Love 2.0

by Lee Kilraine

  She sucked in her breath and reached out her virtual hand and opened the door to the Blue Room. It was softly lit, with a central room furnished with hip, comfortable-looking furniture and multiple doors leading off in every direction. There was one couple making out on a midnight-blue couch. Yikes! Not into voyeurism, she opened the closest door and slammed it shut behind her. The room contained a beach-entry swimming pool with translucent aquamarine water that went on forever. Lush plants with exotic flowers released their perfume into the air. The ripple of the water and the soft lap of the waves provided a soothing sound.

  Other than a few birds, she was alone. Well, what do you know . . . this sure seemed like the perfect opportunity to try something she’d never had the nerve to try in real life: skinny-dipping. She didn’t hesitate, just stripped off her clothes and dove into the deep end of the pool. And wasn’t the brain a powerful thing, because even though she wasn’t really skinny-dipping, the provocative scene sent a delicious sensation over her skin.

  She had a twinge of nausea from motion sickness in the first few minutes, but that worked itself out. What a blast she had. It wasn’t the skinny-dipping. That didn’t feel real. But swimming like a mermaid under the water, her hands slicing through the current—that was amazing.

  Mira lost track of time while she explored the ocean. She picked up a starfish and swam with dolphins. The underwater world was mesmerizing and sensuous. It didn’t dissipate her sexual frustration but heightened it. The mystery of a new world, the shadows of the deep, her undulating hips and legs cutting through the water . . . all of that together only stacked her emotion and need higher and higher. By the time Gamer Guy dove into the water next to her, she was more than ready for virtual pleasure.

  * * *

  Kaz might as well douse himself in kerosene and light himself on fire for entering the lagoon in the Blue Room knowing Mira was in there. But even after getting them both worked up in the kitchen, he couldn’t leave it alone. Wrong, wrong, wrong, Kaz.

  He needed to turn his ass right around and leave, but he didn’t. Not at all. Nope. What he did was have his avatar strip off his clothes and then dive into the water with her.

  Kaz didn’t say a thing to her, just swam up beside her as she cut through the water. Her head turned and their eyes caught and held. She smiled and then kicked her feet and dove deeper, down into a kelp forest. They ducked in and around the soft green leaves, taking turns leading and following each other. Seemingly innocent escapist fun until her hand brushed along the sensor on his rib cage and changed everything.

  That touch stopped them both in their slipstreams. She turned to face him, floating in place while the goose bumps raced across his skin. He reached out a hand to soothe her, but instead she took his hand and pulled him in until they were face to face, chest to chest.

  Kaz’s knowledge and experience with tantric sex had informed and helped shape his research. The fact that much of sexual pleasure occurred in the brain as a response to visual stimulation was at the base of the research. His brain had no problem imaging her soft and yielding against his own hardness.

  [Your move, Damsel. I yield to you.]

  She reached out her hand, running it slowly up his arm, tracing along the faint black lines of his tattoo and up to his biceps, over his shoulder, before sliding down his chest. His breath chuffed from between his lips as the mind-body connection grabbed all his senses until he could feel her touch along his muscles.

  He reached out his own hand, touching her cheek, stroking her face with the lightest touch. His thumb brushed along her lower lip until she sank her teeth in and his heartbeat pounded in his chest. He ran his other hand along the front of her thigh and then around the back, lifting her leg up around his hips.

  [Oh my, this feels so . . . so . . . ]

  [Real?] Kaz waited for her next move. He wouldn’t take this further than she wanted.

  [Good. And amazing.] Her hand moved lower, down his chest, sliding over the ridges of his abdomen, and lower still.

  He sucked in a breath. Imagining her hand on his cock was all too easy. Knowing she was only a few rooms away added to the intensity of the moment. [I want to touch you too.]

  [Yes. Touch me.]

  He did. Everywhere. Slowly, teasing her with more play-by-play. [In my mind I can feel your softness—your heat. Can you feel my fingers? Slow strokes, each one drawing out your pleasure. Slow, small circles with my fingers. Adding just enough pressure to send vibrations deep into your heat. So deep.]

  [Oh, Dios. I can’t catch my breath.]

