Illumina Smith? Even her name is an alias.
Logic says send her packing. His gut says she’s in trouble. She needs him. So he’ll do anything to keep her safe….even if it means keeping her captive.
Trapped with the Cyborg
Cy-Ops Sci-fi Romance, Book 4
Genre: science fiction romance
Cyberoperative Amanda Mansfield is supposed to rendezvous with her mission partner “Samson” at the Darius 4 Pleasure Resort before going undercover and infiltrating an enemy planet. The mission is extremely dangerous and there’s a good chance she might not make it home alive. While she waits for her partner to show up, she picks up a man at the bar for what might be her last fling.
His room. Easy choice. She could exit when she chose without the complication of having to convince him to leave.
She’d never picked up a stranger before. But this was a pleasure resort for goodness sake! When on Darius 4, do as the Darians… How foolish would she be if she didn’t take advantage of this opportunity? Pleasure bots were renowned throughout the galaxy for their ability to fulfill a woman’s every sexual fantasy. But, despite their five-star rating, they were too perfect. She couldn’t overlook that they were synthetic beings, programmed machines. Besides, they didn’t come cheap, pun intended. Expensing an evening with a pleasure bot would cause her tightwad boss to blow a gasket.
Since this might be her last sexual experience ever, it should occur with someone real. Someone human. Not a bot—but not a Malodonian, either. She stifled a shudder. The only thing worse than doing the nasty with a Malodonian would be having sex with a Lamis-Odg. She shoved the distasteful thought away before it squashed her desire for the Terran.
They didn’t get any more human or real than this guy. It didn’t surprise her one bit the dude had been a thug. She clutched a secret smile. Her father would have given birth to a full-grown Xenian water bovine if she’d brought home a man like him. Not that she would have dared to back then. But, now, knowing how much Daddy would disapprove made Sonny all the more appealing.
Medical technology almost could achieve the miraculous. Sonny must have been sliced up pretty damn good to have been left with such a scar. It cut a stark swath from eye to chin, making him appear menacing—until he smiled. Whoa. Hold onto your skivvies, ladies! That same blemish tugged his lips into a lopsided, damn near-irresistible grin.
Near? She hadn’t been able to resist at all.
And he was tall. She stood six feet herself. A man’s height shouldn’t matter, except it did. Not towering over her date was kind of nice. Not a date, she reminded herself.
He was a hookup. A one-night stand she would never see again.
Hover lights illuminated from above, while the glowing path created the sensation of floating. Everything about Darius 4 seemed surreal. Beneath massive interconnected domes, the formerly barren planet had been terraformed, creating themes to appeal to guests’ sexual fantasies. Hers? Sex with a bad boy. She glanced at her companion. She could picture him as a streetwise punk hyped up on testosterone and his bad-ass rep.
She’d called him a chauvinist, and he’d laughed. Holy mother of all that was, well, holy, his masculine roar had lit up every single one of her erogenous zones. Her libido had shot into hyperdrive, and it was no longer a case of grabbing one last fling just in case she didn’t make it home... She wanted him.
Time for a change of plans. She’d gotten to Darius 4 earlier than expected. After grabbing a quick drink in the bar, she’d intended to connect with Samson, her teammate, but jettisoned the plan after hooking up with Sonny. Why not indulge for once? Live out a secret fantasy? Get her libido in check so she could focus on the job ahead.
A peal of giggles rang out. A wom
an in a see-through toga chased by a bare-chested android pleasure worker sprinted across the garden. The erection tenting the bot’s wraparound trousers bobbed realistically as he ran. They dove into an open-air gazebo and, moments later, clothing fluttered to the ground. In full view of anyone and everyone, they went at it.
She tore her gaze away from the copulating couple and met Sonny’s amused glance. “What happens on Darius 4, stays on Darius 4,” he said.
“Good policy,” she agreed, relieved. Tonight’s adventure would remain here. Anonymity suited her purpose to a T. She didn’t know his full name, and he didn’t have hers. No ties. No entanglements. Don’t wish for more than you can get, and you don’t get crushed by disappointment.
Hidden fans swished the humidity-controlled air so it breezed over her skin like a caress, but it was the heat emanating from his body that created an indelible impression, his warm scent adding fuel to her smoldering libido. Her stomach fluttered, and her tight nipples ached. Between her legs, moisture pooled.
“My room is in here.” He gestured to a giant glass tree. The hotel.
An ascender rose from the trunk-like lobby to upper hallways branching out over the garden. Green individual room pods dangled from the glass limbs. From the outside, you couldn’t see in. But, from the inside, you had an owl’s eye view of the garden. “We’re staying in the same place,” she murmured.
“Convenient.” He flashed a smile.
Too much so. What would she say if she ran into him in the morning while waiting for the lift? But why worry about that now when they hadn’t done anything yet. What happens on Darius 4, stays on Darius 4. Clever. The resort should use it in their marketing materials.
They entered the ascender. Her heart thumped. I’m going to do this! Everything inside her body fluttered or throbbed. He reached to palm the screen to activate the lift then halted. Blue eyes, heated and piercing, fixed on her face. “Perhaps we should get something out of the way.”
