by H. C. Brown
"Do they both work? Are you able to interact with your computer?"
"Oh yeah, they work. My AI controls everything. I have nanobots in my blood to heal my injuries." Fane met her gaze. "I am human, Tamara, with emotions and needs.
But to Gryd, my boss, I was a cyborg and had to obey his commands." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I left before he tried to turn me into a killing machine."
Oh, my God. Tamara began to swab the wound on his shoulder. "You did the right thing." She dressed both wounds. "How's your head?" She stripped off her gloves and threw them into the bin.
"The pain is easing." Fane frowned. "Do you think I'm a monster?"
Tamara blinked. I think you're gorgeous. If you were a dom, you'd be perfect. "No.
You look perfectly normal to me, Fane. Having extra sexual organs isn't as unusual as you think."
"Okay that's my story." Fane grinned. "Tell me about Dr. Tamara Bright. How did you get interested in robotics? Do you have a man in your life?"
I guess it would be wise to keep him talking. Tamara raised a brow." I'm not married, and I haven't found a man to meet my specifications as yet."
"Specifications? Have robotics advanced to that degree in this State?" Fane chuckled. "Or do you crave something special in a man?"
With a shrug, Tamara smiled. "I think every woman craves something special in a man." She sighed. "To answer your other question, I was a military brat, dragged around the world for most of my life. I attended medical school and later got involved in creating prostheses for men injured in war. I have a private practice on the other side of town, and I do my civic duty by volunteering my services in the free clinic twice a week. Does that satisfy your curiosity, Mr. Jacobs?"
"A lonely life for a kid . . . always moving from school to school . . . I would never do that to a kid." Fane rubbed the back of his neck. "My wants are simple . . . I'm looking for a woman to love me . . . forever."
Tamara ran her hands through his hair, searching for injuries. Silky strands brushed against her arms in a soft caress. She inhaled his warm, masculine fragrance.
His face was so close to her exposed flesh, his damp breath brushed her aching nipples.
Without warning, Fane's large hands closed around her hips. Heavens above, what do I do now?
"Fane . . . Mr. Jacobs, I'm your doctor, it's not appropriate to touch me."
"You are not my doctor." Fane sighed. "I'll put our meeting down to a good Samaritan deed on both parts." He narrowed his eyes. "But I'll be happy to pay you for fixing me up."
Tamara snorted. "I wouldn't think of asking you for payment. You risked your life for me."
"So we agree?"
"Sure."
* * * * *
Fane's fingers bunched in the back of her skirt. He met her smoldering gaze. She wanted him, he had no doubt. Tamara's breathing became heavy. He lifted his chin and brushed his lips across her mouth. Her lashes dropped, shielding her eyes, and she made a small, keening sound. With a moan, he increased the pressure, and her mouth opened to his kiss. He angled his head to slide across her delicious lips, wanting to devour her. Slow, take it slow. To his surprise , her tongue flicked out and touched his tentatively. The second his aphrodisiac saliva hit her senses, Tamara trembled under his palms. Her small fingers curled in his hair, drawing him closer. She began to kiss him back with passion. He glided his hands up her bare back, the skin soft against his fingertips. She tasted like paradise and smelled like heaven. He drew her closer, reveling in the touch of her against his bare chest, the taste of her. His heart twisted in recognition. Tamara—my dream girl.
Chapter Five
Fane broke the kiss. His aphrodisiac had worked its magic. Tamara could not refuse him now. He had her in the palm of his hand. But, damn it, he did not intend to use the woman to slake his lust. She deserved better, and so did he. He wanted to get to know her, to enjoy the slow seduction he had dreamed of for so many lonely nights. He craved the intimacy of a permanent relationship. A quick fling on a hard table was a little too clinical—too much like the past four years of emotional hell. With a sigh, he gazed into her sultry eyes. Tamara mewed, grasped his head, and pulled his lips back to her mouth. Fane took her shoulders and eased her away.
He smiled. "Much as I'd like to continue this, I have a rule."
"What rule?" Tamara licked her bottom lip.