  He was having trouble with that himself. But then, his brain wasn’t firing at full speed because most of the blood had surged south when she’d grabbed a virtual hold of him. [Should I stop?]

  [Don’t you dare.] Her hand closed around him. [Can you feel my hand? How do you like to be touched? Do you want my mouth around you? Or should I hold you tight while I slide my hand down to your base and back up, firm strokes up and down until you can’t breathe. The air stacks up in your throat the more I touch every inch of you.]

  Oh shit. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tamped down on the building orgasm. He had no problem getting off with Mira virtually, but he’d be damned if it would be a solo ride.

  [I want all of that, Damsel, but we’re in this together, right? So, I’ll steal your breath by sucking your nipple into my mouth. Hard. I’ve one hand on your other breast and the other on my cock, guiding it into your heat. This won’t be slow. I need to plunge in and take you hard.]

  [Jesús. Yes!] She panted and moaned into his headset.

  [Hard into you. We’re both close to the edge. I’ve got your breasts in my hands and I’m breathing you in. My lips sip along your neck and then I sink my teeth into the soft skin of your neck and we’re gone.] Her whimper was almost drowned out by the blood pounding in his head. [We explode like arcs of electricity, sparking up and out.]

  Kaz closed his eyes and let the sexual pleasure and release flow through his body.

  [Oooh . . . my. I think I’m going to need a moment here.]

  Yep. Him too. [Take all the time you need, Damsel. You okay?]

  [Um . . . I’m speechless. And very, very relaxed. Wow. Is this where we smoke a virtual cigarette?]

  [Hell no. Those things will kill you. This is where we both sign off, happier than we were thirty minutes ago. Sweet dreams, Damsel.]

  * * *

  The next morning Mira was prepared for that first awkward moment when she and Kaz faced each other over coffee after what had happened in the Blue Room last night. Her cheeks heated with the memory of what they’d done. What she’d done. To him. Sure, he’d joined in, but she’d been on the prowl and jumped him. Aggressively.

  Before she headed out of her bedroom, she tried to come up with a way to approach the topic but came up empty. Guess she’d wing it. She straightened her spine and went to find him in the kitchen. Instead of Kaz, she found his note. He’d gone into town for a meeting and errands. She melted onto one of the island stools with a sigh.

  Perfect. Now she had time to figure out exactly what to say. She headed to the park for a walk while it was still cool out. Hopefully, she’d have the exact right words by the time she was done exercising and back at the house.

  It was a darn good plan until she saw Kaz in the park.

  He was sitting at one of the four picnic tables, but luckily, he was talking with an elderly gentleman so she wouldn’t have to face him yet. Because if he’d been by himself, she’d have had to face him. They were living under the same roof for heaven’s sake. They couldn’t ignore what had happened online last night.

  Because Mira had instigated the whole thing, it was up to her to start the conversation. She’d walk the circuit around the park a few more times and use the extra time to figure out—darn it. The elderly man had just left and Kaz was sitting at the table, soaking in the sun all by himself. She couldn’t simply walk on by. Big-girl time, Mira.

  Sucking in a breath and lifting her
chin, she slid onto the bench across from Kaz. He nodded at her. With the dark sunglasses he was wearing, she couldn’t read what he was thinking, but in this instance it was a good thing. It made it easier for her to say what she needed to.

  “Look, I’m just going to flat-out apologize for last night. I . . . I don’t know what came over me. I mean . . . I—” She shut her mouth, too embarrassed to say the words but too guilty not to.

  Kaz opened his mouth to speak, but she stopped him before he could start, holding her hand up to forestall him. She needed to get her apology out first or she’d never unload the guilt.

  “I shouldn’t have attacked you like that. I mean—I didn’t even give you a chance to say no before I kissed you. And then I threw myself at you like a blind octopus. I mean, my hands were all over you. Every hot, hard part of your body.” She sighed, resting her forearms on the table in front of her. “It was so wrong of me. But did I stop? No. I didn’t. I took total advantage of your natural male reaction.

  “I mean, I purposefully, um . . . weaponized your . . . your . . . gear shift, and then I made use of it. Hot, dirty use.”

