Claimed Possession (The Machinery of Desire Book 2)

by Cari Silverwood

  Sawyer leaned on her, with a hand at mid-back then he bit her ass, before tracking more bites in a long road up her side, ignoring her weak cries. When he stood, his hand remained plastered at her hip.

  “Greater? Bigger, better, exploding orgasms? You hear that?” He made her to look up with that familiar, rough hand in her hair.

  Blearily, she found his eyes locked on her face and realized she was still dragging in air as if there could never be enough to fill her lungs. Her breasts seemed tipped with fire. Her face and mouth were wet.

  “Yeah. She is a mess.”

  So was he. The rugged bulk of his musculature shone – sweat sheened him and fresh blood dripped from his forehead then ran in trails over the mounds of muscle in the arm holding up her head. She blinked, too tired to speak.

  He smiled, for a moment or two, before he plucked the clips from her nipples and dropped them to the chair. He took his hand from her, and she could again hide her face in the chair. Her mangled hair stuck to the moisture on her face.

  “Guess you were right, JI.”

  “And you, sir? Do I detect an unusual satisfaction?”

  The men laughed at that but she was aware enough to hear the pause before Sawyer replied.

  “Wasn’t bad, for a virgin.”

  “Your wounds bleed,” JI pointed out. His voice volume cut in and out erratically and ended in a squeal.

  “Yeah. There is that.” He snorted, and it sounded as if he wiped his face as he spoke the next words. “I may have sprung a few leaks, blown a fuse on my blood pressure.”

  “So. You’re done,” some male voice interrupted. “Is she a free ride then?”

  Gods, no. Though her face was already buried in cushions she shut her eyes.

  “She’s mine. Get your own fuck.”

  The one thing this night she could be thankful for. She let out a staccato sigh. Where was her life going?

  Chapter 12

  What was it about being the victor that both satisfied and left a man with a feeling of disappointment? Looking down at Ari, defeated, fucked, made to come in spite of her struggles, Sawyer knew he’d done both wrong and right.

  Two of the men had left soon after they figured out he wasn’t letting them have Ari for their plaything. That left only Sassik, the monster-sized Scav with the long, curly hair and the easygoing attitude, and Dayne, who’d seemed inclined to be friendly even after they’d tried to kill each other. And the mech. Some debris on the floor that matched holes in the ceiling made him wonder how much effort had been needed to get JI into this room.

  “Nowhere to wash here, I guess?” Both of them would stink of sex and blood.

  “No. Tomorrow, when we move out into the first open area. There’ll be water there at this time of year.” Dayne sniffed long and loud, as if tasting the air, then took a sip from his goblet. “Not unless you want a bath in this. Harash. Raw as it comes and will wash away your skin too.”

  “No thanks, though if you have a glass to spare?” Golden liquid washed about in the glass. From the scent wafting to him, it wasn’t a type of beer, though he’d never drunk any sort of alcohol here.

  “Sure.” Sassik rummaged in a bag came up with a bottle. Next Dayne found a goblet in what seemed a pile of junk at his feet.

  “Have a seat.” With the square goblet in his hand, Dayne waved, indicating the row of lumpy gray stuff he and Sassik occupied with their legs stretched ahead. It took up the wall under the star apertures. The two men were dappled with light and shadow. Weapons and other gear were stacked along another wall, including that big long-gun of Sassik’s. When the light from the stars flickered over it, the purple sheen stood out among the grimy setting.

  Had the gray thing been a sofa? If so, it’d collapsed down and might be an original piece of furniture from before the destruction of the city.

  Ari though. He wasn’t leaving her where she lay while he sat and drank. Some men might. Maybe most on this world. Guess he had things to unlearn. Meanwhile he’d do what his instincts said to do.

  The naked girl had blood and sweat smeared over her ass and back, as well as the chain running from where he’d connected wrists to neck. The rest of the chain piled on the chair. She couldn’t get up, unless she rolled off sideways or tiptoed backward, and if she tripped, the impact would likely break her neck or arm.

