CYBORG PLEASURE; the Space Madame's Warrior

by Cathryn Cade

  “Ilya?” Ryder warned. “You tell him to stand down now, or we do this the hard way.”

  “VX,” Ilya darted forward to grasp his forearm. It was tense, quivering under her fingers. “No. No weapons—not yet. Stand down.”

  He rumbled with frustration, and scowled down at her. “But you are ready to fight. I will fight at your side—or in front of you. You are too small to be effective in battle.”

  She glared up at him. “I'm not. I’ll have you know I'm hella effective in a fight. But never mind that—we're not ready. We're planning, that's all. So ease off.”

  He gave that deep, fierce rumble again, and Qala spoke, her voice low. “Think maybe he needs you to ease up, Ilya.”

  “Yes, it's like he's attuned to you,” Dano breathed, peering around Orson's shoulder. “You're rezzed, so he's rezzed. Breathe. Take a breath, let it out slowly ... that's right, now another.”

  Ilya wanted to snarl, but instead she forced herself to take a deep, slow breath and then another. The second was a bit easier at least. She held VX's gaze with her own, and he slowed his breathing as well.

  It was only when he slowly calmed that Ilya realized everyone in the group was echoing their breathing, some more audibly. Haro was puffing like an airbot on slow mode, watching VX warily.

  The ridiculousness of the situation hit her, and she grinned up at VX.

  His eyes crinkled at the corners, and he smiled back. It was only a hitch to one side of his mouth, but it caused a dent to crease the smooth, taut skin there, and the white edge of his teeth gleamed.

  And her heart broke wide open again at the familiarity of that smile. She'd seen it before, so many times. She knew she had. Confusion swirled through her all over again.

  “Holy quarks and black holes,” Qala mumbled. Her gaze met Ilya's full of troubled questions ... questions that Ilya had no answers for, only the return of the tumult of rage and despair she'd lived with since Var died. And which she relived a little every time VX did something that made her believe just for a sec he was still here, still alive.

  VX moved closer, his fists clenching, breath rough again.

  With a supreme effort, Ilya forced herself back into the semblance of calm. And as she gazed back up into his shadowed eyes, she drew in a slow breath and let it out. “Easy. We're okay, big guy,” she muttered.

  “We're okay,” he repeated. She wasn't sure if he was reassuring himself or her. She wondered if it worked any better for him than it did for her.

  She broke the hold of his gaze, and found everyone else in the room watching her. She raised her brows and swept them all with a look that defied anyone to comment.

  “So, you're all here—how about some fun at the casino?”

  They all stared as if she'd suggested they have a spa and salon session. Ilya sighed—she really needed a little time to think things over.

  Then Qala nodded. “Good idea. Get an idea of the layout of this place. Who the players are.”

  “And I've got some credit just waiting to be quadrupled,” Haro added, waggling his brows. “Try my luck at your tables.”

  Ilya shook her head at him. She wasn't even gonna bother to answer that. He was savvy enough to know the odds were in the house's favor.

  “I'm on a strict budget,” Dano announced. “That said, I can't wait! Uh, if we have time, that is. I know we have more important things to do.”

  “There is time for you to enjoy yourself,” Orson said, his ebony gaze warming on his effervescent partner.

  “And maybe we can meet some of the whores you run here,” Ryder said to Ilya. “You got any gorgeous brunettes?”

  Ilya gave him a scalding glare. “I don't run prostitutes,” she gritted through her teeth. “I'm the CEO of this damn casino, not a madam.”

  He grinned. “Sure, whatever you say. Just get me a pretty one who likes to—”

  VX let out a warning growl, and Ryder ate his last words, although he was still smirking.

  “Go on,” Ilya said. “One of the staff will be outside to guide you to the casino. Food and drinks are on me—or legals if you want 'em.”

  She looked to Haro and Ryder. “But no exploring off on your own, right? You get into troble, we might not get there in time to save you.”

  “Who, me?” Haro asked, giving her an innocent look.

  Ryder didn't bother, just gave her and VX a look of amusement before he followed the others from her office.

  Bek watched them go with a frown. “You want me to put my men on them?”