  Kaz opened his mouth, but Mira leaned forward and placed her hand over his mouth so she could finish now that she’d found the nerve.

  “All for my own pleasure. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. Wrong on every level. Oh good gravy—I had my virtual way with you.”

  “Mira,” Kaz said, only his voice came from behind her.

  Which meant—she slowly took her hand away from Paxton’s grinning mouth. He lifted up his sunglasses and she stared into deep green eyes.

  “Don’t mind me. This is riveting. Here I thought he wasn’t getting any.”

  “Paxton,” Kaz warned.

  “That was the most fun I’ve had being a twin in years. Maybe ever.”

  “You can go now.” Kaz straddled the bench next to her so he was sitting facing her.

  Mira kept her red face looking straight ahead, focused on Paxton’s retreating back.

  “I don’t want you to apologize for last night.”

  Turning her head to look at him, they stared into each other’s eyes. The early morning sunlight angled across his eyes and brought out a kaleidoscope of dark gold flecks like a tiger-eye gemstone.

  He reached out, tucking a curl back off her face. “I was right there with you last night. Every touch, every stroke.”

  “Okay. Then instead of an apology, let me say, if last night’s . . . experiment . . . was any indication, I’d say virtual reality will be a very useful tool.”

  “I’ve only been working based on theories, scientific data, and the results of volunteers. Last night was my first personal . . . experiment and I totally concur with your conclusion.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next afternoon Mira and Kaz held a self-defense session in the gym in his basement. The space was small; Kaz used it mostly for meditation, but it would give them some one-on-one time to work without Barbara interrupting them like a heat-seeking missile.

  “Tell me when you’re ready.”

  Kaz was ready and she was so not.

  “Let’s try this again. Come on, Mira, you’ve got to be more aggressive. No more going through the motions. You won’t hurt me, but you need to know the effort you have to exert to escape or hurt your attacker.”

  She huffed air from her lungs and rested her hands on her hips. “I’m trying; it’s just I freeze up every time I feel your arms clamp tight—like I can’t breathe—and then I can’t remember the next movement.”

  Kaz nodded. “Okay. I won’t grab as tight for the next few while you get the motions down. Once you’ve got them, they’ll become a muscle memory and you won’t even have to think consciously—your body will simply react instinctively. Let’s go.”

  Her body tensed up as his arm whipped around her from behind. She tried to envision each step he’d taught her. Grab his wrist with her left hand. High elbow into his throat. Spin and aim her knee into his nuts. Palm of the hand strikes hard into his nose. Grab wrist, elbow to throat, knee to nuts, fist to nose.

  “Dammit. I missed the elbow and it threw the rest off.”

  “Again.”

  “Wrist, throat, nuts, nose. Sort of.”

  “Not even close. Again.”

  “Wrist, throat, nuts, nose. Aha!”

  “Getting warmer. Again.”

  “Wrist, throat, nuts, nose. Yikes, sorry!”

  “I’m wearing a cup. Again. Dammit, Mira. I’m coming hard this time.”

  He did. Oh, Dios, this time his arm wrapped up firm against her neck. His hard body, arms corded with lean muscle, closed around her like steel, as suffocating as a straitjacket. His leg swiped her legs out from under her and suddenly she was lying trapped under him. Vulnerable. Exposed. A weak and easy target. She panicked. A memory, seared into her soul but well-hidden and long-buried bubbled up from a deep, dark place and the air in her lungs seized and sputtered.

  Her hands scraped and scratched at his arms frantically. Wild to be free of the fear that wrapped tight around her throat and choked her. She saw them. Her parents. Her mother, tears streaked across her cheeks, the bruises around her throat left by the father she’d worshipped her whole life. The sound of her mother gasping for breath . . . begging for her husband to stop . . . begging to let her live.

  “Stop! Oh, Dios, stop! Please . . . stop.”

  The hands on her shoulders pulled back immediately. His heavy weight rolled off her body and then Kaz was lying next to her on the mat. His gaze raking her face, shifting over her face and down her body to see where he’d hurt her.