That sexy tongue drew his attention. He forced his gaze back to her eyes. "You don't know me. I like to date a girl before we have hot, monkey sex. Trust me, babe, if we continue, you will hate yourself in the morning."
* * * * *
Tamara frowned. He has no idea what I'd like him to do to me. She licked her lips, wanting to taste him again. Lord, he tasted better than chocolate. In fact, he tasted so darn good she could become addicted to him. His lips were full and generous, perfect for kissing, and what he could do with his tongue conjured images in her head that would make a prostitute blush. Now he was quoting rules. What the hell? Her knees turned to jelly at the thought of impaling herself on him. Her pussy craved him. She wanted to be on her knees, begging him to flog her. What would he do if he knew her depravity? Laugh at her? Be disgusted? She drew a long breath and tried desperately to control the raging lust surging through her. "Sure . . . I understand. I'm not your type."
"Oh, you're my type." He touched her cheek. "Give me your number, and we'll start over."
Not unless you have a flogger in your back pocket. Tamara sighed and stepped away.
She had little choice; to encourage him would be a mistake. Moving to the desk, she took a card from the holder, and handed it to Fane. "If you have any problems with your shoulder, ring this number and make an appointment. The free clinic is usually busy."
* * * * *
Ouch! Fuck this, I'm out of practice. He re-ran the scene through his AI. I know you want me, babe, and sooner or later, you'll come round to my way of thinking. Fane pushed the card into the pocket of his jeans. "I'll walk you home." "It's fine. I'll call a cab. I was intending to go to my club tonight, but I'll go straight home." She went to a cupboard and swore. "I thought there may be a surgical gown or something to wear in here."
Fane got up and reached for his jacket. He draped it around her shoulders.
"There you go."
"Thanks." Tamara smiled thinly. "Where are you staying? I'll return it with the cab."
Drawing a deep breath, Fane met her gaze. "I'm staying at the Strand Hotel. Why don't you bring it back tomorrow and stay and have dinner with me?" He held out both his hands. "I'm a lonely guy and out of practice with a beautiful lady." He inclined his head. "Tell me you'll come . . . please."
"I don't think that's wise." Tamara pulled a phone out of her pocket and called a cab. "You are correct . . . we don't know each other."
"What about giving me your number?"
She turned and lifted one perfect, burgundy brow. "I have a rule. I don't give out my number to strangers."
Fane moved toward the door . Touché. "I'll wait with you until the cab arrives."
Computer, get me Dr. Tamara Bright's phone number.
Outside, the wind wrapped around his heated skin in a cold embrace. The cab arrived, and he settled Tamara inside. She glanced up at him, her lips curled in a small smile, but her eyes held a distant sadness.
"Thanks for helping me. Goodbye, Mr. Jacobs."
Fane inclined his head. "I want to see you again."
Tamara gave Fane a slight nod and turned her green gaze away. He shut the car door, and then stood watching the cab disappear into the darkness, knowing a small part of him had left with her. He smiled at the ease his AI could hack into Earth's primitive mainframes. He accessed the cabs computer. In seconds, he had Tamara's address and place of business. With a smile, he turned to walk up the street. His AI signaled an incoming message from Jace.
"I've decided not to engage the services of hookers in the future," Jace grumbled.
" Where are you?"
"Downto
wn. Sturt Street"
"There's a BDSM club, Whips, close to you. Bennet Avenue, I'll meet you there."
Fane instructed his AI to dress him for bondage. "Sure."
* * * * *
Whips stood on the corner of a street amidst an industrial area. Out front, a black, wrought iron gate, decorated with a golden whip, barred the staircase to the cellar entrance. A massive man, dressed in leather, stood beside the doorway, chatting to Jace.
Fane crossed the road and joined the pair.
"This place is for members only." Jace met Fane with a grin. "I said we'd join." He turned to the man and waved a hand at Fane. "This is Fane Jacobs."
"I'm Frank, nice to meet you." Frank held out his hand to Fane. "We need doms in a big way. What's your pleasure?"
Fane shook his hand. "I'll take anything on offer. You got plenty of sweet subs down there?"
