He waited for her by the front door, and without seconds to spare, she appeared in the entrance hall right on time. The metallic doors opened and parted as the squares found in the foyer sounded out with her approach. Spiked heels clapped out a sexy rhythm. Since they had business to discuss and various terrains to cover, he was surprised. She looked good enough to bed, fuck, and yes, spin—something the spider living inside of her might readily welcome.
Watching her sway toward him, he felt proud. The woman exhibited true characteristics of the lady he needed her to be in a fleshy form. Her hair toppled her head in a secure braid flat against the scalp, the one he'd massaged as she'd fallen asleep in his arms the night before. It had felt good to hold her there and after one evening of Paisley, he planned to have many more. Starting tonight. No time like the present.
She walked toward him quickly and stopped right in front of him. Slapping the manila folder against his chest, she informed him of new discoveries. “I will not become a woman in your harem."
So maybe the romance needed a postponement. His fantasies left him as quickly as the folder swatted against him.
Beautiful. The woman characterized the lone thought—stunning. His lips formed a straight line, and he tried to prevent a smile. With his demeanor, it proved difficult. He wanted to cock her right then and there. Damn if he didn't get a hard-on every single time he saw her.
"My parents didn't leave behind a helpless woman without a brain.” Her hands rested on shapely hips—the most perfect of curves.
"After last night...” he paused but made a quick decision to piss her the hell off so he continued, “I have reason to believe you don't know where your brain is located.” He sneered then, and oh yeah, it was for mere theatrics.
"Why you son-of-a-bitch!” She turned to walk out on him, but he caught her quickly.
Holding her forearm firm against his middle, he nodded toward the wall.
"I know all about your parents.” In a center mural, her father and Phillip were shaking hands, and her mother stood to the side with an air of approval the photographer easily captured. Her mother looked radiant.
At one time, Phillip really believed Paisley's father was the luckiest man in the world, but then he discovered the man's daughter—Paisley. She was eighteen the first time he saw her, and it was all he could to turn away from her. It happened once, three years ago. He never saw her again until she visited The Zahur. He liked looking at her, and heaven help him, touching her unleashed another emotion altogether. No, a series of them blended together and reminded him of divine future coupling possibilities.
Standing with her now, he realized Paisley's father wasn't the luckiest bastard in the galaxy. Hell no, he owned the title now, and he'd be damned if any other man would ever know the experience of Paisley.
Brogan could consider himself used and discarded. Oh sure, he'd share with Brogan because, on occasion, it would suit him when he needed the man's hands or eyes to help him do things he had envisioned in his mind, but he planned to enjoy her and keep her safeguarded in his arms as much as possible. Paisley now belonged to him. Convincing her of it would take little effort. Damn, he had confidence—twelve full, eager inches of endowment reminded him he possessed a lot of it.
* * * *
"You knew my mother and father?” She moved closer to the painted proof. Complete strangers stared back at her from many of the framed snapshots and then she spotted more recognizable images. Her parents, employees, Brogan, men who closely resembled Brogan and countless other women and men—complete strangers. None of them meant anything to her except for those small murals with her parents and another familiar person—Phillip.
He stood proud as quite the loyalist. He appeared at her father's side in many of the small paintings. Hundreds of men cluttered the walls there, but he won the camera's approval. The naked eye drew him closer. His stance was confident, sexy, and oh so deliciously capable. She knew from experience.
Her hand flew to her side. “If you think I give a damn about an agreement you may have had with my father, then you don't know anything at all about me."
"I know enough.” He reached for her, and she smacked him away.
"Brogan!” He called out over his shoulder, and Brogan appeared in the instantly parted wall behind him.
"Take Paisley to the control room. Allow her to see everything I have already seen. Then meet me in the plaza. We're due there in two hours.” He slid his arm around her waist and brought her to him.
Air must've hitched in her chest because she gulped as he made the sudden move. “And if you're good, I may just allow you to spend the rest of your natural life with me. You'll like the arrangement. I'm sure of it."
The red color in her cheeks returned. The little spit-fire business woman came alive with a ready proposition. “I'm being man-handled, and I assure you, I'm not accustomed to it—"
Phillip slanted his lips over hers in a swift movement. After he planted his mouth on hers for a brief reminder of how well she liked it there, he nodded to Brogan and turned away with words of caution. “You may not be used to me yet, but you'll begin to look at me as an additional limb, and darling, you'll ache and throb whenever I'm not with you. I promise, you'll feel the sudden loss and beg for a speedy return."
"Don't you turn your back to me.” She reached for his arm, and he shook himself free, but he did turn to face her.
"Paisley, don't you raise your voice when you address me. I've been in control of this entire charade since the beginning. I understand this comes as a shock. Perhaps it would've been better if you'd had time to adjust, but you turned twenty-one. It's the age of our people and the time is near. We are who we are—and stronger only together as one.” He turned again. “Brogan, do your job. You've been paid well to train, so finish the damn process.” He snapped his words and left the compound.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Nine
Paisley stared at the monitors around the control room. Hundreds of them played and replayed her life as if every moment, every second of her past needed documentation. Walls of screens pushed forward with one year and then the next; one month of days turned into weeks, and all of it unfolded in captured images.