  “Probably a good idea,” Ilya said, working her comlink. “Also, though they don't know it, they're each wearing one of my little trackerbots. We've got eyes on them, right ... here.”

  A series of small figures of varying hues sprang up on one of the holovid maps of the station. Now they were all moving together along the passageway from her office. “We can monitor—if any of them wander off, I'll bring 'em up full screen, warn them back to the main areas. They're a bunch of wild-asses, but they're my friends.”

  Bek looked at her with new respect. “You're good. I could use some of those in my work.”

  Ilya nodded. “I'll set you up.” With a sigh, she dropped into the chair behind the huge desk, and looked from her guard captain to VX. “Holy hells, who's gonna show up on this floating circus next, the lost Phoenix Princesses?”

  Bek grimaced in agreement.

  VX regarded her with concentration. “I do not know these ... princesses. Have they visited here?”

  Ilya couldn't help grinning at him. “Kinda doubt it, big guy, seeing as how they're just a legend.”

  Then her words disappeared in a mighty yawn, which hurt her throat. She rubbed her eyes. “Ack, how can I be tired already?”

  “You need rest,” Bek said. “VX, you too. We need you both in top shape for whatever comes next.”

  Ilya yawned again. “Hate to say, you're right. Think I'll just sit here for a while.”

  She tipped her chair back. “VX, lie down on the divan or something. You need rest too.”

  “I will be back later,” Bek said quietly. Already dozing off, Ilya didn't answer.

  She woke as powerful arms lifted her, and bore her across the room. She blinked sleepily at VX. “Where’re you takin' me?”

  “To your bed. You will rest better there.”

  Too tired to protest, Ilya let him lay her carefully on the big bed. But when he would have moved away, she hung onto a fold of his shirt. “Don't go. You need rest too.”

  He froze. “I can rest here ... with you?”

  She tugged on him. “Yeah. C'mere.”

  She scooted back on the slick bed cover, and slowly he lay down beside her, the cushy air bed dipping under his weight. Ilya hugged his arm to her, luxuriating in the heat radiating from him. She nuzzled her face against his shoulder, and fell asleep.

  * * *

  Ilya woke when her com chimed quietly but insistently. Also the bed was moving under her right side.

  She lifted her head with a start, realizing two things—she was lying draped over VX, and who'd apparently just awakened too. And in the shadow of the mask, his eyes were blue again. She blinked, and they were back to muddy brown. She had to stop doing this to herself. He wasn't Var.

  Her com chimed again, louder this time. It was Bek.

  “What's on?” she asked, leaving the vid off.

  Bek was scowling. “We caught one of the medical staff attempting to steal a cruiser. Under questioning, he admitted he was trying to leave before you toured the medcenter—which if you recall we had scheduled for today.”

  Ilya sat up straight, her mind zeroing in on this intel. “Leaving before I saw him? Why would he do that ... unless he's got something to do with Blu's work. Or if he had something to do with my man's death.”

  VX sat on the side of the bed. Now he leaned forward, back to her, head in his hands.

  “He was on staff at the time your husband died,” Bek said. “I can't get anything specific out of him, tho
ugh. He's not entirely coherent.”

  She bared her teeth. “He's cognizant enough to be afraid of me.”

  Bek was silent for a sec. “I'm ... thinking it's not you that he's afraid of.”

  “He's afraid of Blu,” Ilya realized. “Well, can't be about Var, then. 'Cause you said that bastard Blu wasn't here then.”

  She watched VX, concern growing. Speaking of Blu, was the slimer trying to get back into VX's mind?

  “Blu wasn't here in his present role,” Bek was saying. “Doesn't mean he wasn't here in another. There are a thousand beings on this station at any given time. One Indigon could've blended in at will.”

  “At the expense of other beings' wills, you mean.” Like VX's. She wriggled to the side of the bed beside him and touched his shoulder. It was rigid under her grasp, and trembling, as if he was holding himself still. And he was sweating now, as if he were exerting a mighty effort.

  “Blu's proven himself willing to go to any lengths to get what he wants,” Bek said.