  He ran his hands up and down her body to check what had happened. His big, strong hands, big like her father’s yet so different. Kaz’s hands were gentle with suppressed strength. His eyes warm and caring, unlike the cold gaze her father had sliced her mother with. The rush of memories hit her hard, as swift and painful as driving full speed into a brick wall.

  “Mira, are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

  She reached out shaking hands, cupping his jaw to warm her frozen hands on his warm skin. “I’m . . . I’m—Oh, God, Kaz. He hurt her. He beat her. He . . . he wrapped his big hands around her throat and squeezed until her face turned purple and veins burst in her eyes. I saw it. I saw it. I saw him do it and oh my God, I couldn’t help her. I didn’t help her.”

  “Who did he hurt, Mira? You? Mira, who?”

  Her head sliced back and forth, a quick, jerky denial, and her gaze floated up to his, needing a lifeline to pull her from the drowning emotion of memories. “My mother. My father used to beat my mother and I didn’t know. How could I not know?”

  Her arms flew around his neck and she held on for dear life, needing the solid heat of him to ground her to the present. When she could finally catch her breath, when her heart had down-shifted from supersonic to fluttering, she rolled back and stared into Kaz’s understanding gaze.

  “I thought they had the perfect marriage. I’d convinced myself they had the love of a lifetime—ay, Dios, my poor mother. How could I have been so insensitive?”

  “Children are survivors. Our brains can go to extraordinary lengths to survive trauma. When trauma is too much, it can block out what would otherwise destroy your psyche. You weren’t insensitive. You were in survival mode. Your mind shut out what it couldn’t handle.”

  “I’m not sure I can handle it now. But I have to. Oh God, I can only imagine what my mother felt every time I went on about how wonderful my papi was. She never once corrected me.” She had to quickly rub the piercing pain in her chest as a memory surfaced, cutting deep. “My mother was considered a fashion trendsetter among her circle in Miami. She had all the women wearing silk scarves around their necks. But she wore them to hide the bruises.”

  Numbness rippled through her limbs. Kaz reached out and slid his hand in a calm, soothing stroke along her arm, down until his warm hand held her icy fingers in his. “Did he ever hurt you?”

  “No, no. I can see him
now. I see his handsome face, looking down on my mother in anger and disgust. I can hear her sobbing, trying to stifle the sobs in her hands. And then my father would pat my head with his hand, my mother’s blood still on his knuckles, and tell me I was his princess. Then he’d leave and we’d all pretend nothing had happened. Until the next time. And the next.”

  She shuddered at the ugly memory. The absolute pain on her mother’s face. Closing her eyes, she saw Vivian’s face, and the knife twisted more. Vivian knew. Vivian had been five years older and she hadn’t blocked anything out. In that moment Mira finally saw and recognized the look on her sister’s face whenever they talked about their father. Vivian remembered exactly how cruel and abusive their father had been to their mother. And she’d had to bear it alone. “I’m such a coward. All these years I’ve clung to this heroic vision of my father and it couldn’t be further from the truth.

  “No wonder it took my mother so long to trust another man. I used to kid her that she was afraid to take a risk. I’m an idiot.”

  “You aren’t an idiot. What you are is normal. Children who grow up around abuse develop coping mechanisms. Many end up numbing themselves with drugs or alcohol. Some children of abusers end up habitual liars; others find themselves falling into similar abusive relationships as adults, only to repeat the pattern of abuse. You blocked it out to handle it. You’re a survivor.”

  Mira fell back onto the mat and stared up at the ceiling to think about that. Was that what she was doing? Was that why she’d dated Ivan? Her eyes drifted shut and she let the memories of Ivan sift through her mind, one after another, from their first date up until their last night together.

  “He’s like my father. Ivan is like my father. On our last evening together—I . . . I said no, and there was a fraction of a second when his hand closed on my throat—and it tightened.... I remember the hitch in my breath . . . the moment of fear . . . Would I get to draw in another one? . . . and there was this look in his eyes that scared me to my soul.”

  She swallowed past the cold edge of fear, pushing it away. “Then he let go and was so sweet and understanding that I convinced myself I’d imagined it, blown it out of proportion. But that second—that airless second—and the cold, dark gleam in his eyes were captured like a still photograph, permanently etched in my mind. I broke things off the next day.”