Her mouth fell open as she watched. She caught herself a few times and closed it abruptly. Her life's memories flashed before her. A smile on a little girl's face, her face, lit up the center screen as other smaller monitors revisited her life.
Butterflies danced across the monitor in the middle, and she ran after them playfully yelling for her father. “Papa! Papa! Watch me, Papa!” She laughed. Oh how she laughed. It rang out loudly throughout the room and then as quickly as it began, it stopped.
Mother.
Her spine stiffened, and she immediately remembered the way her mother made her feel. The air always deafened the noise, regardless of the volume or pitch found there or what inspired it, whenever she entered a room or walked out into an open space where Paisley played, her existence staled the environment.
"Come here, child.” Paisley couldn't see her, but her vocal commands were hard to miss. Paisley never defied her mother because to do so was considered criminal and warranted playtime in the webs. She hated them. She despised conversions, and the mere act of becoming an insect sickened her.
The moving caption showed her walk toward her mother. Her face wasn't captured in the movie. Only her voice. “Do as I tell you and not as I've proven to do myself. Marry your own kind, my little one. Never play with those unworthy of your beauty and your mind. Marry your own kind."
The clips all stopped at once, and Brogan turned to look at her.
"Don't patronize me. I already know.” She didn't look at Brogan.
"If you know then you must've bitten him.” He laughed as if he found true hilarity in her confession.
She nodded. “And he never felt a thing."
"Don't be foolish. He felt it, but because he didn't die from it, you assumed he's like you."
"He isn't just like me; he is me."
Brogan looked at her curiously. “I don't understand."
"Of course you wouldn't,” She turned at twenty degrees or so in his direction. “You wouldn't. You aren't like us."
"Is that why you enjoyed him more?"
A man always notices an inattentive woman, but could he recognize an intrusion? Perhaps. “I didn't enjoy him more—not really."
"Then prove it.” Brogan moved toward her.
It was a test. She recognized it as such, and because she already belonged to a man—to a creature that lived inside of her as much as independently, she would not lay down with another without the sole permission of the man who weaved his web into her soul and heart.
"I can't."
Brogan took her hands and brought her closer. “Sure you can.” Once his arms wrapped her closer, he slid his hand under her shirt. “Look at me, Paisley."
She locked eyes with his only to find the gorgeous darkness inlaid with the sea-foam green. The eyes of Phillip stared back at her.
The air became thick, and she backed away shocked with what she saw. Brogan laughed.
"How did you...."
"It's magic.” He slapped her ass and winked. “He'll make himself available whenever you want to fuck, and he'll be present in all of your experiences."
"That's impossible."
"No, it's really not.” Brogan grabbed her around the waist again. “Look deep into my eyes and tell me what you see."
Placing her hands on his shoulders, she stared hard there, and the closer she looked, the more she wanted to look away, but because Phillip held her in Brogan's trance, she could not.
Beyond the pupils, Phillip stood in a center square somewhere. His hand motioned for her. “Come.” He mouthed. His hand drifted down the front of his pants, and he licked his lower lip.
"Damn it.” She blinked and pushed Brogan back. “You're cloned."
"He wants you right now. Right here—with me.” He didn't deny or admit anything, but she already suspected it after viewing the pictures on the walls of her home. There were too many men with strong similarities staring back from the photographs. As she'd watched her life replayed in front of her, she'd noticed it, too. Men, countless mortals, with too much likeness to exist as anything more than cloned were scattered throughout her life and always there for her father's protection or her mother's amusement.
"You're both crazy.” She walked toward the exit, but Brogan stopped her. The wall, which parted and divided earlier, did not separate. Her palms searched for a lever or button or something.
"You won't leave until he says you can leave.” Brogan informed her of his instructions before he added. “Right now, he's horny, and he wants to watch."
Paisley didn't like the feeling of confinement. Considering both men had watched clips of her life, she decided they were quite stupid in their apparent assessment and to think she aligned herself with stupidity pissed her off. Like her parents, she didn't have the patience for it. She wheeled around on high heels to face him and really felt like she only faced off with Phillip now. Brogan barely existed in the body poised in front of her. If she voiced her amusement, she'd play right into his hands, maybe even his twisted perversion. She refused to grant a clone or Phillip the pleasure.
"Don't you use Phillip to get in my pants!” She spat her words, but her truths couldn't be unleashed or released as quickly. She knew better. The clone, this clone particularly, stood ready for their pleasure—hers and theirs—Brogan's and Phillip's.
"It's true."
"I suppose Phillip is going to jack-off in the middle of the square block then?"
"Yes.” His brow gathered then and he looked at her closer. “What else would he do?"
Paisley couldn't believe her ears. She opened her hand and moved to Brogan with every intention of smacking his deplorable smirk straight into a formed frown, but as she did, she saw through Brogan's eyes, and again she saw only Phillip.