  “You don't have to remind me of that,” she muttered. “He's smart, strong and unscrupulous. Quarking bad combination.”

  “Yes ma'am. The worst.”

  Ilya stood. “All right. Keep the medtech under heavy guard. I'll, uh, get back to you in a moment. Got some things to take care of here first.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Ilya slid off the bed and crouched before VX, peering into his face. He had his hands clenched on the sides of his head, and his face was screwed up in pain.

  “VX? Honey, what is it?” she asked. “You need gesics? Is it Blu? Is he trying to get back in?”

  VX grunted. “Dunno. Head ... hurts.”

  “Shit, shit.” She reached up and then hesitated, not touching him. “Well, take that damned helmet off. Maybe that's hurting you.”

  He shook his head once, his eyes opening just enough to peer at her. He was sweating now, his skin dewed with moisture. “Can't ... not where anyone can see. Orders ... punished.”

  She glared at him. “He's not giving the orders anymore. You decide now. You want it off, take it the hells off! I'm going to get some gesics for you.”

  She hurried into her lav, and found a fresh pac of gesics, then poured a tall glass of cold water.

  Hurrying back into her room, she faltered to a stop before the huge man sitting on the side of the bed. The gleaming helmet lay discarded on the floor, and he clutched his head in both mighty hands, his fingers working his scalp, head still down. At least his scull wasn't messed up, scarred or anything. His short hair was dark with sweat.

  “Here,” she offered, holding the gesic tabs in one hand, the water in the other. As he lowered his hands, and lifted his head, her heart began to hammer in her chest, and adrenaline flooded her system, leaving her light-headed and ready to fly without a hovie.

  The wide jaw, the straight beak of a nose, the wide mouth, those she'd seen for days now and told herself they belonged to a stranger. And she'd believed it, because this man was a mountain of muscle and honed tendon and sinew unlike any she'd ever known.

  But the upper face now looking back at her—the wide forehead with prominent brow-bones, the thick dark brows and the deep-set eyes ... these she knew, to the marrow of her being.

  She'd been right all along.

  He took the gesics and water from her nerveless fingers just before she dropped them. Ilya barely noticed, too busy taking in all that was him, finally revealed. He shoved the gesics in his mouth, and drank the water, gulping it down and then giving a sigh as he swiped his mouth with the side of his wrist.

  Then he looked up at her, his face slowly relaxing as the gesics worked, only to tighten again, his brows shooting together in a scowl as he scanned her face.

  “What is wrong?” he demanded. “Do you hurt too?”

  Ilya made some kind of sound, a whimper, and lifted her shaking hands to frame his face. “V—Var?” she whispered. “Is it—is it you?”

  * * *

  'Var ... Var ...' the name, said in her husky voice, ricocheted through his mind, and in its echoes he could hear her calling it in a clearer voice—in joy, in passion, in protest.

  He blinked hard and gazed up into her face, into those green eyes. He knew her, in a deep and abiding way, not the just the acquaintance made here in this place of metal and noise and constant light. But in sunlight and shadow, in prairie winds and the confines of a vehicle. The tension of conflict and the rush of conquest. The irritation of a squabble and the rushing pleasure of sexual intimacy.

  “I know you,” he said, and saying it aloud made it solid, and real. He reached out and grasped her carefully, his hands on her tiny waist as he drew her close, between his thighs, against his chest. “Mine.”

  He pressed his face into her chest, nuzzling between her small, high breasts, into the place where she was warm and alive and smelled of sweet, clean woman. He flexed his fingers carefully in the lithe give of her flesh, then slid his hands down over her hips, and around to cup her sweet ass. “Mine.”

  “Var, oh Var,” she breathed, her cheek on his hair, her slender arms winding around his neck as she cradled him close. She was trembling hard, her breath sobbing in and out. “Oh, my God—how could I not have known it was you? Under that goddamn mask! I'll kill that quarking bastard for putting you through this.”

  Her agitation and her anger broke through the joy, and he frowned, tightening his hold on her. “No!” He growled. “No ... I can't—don't ... not anger. Not now.” He would lose control, ruin everything. Violence was his constant companion now, waiting to surge forth.