  How would he feel if that happened? Dumb. Useless. A troll from under a bridge and not a man.

  He held her wrist and ran his thumb over her skin, noticing how she froze at his touch. Maybe he’d forget the unlearning. He liked having some morals, some good sense. He pulled her back and onto her feet, steadied her. Then he hoisted her into his arms and walked to the nearest vacant spot on the makeshift sofa, which was next to Dayne. After he settled, with her mostly draped over him, facedown, he began to absentmindedly undo all the locks and pull loose the chain.

  The key was around his wrist on a small loop of cord, and he returned it there. He wasn’t leaving it around for her to find again, though he’d get a longer cord and put it around his neck.

  Once he had her untangled, he dropped most of the chain over the side and let its weight take it to the floor. She’d barely moved and hadn’t protested – very unlike her. He let her be. Maybe she was processing this.

  Yes, he’d let her be except for one thing. Hand on her back, fingers splayed like some sort of symbolic claiming, which he rather liked the look of, he said, “You’re to call me Sawyer from now on if you need to call me anything. I don’t want Sir like I’ve heard some ask of slaves.” Her ass squirmed at that, and she part-turned her head, as if maybe the word slave made her uncomfortable. “No terms of disrespect. No insolence. No shortening of my name to Saw.”

  He watched her breathe, and they were deep breaths from the way her back moved. He let her take it in.

  “Answer me and use Sawyer.”

  He made her turn her head so he could see her eyes – one yellow, one green. Every time he saw those, they surprised him. Then he shifted his hand to put fingers and thumb about her neck at the larynx area. A vulnerable spot and he figured, somehow, it’d prompt her to speak. Running on instincts here.

  He did wonder why she’d ceased cursing him or screaming, or flailing about.

  “I heard.” She pursed her mouth. The wrinkle forming dead center on her brow drew him to put a finger there and she went a little cross-eyed. “You want me to use Sawyer. I will.”

  “Yes.” He patted her on the ass then ignored her. Seemed the best thing. He liked her weight on him, liked the quiet.

  She’d stabbed him with a fork, though. Really, really, he should mention that.

  “Do you know how many holes you’ve put in me in the last day or so?”

  Grudgingly after again doing that telltale guilty shift, she said, “A lot?”

  “I need a sorry, and I’m giving a warning here that next time, I will be beating you if you try again to harm me or disrespect me. Got that?”

  Beating. That had a lot of connotations, variations. He almost wanted her to do something to warrant it. And then he didn’t. He had these weird selective morals.

  “I’m...sorry, Sawyer.”

  Too easy?

  “Should’ve beaten her already.” Sassik grinned. “I would’ve.”

  “Let him do this his way.” Dayne joined in. “More fun to watch him make mistakes.”

  He let it ride. Mistakes could be fun, as long as he got zero more holes in him. “I’m new to owning. She’s new to being owned. I’m giving us both leeway.”

  She was listening to all this. What was she making of it? He’d love to know. In the coming days, he’d find out what went on in her head.

  There went his notion of getting rid of her, selling her.

  It was those pretty eyes. He’d never find another girl with such unusual eyes.

  Good a reason as any, until he figured out his own head.

  “Here. Put these on her at least.” Sassik fished in his bag and tossed over a s
et of wrist and ankle cuffs. “Zarr’s not letting her free after this even if he takes her off you, so she needs them.”

  What the hell? Zarr would do that? Disturbing...as was how he’d returned to not wanting anyone else have her. While he thought, he started buckling and locking on the cuffs. She had been part of his bargain. For that to fall through meant they thought the part he promised might fail.

  He’d promised JI to Zarr.

  Or they thought Zarr was enough on an asshole to just renege and take her away.

  The mech sat in the gloom against the opposite wall, with his metal ass on the floor. Odd, he’d not heard a thought from him.

  JI, are you okay?

  Nothing came back, except a sense of foreboding, as if something had blocked the sun, and seeing it was nighttime, that was a dumb analogy – exactly how it felt though. Their connection was dead and cold. He couldn’t describe it any other way.