His fingertips were at his waistband. His back was against a brick wall in a dark alley. “Make love to him.” His instructions were carefully mouthed; words formed to carry the precise delivery. Seduction called. Hell no, it screamed.
Brogan pushed her against the wall she wanted released. The one she walked through earlier when the slick surface parted to reveal a more complicated setting. Now, it refused to give and only allowed a man with seduction to trap the one he wanted to bait with a slow hand. And it traveled up toward her breast. He moved it under her shirt, and a teasing thumb tweaked at her nipple. Through his eyes, she watched Phillip. His hand loosened the belt and two snaps were released, just two too many to allow access. Under his shorts, he tugged at himself.
Oh, God. He's going to...?
Brogan understood. “He can't come unless we do. Or rather, you do."
Staring into his eyes, she watched Phillip. Brogan closed his eyes once to tease her, and she waited, she thought with some restrained patience, for him to open them again.
Then need set in.
"Don't! No! I have to watch him!” She glared harder at Brogan.
"Say please.” He squeezed them shut as he continued to play with her nipple.
She couldn't say anything; she was aroused and wet. Slick moisture pooled in between her legs as thoughts of Phillip entered her mind. His back was against a wall somewhere, and he waited and watched. He needed only her.
Quickly, she tugged Brogan forward. Kissing him like it might make all the difference in the world, she spoke into his mouth between tongued moves and nips for coaxing him into a more carnal act. “Open your eyes for me, Brogan. I need to see him."
"No.” He opened them then and glared back at her while his hand released his own belt, and his slacks fell to the floor. “You need to feel him.” Picking her up off the floor, he wrapped her legs around his hips. His fingers moved into her. “He told me you wouldn't have panties to wear, and he was right, eh?"
Phillip smirked as he leaned casually against the brick wall. His tongue ran over his upper lip, and as it did, the surface shifted and turned. She watched the rotating movement as it seemed to move him into a tunnel of lights. His gaze pierced hers.
Brogan moved his fingers from her, and his cock touched the outside of her pussy. “Once I thrust into you, watch him. Don't leave him, or we'll both have hell to pay.” He warned her, but it was meaningless. All she wanted to do was watch and learn. She didn't care about instructions now. Her body and mind linked to Phillip in an unexplainable way, and if he used Brogan or an army of clones to get the job done, then she'd spread open and let them all have a turn just as long as Phillip stayed in plain sight. She suddenly possessed a fundamental dependency on a man she barely knew.
Phillip teased her from another place. He looked down on himself as he tried to pull the tip out from under his shorts. Straight ahead, he appeared to look right at her. Maybe he really did see her.
"I do see you."
"Does he read my mind?"
"You know the answer to the questions you ask.” Brogan reminded her and then he thrust.
Phillip's head went back. “Baby woman. You are so tight. A snug compartment.” The same words he'd used the night before.
Brogan's thighs bunched as he held onto her ass. Thrust after thrust, he entered her, and yet her eyes locked with only one man. Phillip tugged at his cock in the same beat Brogan found for them. All three bodies seemed to act and react in unison.
He placed his hand at her forehead and moved closer. He kissed her once, and she saw Phillip's mouth open, too. Then the pace continued to gain a harder tempo. “Come to me, Paisley.” Brogan said it. Phillip mouthed it, and she complied. In fact, they all did. They all enjoyed the long awaited ride.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Ten
An hour later, they met him.
"You were stimulating, Paisley.” He wrapped his arm around her waist then. “Just as incredible as before."
Brogan nodded
in agreement. “You're a lucky man."
"You don't have to tell me.” He moved her hair away from her neck and whispered into her ear. “Aren't you glad you didn't kill me?"
A chill ran down her spine. She did try to kill him when she felt threatened. When she'd been on his bare shoulder, she bit him and, even as she did, understood it was pointless, but it was something she did to prove it. From the first time he slowly approached, she felt it in her gut, he was more than a man, and it only took a second for her to understand completely. He was indeed more—because he belonged to her. He was like her, and yes, now, she felt confident he may have been even more. He consumed her at first sight.
"Where were you?” She wanted to know where he was when the unusual threesome took place. “Where were you when...."
He led her by one of the sex carts and grabbed a box from the top. “Charge it.” He called to the vendor, and the man nodded.
"I'll show you."
Brogan followed them at an easy pace. Two or three minutes later, they were in a deserted alley, but it wasn't like a typical sidewalk. No, it was a cobblestone street with an overhang precisely following them as they walked. It truly hung in an undecided balance, taking care to lurk overhead whenever they paused or stopped.
"Did my parents design and think of everything here?” She asked, but she didn't really present it as a question. Of course they did.
"They were masterful in planning, and their projects are commended the world over, as you know, but the overhangs are mine. I created them to capture and create mood lighting while offering privacy for couples like us."
He did it well because the covering set a peculiar romantic mood complete with an unexplainable sensual tone. Behind the wall, under the protective bubble of a metallic sheath, they traveled to a familiar place. It looked like the same area where Phillip fucked her, the same place she saw when she looked into Brogan's eyes. His mouth turned up at the corners as he pulled a vibrator from the box.
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