"Sure. Whips has a wide variety of clientele. I'm sure you'll find plenty of subs to suit your taste." Frank opened the gate and led them down a winding flight of iron steps to another door. He knocked, and the door buzzed and opened slowly. "Go through the foyer, the desk is on the left."
Inside, the dimly lit club exuded the exciting scent of leather and candle wax.
Music filtered from a room in the back. Fane led the way to the polished, wooden counter. A man stepped out from the darkness. His chest was bare, and gold nipple rings glistened against his hairless skin.
Fane pressed his hands on the counter. "We would like to join the club."
The man pushed paperwork across the counter and smiled. "This is a scene play club. Members only participate in the dungeons. If you sign in a visitor, you're responsible for them. We have rules. Make sure you memorize them. Some of the subs are here for discipline only—no sex. Make sure, before you participate in sex or anything dangerous, you lay the ground rules. Contracts are your business, but everyone puts their print on a waiver before they get through that door. Always check the girl's contraceptive implant is up to date. The club is divided into gay and straight . . . unless you're bi, keep to your own section . . . we don't like sightseers . . . same goes with visitors, if they're not in the scene don't bring them here, leave them in their own vanilla world . . . got it?"
"Sounds like heaven." Jace chuckled.
Fane accessed his AI for information and passed it on to Jace. "Make a big deal out of checking the implant. It's in the right forearm. The date can be viewed through the skin."
"Got it. Hmm, the implants last a year. This place has no sexually transmitted diseases, no unwanted pregnancy—paradise."
"We have private rooms and public rooms. You wanna private room, you ask me. Public means public. We have many exhibitionists who get off on an audience. On the dance floor, anything goes." The man glanced at Jace and licked his lips. "The bar has a VIP dom section. It divides the straight and gay areas of the club." He took a thumb scanner out of his pocket and placed it on the desk. "Membership fees are four hundred credits a year."
Fane pushed his thumb on the scanner. "How many members?"
"Couple hundred." The man read the screen and pushed the scanner toward Jace.
"Welcome to Whips."
"I wanna room. I have the need to flog some serious ass tonight." Jace grinned.
"Give me something in the gay section."
"Number three is a fully equipped dungeon. Head for the exit sign by the dance floor; the rooms are down the hall on the left." The man tapped the console on his desk.
"You make a mess, give me a buzz. We like to keep things clean. Let me know when you've finished, no rush, there's no time limit."
They moved into the crowded club and made their way to the VIP bar. Slow, sensual music flowed from every corner. Fane ordered a couple beers and leaned his back against the bar, surveying the room. A leather-clad dom walked by, flogger in hand, leading his sub on a long, silver chain to a booth. In one corner, couples danced intimately on the dance floor. Fane met the gaze of a dark-eyed beauty, dancing alone, and then looked away.
He sighed and inclined his head toward Jace. "I met the girl of my dreams tonight."
"What?" Jace studied him with an expression of incredulity. "Who is she?"
"Dr. Tamara Bright." Fane took a long drink of his beer. "She's not interested . . .
well, she kissed me, and it was hot. Then . . . I pulled back, and she turned frigid."
"She didn't melt in the face of your rugged charm?" Jace snorted. "That's a kick in the balls. I guess you're planning to see her again?"
Fane ran his finger through the condensation on the frosty beer bottle. "Oh . . .
yeah. She might take a bit of persuading, but I'm a patient man. I've been dreaming about her for years . . . I can wait a bit longer." He smiled. "I'm not giving up on love. It might take a miracle, but I'll do whatever it takes to make her mine."
"Well, in the meantime, there are a couple of sweet subs over there for you to try." Jace indicated toward the dance floor with his beer. "You know my motto . . . 'love the one you're with'."