  He clicked shut the small lock on the last cuff, smoothed the leather-like material down against Ari’s ankle, wondering yet again what animal skin they used for their leather. Then he sat back and took a goblet from Dayne.

  Were they predicting his failure already?

  “What do you know about the mech that I don’t?”

  “Well.” Dayne let his expressive eyebrows do an up-and-down speculative dance. “That your mech is sometimes...crazy? That do?”

  Oh crap.

  He took a large swig and almost spat it out. The stuff, Hasak? Burned as if a thousand demons were partying in his throat. “Good. Stuff,” he choked out. “Hasak?”

  They grinned at him, and said, “Harash,” in unison.

  Even the fumes were bad, but his head felt better, clearer.

  “Have some.” He tapped Ari’s shoulder, and she propped herself up, hesitantly, on her elbows then drank more than he had. He didn’t stop her. Maybe they both needed to dull their minds.

  Plus he could watch her tits sway when she rose like that. Small pleasures. Crazy ones, considering he’d just fucked her.

  “More.” He gave her another swallow. Yep, was worth it just to see those move.

  She lay down again with her face on her hands, staring off toward the darker wall to the side. His free hand naturally had come to rest on her ass. As the glow from the beverage drifted in and softened his thoughts, he slipped his hand lower into the enticing split between her thighs, wriggling his fingers until he reached her slit.

  Messy, but then he already was. Besides, the surprise on her face then how she closed her eyes and let out a quiet but long breath, how her legs moved apart the tiniest amount...promising, so very promising.

  He took another sip.

  Chapter 13

  Where his hand was – she shouldn’t like that. She shouldn’t like lying over his lap either, and yet, she did. She liked both. He began to talk to the other men, and she was without clothes, had been screwed in front of them all, orgasmed, and his cum was on her, in her, and yet...there was this quietness.

  It had started to move in on her when he denied the other men. If he’d not done that, she’d be screaming by now.

  In a way, he’d protected her from them.

  Bizarre. All these thoughts ran around but they didn’t alter the calmness, the stillness about this extended moment.

  No one expected her to do anything except to be where she was.

  He’d been inside her. The resonance from that...

  She shut her eyes, inhaled, let it out, shivering as she replayed sensations.

  Dildos didn’t rate compared to the consequences of someone doing that to her body. Putting his cock inside her... This must be pure instinct...people-and-breeding psychology programmed into her, which meant she should throw it from her, like an unwanted cloak. She should plan her escape.

  Her next escape.

  Still.

  He wormed his finger, probing, as if she was his to do with as he wished.

  Hate that, she told herself. She must hate that.

  But she couldn’t. It felt too good. She let herself float as they talked above her, felt him begin to fuck her slowly, gently. Though she was sore, her clit stirred and she gripped the gray material under her, felt it tear.

  Sawyer stopped and she managed to draw herself into the real world again, though his finger remained inside her. He’d wrapped her wrists and ankles in cuffs. She might’ve been some present he’d bought; he’d done it so well, with such precision. Each buckle had said something small yet significant. I own you.

  He was a storm and after storms passed there was always silence.

  Let it be. Wait. Of all people she should know how mercurial was the treatment of slaves. One day they were treated fine, the next anything might be done to them.

  Before, they’d mentioned how Zarr might change his mind. She would not place her existence in the hands of someone else.

  For now, though, she could exist in the aftermath of the storm.

  Then Sawyer patted her head, as if she were a pet. She’d seen his anger, his bad side. This was temporary.

  They were still talking. She might learn from them. Relaxed as she was, she found herself connected to Sawyer. Her physician side felt and catalogued the wounds, including ones she’d made with a fork. Should not do this either, but she unfolded that other side of herself and surreptitiously smoothed away his wounds.

  Ari wasn’t sure why she’d done this, except it made her feel as if she’d rebalanced fate.

  It was a small thing, a small sacrifice to the enemy. He wouldn’t even notice.