  “Oh.” She sucked in a breath and let it out, then patted his shoulder, swift little taps. “Okay, okay. I can—I can do this. Oh, God, just let me see you.”

  She wriggled until he loosened his hold enough to let her slide down onto his lap. She cupped his face in her hands and feathered them over his face—his jaw, his lips, nose and up over his brows and even his ears. Her eyes were luminous, wet with tears and bright with emotion. “Var, my Var.” She repeated.

  She snorted a laugh and hiccupped. “VX-900 is my Var.”

  He was hers. And she was his. Fierce possessive triumph filled him, surging through him in a heated flood, arrowing down into his groin and through his cock. Fire crackled and sparked under his skin until all he could feel was the intense need to have her in the most basic way of all.

  “Your Var,” he repeated, as he turned, lifted and bore her back onto the bed and came down over her. “My Ilya. Mine.”

  And he wanted to drink her in, her scent, the delicate yet strong feel of her, silky skin over sleek muscle, clear to the wet, secret heart of her—the part that most especially his.

  Blindly, he tugged and pushed away her clinging garments, baring the woman he wanted, needed. Pale flesh, tender curves and hollows only for him. Only his. Her taste filled his mouth. The feel of her in his hands, slim and supple, so small, yet strong enough to cling to him, pulling him down to her for swift, hot kisses between forays to explore, touch, taste and fondle.

  He was shaking as he rose over her, his cock pronging so stiff and eager he nearly exploded just watching his own hand guide it between the delicate, pink folds of her sex.

  With a harsh groan he sank home, deep inside her. Hot, wet silk enfolded him, and he buried his face in her hair and drove into her in a blind, seeking frenzy.

  His orgasm rolled up from so deep inside him it was like drawing the cosmos inside him. Then ecstasy caught him and flung all that he was outward, into her depths ... carrying him with it.

  Then he collapsed in her embrace, and into black, velvet oblivion.

  * * *

  Var woke in slow increments, drawn into the light by the feel of small, gentle hands stroking his head, over the shell of his ear, and down over his neck and shoulder, then repeating the motion. Warmth ... softness ... wet around his cock, and on the side of his face. And shallow breaths shuddering in his ear.

  He gathered himself and lifte
d his head, then braced himself up on one elbow. He looked down into her face and even with the remnants of cold fog still hovering in the back of his mind, he felt the universe right itself around him.

  “Ilya,” he said, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Sweetheart, don't cry.”

  She sniffed, hard, and glared, her gamine face wet with tears, her eyes puffy and red, soft mouth trembling. “I'm not crying,” she snarled. “I never cry.”

  He remembered that defiance. Laughter bubbled up from deep inside him. His fierce little warrior.

  Then he tensed as her hurt morphed into hot anger, stinging him like a barbed whip. He shook his head, already drawing out of her, and away.

  “Don't,” he said. “Don't. I can't—I need you to not be angry.” He grasped handfuls of the coverlet, needing something to punish. The soft fabric rent under them, tearing away in shreds in his hands.

  Var flung the pieces away from him as he rolled to his feet. Shaking his head, he paced away from the bed, and then back across the room.

  “I need calm,” he muttered to himself. “Need the barrier. Hate it ... but I need it. Can't do this.”

  Then Ilya was before him, walking backward before him, her hands out in a plea, her eyes wide. “You can, honey. We can. I'll—I'll take care, I promise. See? I'm calming down. I'm okay—we're okay. We can do this.”

  She sucked in a deep, audible breath and let it out in a whoosh, her cheeks puffing out with the effort.

  Watching her, he mimicked her movement and the terrible tension eased slowly. Which gave him time to admire her nude body, her face. His body reacted, his groin tightening pleasurably.

  “Something is different. Your hair. It was all … wild.” He gestured before his own face, remembering the way her braids had always flipped and flopped with a will of their own.

  Ilya lifted a hand to her upswept braids and then shrugged, although her cheeks flushed. “Decided it was time for a change, if I was gonna run this place.”

  He stopped dead. “You are ... running this place?” Revulsion snaked through him, dousing his arousal like a splash of ice water. “You're working with him?”