* * * * *
Jace turned toward the other end of the bar and sauntered through the swinging doors to join the gay doms. He ordered a beer, snagged a private booth, and then turned his attention to the dance floor. Oh yeah. How long had he fantasized having a sweet sub or two of his own? For one hour or one damn night, he did not care. He leaned back against the booth, inhaled the heavy scent of man, and checked them out. The Whips' house subs wore cute, gold whip earrings. They would be approachable, one-night-stand guys. Sipping his beer, Jace cast his gaze over the dancers. There were two barely legal, sweet things dancing together. He watched them sway to the music, their bare asses moving seductively under leather chaps. The dancers turned as one to reveal semi-hard cocks. Both men wore ball separators, and Jace's mouth watered at the sight of their red, restrained balls. His gaze travelled up to pierced nipples on hairless chests. One man had braided two long strands of his raven hair with beads in the style of an ancient warrior. The other had blond, cherub-like curls. Jace rubbed his cock slowly while its twin remained nestled inside, twitching for release. He enjoyed the caress of the leather against his naked shaft, and the restriction of the skin-tight pants heightened his pleasure.
His gaze travelled to the cherub. The man could move. His sexy, petite body undulated to the music. Jace sighed. That delightful bit of ass was not a house sub.
Damn. Jace shrugged. What the hell—one night was all he would give this pair. Warrior Braids met his gaze. The man's eyes drifted down and stopped on the prominent bulge in Jace's pants. Jace moved across the floor and stood in front of the two men. "Get into my booth."
Jace turned and walked away. He paused in front of his booth to wait for the two subs to follow. Both men fell to their knees inside the booth, heads bowed. Jace ran his fingers through the cherub's curls. "Stand."
Drawing a deep breath, Jace met the sub's expressive, cornflower blue eyes. The sub immediately dropped his gaze. Long, brown lashes brushed his rose-blushed cheeks.
God help me, Jace thought. He's glorious. "Name."
"Lucian, master." He clasped his hands behind his back.
Jace could not remember seeing a sub so afraid; Lucian shook in his boots.
Why are you here, Lucian? Look at me. You may speak freely."
"It's my first time in the club, master. Dominic has trained me how to please you, master."
Casting a glance at Warrior Braids, Jace inclined his head toward the kneeling man. "You're Dominic, I assume?"
That's all I need—a sub trained by a sub. Jace ran his hands down Lucian's chest. He bent to pull at the nipple ring with his lips. Hell, he wanted to pet the sweet thing, offer him the world, and spank his delicious ass. Maybe tomorrow, after he had slaked his lust. He ran his tongue around the flat nipple, then trailed a wet path up the bare chest to Lucian's neck. He sucked at the throbbing vein there. Under his tongue, Lucian trembled, and a rush of air escaped his lips on a soft moan. Jace's
cock began to throb.
Fuck, the man's musky scent hit him like a potent aphrodisiac. He craved an innocent to train, but not tonight. Right now, he needed to dominate and take. Lifting his head, he gazed into Lucian's flushed face and shook his head slowly. Although Jace would no doubt regret not claiming Lucian's sweet ass, right now he had more pressing needs.
"Go back to the dance floor," he told him, "and send me a house sub."
He noted Lucian's dejected expression.
"Have you tasted a flogger?" Jace asked.
"No, master." Lucian dropped his gaze.
Jace ran a hand through his hair. Too sweet, he thought. Too innocent. An accident waiting to happen. "Before you get into a scene, make sure you inform your dom about your lack of experience. Have a safe word and use it. Now go, I need some experienced ass."
Turning his attention on Dominic, Jace took the flogger from his belt and rested it on Dominic's bare shoulder. "You have broken a rule. Only a dom is permitted to train a sub. See the damage you've done? Lucian will get hurt; doms will expect him to know the different levels of submission. You've put that sweet sub in danger. He has no idea of the rules. I have a very special punishment for you, but for now—lick my boots."
Jace watched the dance floor; Lucian wove his way through the dancers, his blond curls glistening in the overhead lights. A few moments later, a small, fine-boned man with almond-shaped eyes headed toward the booth. The man wore a small leather thong and nothing else to cover his clear, unblemished skin. The sub's dark eyes met Jace's gaze briefly, and then the man dropped to his knees. Jace tapped him on the head with his flogger. "Name."
"Master, I am Lee, and I am experienced for your pleasure."