  “So neither of you was with Zarr’s warband originally?” The rumble of Sawyer’s voice seemed to come to her directly in a soothing wave of sound.

  “Sassik lost track of his warband after he was ill. His family died from some illness.”

  “Yes, this is so. I am well now but I lost my wife, my child.”

  They exchanged condolences, and she actually found herself nestling into Sawyer’s hand where he’d cupped it against her hair. No one had patted her since...her mother. Many, many years. Clearly, she was simply starving for closeness.

  Her eyelids lowered, and she vaguely listened.

  “Me? I’ve been with Zarr since he took over Osta’s old territory. Zarr is erratic, but Osta is no use to me absent.”

  Sawyer grunted. “What is Zarr doing? Why are we going inside this city?”

  “Waik crystals. You don’t know those? Half our stuff gets power from them. Weapons, vehicles, lights...some of them. It’s said even the Mekkers use them to make power cells after processing them somehow. A yeger says he dreamed of a cache in here, deep. We follow an old path, he says, and then go a little ways and bam there they are, or so he tells Zarr.”

  “A yeger?”

  “Man who can sense waik crystals, can meditate, you know, think while quiet, and power up the crystals. Better than drivers can or any warrior.”

  “You’ve lost me there. Drivers? Warriors?”

  “Yes. Yegers are just better at drawing in power. You must have seen men meditate at night – that’s why, it powers the crystals in the weapons, the vehicles, and so on. You’ll see.”

  “Okay. No I hadn’t seen it, but okay.” Sawyer sat back, took his hand from her. The absence woke her from her daydreaming. “Where is this Osta?”

  “Away. Hunting up old docs, old papers, ghosts of rumors. They say he’s on the trail of a stockpile of DRAC missiles?”

  Sawyer murmured something.

  “DRACs, those are old tech. Weapons that scare the dung out of Mekkers. They can crack open a swathe, it’s said. Chances of finding one that still functions and fires? Almost zero.”

  “I might need to do that...”

  The room hung with silence, and she lifted her head, alert.

  “Crack a swathe? Why, Saw?” Sassik’s voice boomed quietly as if he talked down a tunnel.

  “My sister Fern is on the Royal Swathe. She was to be executed. I need to find out what happened to her.”

&
nbsp; “That’s going to be difficult.” Dayne spoke and she sneaked a look with one eye, and found he was leaning in close. “No one can get into a swathe unless they want you there.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment oozed from Sawyer’s single word.

  “I...can tell you some...thing.” JI had woken. His speech seemed off, and she listened, playing it back, detecting hurt there. Better than in people, she could almost feel him. If she touched him...she’d learn more.

  Curious that she should think that.

  “You can? You said you knew Emery. She got off the swathe with you?”

  “Yes. She did. Emery who taught Shakespeare.” A long pause followed, and it seemed JI had lost track of the question. “I...we knew of Fern. The sentence was carried out...before we left.”

  “It was?” She heard Sawyer swallow, felt it. “Was she killed? Please, I need to know. We were...are close.”

  “I am sorry Saw...yer. I do not know. Her body was disposed of, jettisoned from the swathe, but it is possible she lives. I...took steps to try to save her.”

  “Fuck. You did though? I owe you. I fucking owe you.” He cleared his throat, sniffed. “What is the location she was left at? If nothing else, I would like to bury her. How long ago did this happen?”

  “Many months. That much I recall. I have sad news for you. My memories are gone, I think. Those ones. My current brain is small. Too small. Many memories are deleted. You could find this data on the swathe.”

  Deleted? This explained his problems. However, was he correct? People with brain injuries could not diagnose themselves perfectly, so neither could this mech. She could say this or keep quiet.

  The one advantage was that by saying this, her value might increase to this Sawyer. He seemed softer than most grounder men. As Sassik had mentioned, most would beat a slave who injured them. If she had to be with someone, temporarily, he was better than an unknown Scav.

  Ari cleared her throat. “JI could be wrong. The memories might still be there.”

  “What?”

  Now she had Sawyer’s attention.