by Cynthia Sax
His eyes glowed. The warrior knew what he was doing to her.
Mayhem skimmed his fingers along her spine, between her shoulder blades. He paused at the dagger concealed there, sliding it from its sheath, and then sliding it back. His hand lowered. He adjusted the gun stuck in the waistband of her ass covering, angling it to be better gripped with her right hand.
His sexy weapons check continued. He cupped her ass, glided his palms over her legs, found the daggers in her boots, ensuring they could be removed quickly.
Imee stayed as motionless as possible, savoring the firmness of his hands, the bliss of his skin against hers, her arousal climbing. They didn’t have time to find release. The blasted male was aware of that yet he tortured her anyway, running his palms along her shins, her knees, her thighs.
She no longer worried about the mission, no longer thought of her family. There was no fear, no tearful anticipation, only lust.
Mayhem breathed deeply, his chest rising and falling. The air hung heavy with her musk. He must smell her, must know how much he was turning her on.
He curled his fingers over her mons. She sucked back a moan, pushing her hips toward him. He released her and she gritted her teeth, the urge to snap at him, to take what she wanted tremendous.
Her guns were the next to be examined, the barrels peered into, the handles polished, his attention to every detail warming her heart. Mayhem’s examination of her weapons was a level of caring she’d never experienced.
She wanted him so much.
He caressed her stomach, brushing his fingers back and forth, back and forth over the exposed skin and she quivered with desire, with need. Knowing they couldn’t act on their passion made it even more exquisite.
Her torso was slowly explored, her breasts weighed in his hands, the small gun tucked between them nudged. Her nipples were so tight; they ached.
Mayhem tapped her chin. Imee met his gaze, not hiding her yearning. He extracted a dagger from one of his sheaths and tucked it under the shoulder strap of her breast covering.
Her breath caught, the metal cool against her skin, the meaning clear. He’d given her a part of himself. She wouldn’t be alone, even if they were parted. He’d be with her.
The aggravating male tweaked her nipples, ratcheting her yearning for him higher. And then he stepped backward, leaving her frustrated and needy.
Imee narrowed her eyes at him. If he believed she wouldn’t retaliate, he didn’t know her. She stepped forward, pressed her curves against his muscle, and gripped his nape.
Holding his gaze, she lowered her hands over his shoulders, along his back, pausing at every dagger, every gun, giving his weapons the same attention he’d given hers.
His body stiffened and his cock hardened. She stifled a smile. His face might be expressionless but his form didn’t lie. He desired her as she desired him.
She relished the dip along his spine, the power in his clenched ass cheeks, the defiant bracing of his legs. The number of weapons he carried was staggering, would have rendered her incapable of moving. Yet he gave no indication they affected him.
Imee bent over as she felt along his legs, grazing her cheek over him, deliberately sticking her ass in the air, taunting him. His fingers curled into fists, his knuckles whitening.
She massaged his bulging calves, traced the seam of his boots, following the insole to the toes. His footwear was as immaculately maintained as the rest of him, a matte black, no reflection of light, nothing that would signal his presence while he waited in the shadows.
The blades strapped to his boots were long enough to slice through an opponent’s midsection, sharp enough to feel no resistance. She licked her bottom lip. He was a lethal being and he was hers.
For now. And now might be all they had, all anyone had. She’d treasure the moment, savor him, her cyborg, her warrior.
Guns hung at his thighs, more at his hips. The bulge in his body armor was as deadly to her composure. She stroked along his length and he bobbed. He didn’t have control over his cock. It was all organic.
Imee teased him, rolling his balls through the garment, pumping his shaft, until his lips were a thin line, his eyes glowed with heat, and his body was stretched to the point of breaking.
Then she showed him mercy, continuing her examination, navigating the dips and crests of his abs, the expanse of his chest. There was a sheath positioned on his left pec, over his heart. Her fingers shook as she removed the two daggers it held. The larger of the two was his, the blade curved, deadly. The other dagger had belonged to her. Mayhem had confiscated it the first planet rotation they’d met.
He’d carried it on his body since then. She kissed that blade and returned the daggers to where they belonged, with him, her big warrior.
He caught her wrists, raised the left one, pressed his lips against her skin. Her heart pounded. Mayhem was a cyborg, had enhanced senses. He must feel her raging pulse.
He paid homage to her other wrist, nuzzling, nipping. It wasn’t enough for her.
It must not have been enough for him either. He hooked his arms around her, pulled her to him, and covered her lips with his. She eagerly opened to him, sucking on his tongue, twining her flesh around his.
They were in an enemy stronghold, surrounded by Humanoid Alliance warriors. This kiss could be their last. They might not survive their mission.
Imee’s heart ached. If he died, all of her hopes of happiness would die with him. Even if he discovered her weaknesses, deemed her unworthy of love, she would care for him, would want him to live, to be free.
She captured his handsome face between her hands and gazed into his dark eyes.
His lips curved against hers.
Could he see her caring? She’d never said the words, her engrained sense of self-preservation hadn’t allowed her to expose her emotions, even to him, the being she trusted most in the galaxy, but he always read her, always seemed to know.
She kissed him with a frantic desperation, imprinting his touch and taste on her brain, flooding her form with his nanocybotics. He met her kiss for kiss, their tongues dueling, their teeth clicking together. Her lips hummed, swollen with passion. Her head spun.
Imee gripped the collar of his body armor.
He pulled away from her, catching her wrists, stopping her from stripping him bare.
She tugged on her hands.
Later, he mouthed, holding onto her.
No, she mouthed back. I want you now.
It was irrational, illogical, as her cyborg would say. They had a mission to complete. She shouldn’t be thinking about fucking.
But her family was safe, guarded by their Humanoid Alliance captors, unaware of her arrival. The next shift of receivers wouldn’t arrive for a long time. No one should approach the ship until then.
And this could be the last time she touched Mayhem. They could die. They were in an enemy stronghold. That could happen.
Imee also suspected when she saw her mom’s beloved face, her emotions would rush to the forefront, overwhelming her. She would cry and that would disgust her warrior male. He wouldn’t respect her, love her, want her.
She needed one last fuck, a final memory she could relive during the long, lonely rest cycles to come. Imee plucked at Mayhem’s body armor.
Later, he repeated, removing her hands from his physique.
There might not be a later. She opened her mouth.
He turned her around, facing her toward the door, and he slapped her ass, hard, the impact of his big hand against her form propelling her toward the exit.
Imee cast a dark glare over her shoulder. He would pay for that after they completed the rescue mission. They might not fuck again but they would fight.
Mayhem’s eyes glowed with merriment. He was a foolish warrior.
And soon he would break her heart, shattering it into a million sharp jagged pieces. There was nothing she could do about that. She cared for him too much to stop.
Imee stomped toward the door, forgetti
ng about her resolution to move quietly.
Chapter Thirteen
Mayhem closely followed the female he loved. She was angry. Again. He’d deliberately provoked her. She’d been close to tears. The need to safeguard her was already straining his control. If she had cried, he would have swept her into his arms and taken her far away from the station.
That would have scuttled the mission. It meant too much to his female to risk.
He slipped in front of Imee before she placed her tiny booted feet on the ramp. She pushed against his back, expressing her unhappiness with that action.
He squared his shoulders, ensuring she was covered, aware of how fragile and how human she was. She wouldn’t appreciate that coddling either but she wasn’t wearing body armor. He was.
He’d protect her with his life.
The docking bay was devoid of lifeforms. He’d taken the monitoring systems offline. There were no beings watching them. Not taking any risks with his female, he dashed from shadow to shadow, his tread silent.
Imee tried to mimic him. She was unsuccessful, her steps quiet yet detectable. A cyborg would be able to hear her.
Fortunately or unfortunately, he was the only cyborg on the station. Fortunately because he wouldn’t have face one of his brethren. Unfortunately because it decreased the odds that Imee’s family remained alive. Important captives would have cyborgs guarding them.
Landing in the station had also been too easy. He crept closer to the double doors dividing the docking bay from the maze of corridors.
A human male sat between the doors, visible through the clear barriers. A midsize viewscreen was set on the horizontal support before him, the images static. They had been frozen when the monitoring systems were deactivated.
The male hadn’t noticed. His eyelids were lowered. His chest slowly rose and fell.
Mayhem suppressed a snort of disgust. The human was responsible for the safety of every being on board the station yet he slept.
Mayhem caught his female’s gaze and pointed to the floor, indicating she should stay there. Her face darkened. She nodded, her reluctance clear.
Humor lightened his mood. His female was not one to wait, to miss out on the action.
He sprinted across the space, flattened his body against the wall, placed his palm on the control panel. It didn’t take long to link into the station’s security system. It was old, simple, exotically different.
The first set of doors slid open.
The human male’s eyelids fluttered. Mayhem waited. The male didn’t wake.
The guard, unlike his brave, strong Imee, had clearly never been attacked.
Mayhem extracted a dagger from one of his sheaths, crept behind him, reached around the male and sliced his throat. His blade cut through the human’s flesh to his spine. Blood spurted. Arcs of the hot crimson coated the viewscreen, splattered on the floor, pooled around the human’s boots.
The kill was quick and easy, offering not much of a challenge.
Controlling his female would be a greater test of his skills. She entered the space, not waiting for his instructions or for any indication from him that it was safe.
Mayhem frowned at her, communicating his disapproval of her actions.
Imee stuck out her chin.
She was one of the most stubborn beings he knew and that was saying something. His brethren were cyborgs. Many of them were set in their programming.
Mayhem cleaned his blade, wiping the blood on the male’s uniform, and put it back in the sheath. He scanned the corridors. Traffic was sparse. There would be minimal casualties.
That was disappointing. He liked killing.
But it was less dangerous. Every kill, every dead body increased the possibility some being would sound an alarm.
Or that the being would damage his female.
He opened the second door, dashed to an alcove, looked to the left and to the right. The corridor was empty. He motioned to Imee, silently asking her to come to him.
His female hustled toward him, her daggers drawn, her expression earnest, her breasts jiggling. His heart pounded. She was exposed, in the open. If warriors entered the space, they’d spot her, could easily damage her.
She neared him. He reached out, pulled her to safety, covering her lush form with his larger body, shielding her from any danger. Her breathing was ragged, noisy. Her breasts heaved against his back. Her scent coiled around him.
They progressed to the next alcove and the next after that, turned right into another corridor, ducked into the doorway to a chamber. Mayhem moved to the next alcove, scanned their surroundings.
Fraggin’ hole. Two beings were approaching them.
He held out his right palm, communicating to her to stay where she was. She nodded and backed into the shadows.
He heard her inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Tension stretched across his shoulders. If he could detect her breathing, others might also.
Boots clomped against the metal floor, the sound growing louder and louder.
His female was too far from him, unprotected, so fraggin’ human.
If he moved to her side, it might draw attention to her. If he stayed where he was and the approaching beings pulled their guns, he might not be fast enough to save her.
Mayhem waited.
“If we fuck up this quarter end, heads are going to roll.” The male’s words echoed in the narrow space. “That verifier at home planet is gunning for the Commander, made him look like an ass cleanser in front of his buddies.”
“Because we didn’t file our Q-9 slips,” another male grumbled. “Who in space bothers filing those?”
“We do. Now. Thanks to that verifier.” The first male’s voice became more audible with each step. “I have sixty-nine to file by the end of shift.”
“They have me verifying approvals. I want to poke my eyes out with a broken viewscreen.”
Mayhem placed his hands on his dagger hilts, prepared to kill them if they turned their heads or slowed or indicated in any way that they saw him.
They didn’t, their pace not altering, their complaining about quarter end continuing. They carried rectangular containers in their arms. The weapons in their holsters were older models yet didn’t appear as though they’d ever been utilized.
That didn’t reassure Mayhem. They might not be seasoned warriors but even untrained offspring could get ‘lucky’, somehow spot Imee, shoot her.
They certainly weren’t innocent beings. No one on the station was. They supported the Humanoid Alliance, supported their wars, their torture, their cruelty.
If Imee’s family were on board, these beings would know about that also. The station was too small for secrets to be kept.
The males would kill to defend those captives and to defend themselves.
They neared Imee’s location. Cold crept down Mayhem’s spine. The enemy was an arm’s length away from his female. They had guns. There were two of them.
He heard Imee’s breathing quicken, her fear clawing at him.
The two males walked by her, appearing oblivious to her presence.
They had passed but the danger hadn’t diminished, not yet. They could turn around, sound an alarm, kill her.
The males chattered. Their voices faded. They disappeared from view.
Imee stuck her head out of the alcove. Mayhem lifted his right thumb, index finger, middle finger, counting slowly, signaling that she should wait.
She watched his hands, her brown eyes wide. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead.
When it was clear, he motioned to her. She ran toward him, her breast and ass coverings sticking to her curves. His female was beautiful and brave, a worthy mate for a cyborg.
Mayhem drew her into his arms, wrapped his form around hers, holding her to him. She was the most precious thing in the galaxy to him, the keeper of his soul, a reason to be cautious. He would protect her.
Mayhem pressed his lips to her forehead, tasting the salt of her skin, trying to silently commun
icate his love, the words she wasn’t yet ready to hear.
Imee tolerated his caresses for one, two human heartbeats. Then she waved her hands toward the corridor.
His shoulders shook, his mirth, a mixture of relief and happiness, trapped inside him. His female, a true warrior, was impatient, wanting action.
He moved to the next alcove, waited for Imee to rejoin him, moved again. Another male approached them. Mayhem detected him before they were separated. He backed into the alcove, putting his body protectively between the humanoid and his female.
Imee pushed against his shoulders. Mayhem didn’t free her.
A blue-furred Ungarian male hurried by them, mumbling about workloads and missing nourishment breaks.
Mayhem had never been involved in a quarter end. It appeared to cause emotional damage to the beings on board the station. It also required all of their processing power.
That was fortunate for their mission. The enemy was distracted and would be unlikely to notice their presence or take action.
He waited until the humanoid was a safe distance away and released Imee. She glared at him. He smiled back at her. His female would have to become accustomed to being protected. He wouldn’t allow any being to damage her.
They progressed toward the holding chambers.
An aging humanoid leaned against the wall by the entrance.
At first perusal, he might have appeared to be low threat, a guard one would assign to unimportant chambers. His face was lined with wrinkles. His hair was gray.
But his back was straight and he held his long gun with the confidence of a warrior. The long gun was worn from use, the handle smooth.
The humanoid perused the corridors around him with a wariness originating from solar cycles of battles. He had experience, didn’t assume any terrain was safe.
Whatever he was guarding was critical to the Humanoid Alliance’s success.
The dread pressing down on Mayhem’s heart lightened. Imee’s family could be alive. They could be inside the large central chamber.
He would help reconcile his female with her mom, sister, brother, and she’d be grateful for that assistance. She might allow him to say the love words, might say them back to him.
