“It’s too late, boss.”
“And I suppose it’s too much to hope it has a mute button?”
“Damn straight!” Declan growled.
The woman sighed. “I sure hope they knew what they were doing.”
He planted his feet shoulder width apart. “So, shall I lose the pants?”
She shook her head. “Just like a man. You don’t even know my name yet.”
An imp of mischief must have been riding on his shoulder. “Why does that matter?”
“What will you call me when we’re…”
He raised a single brow, pretending not to understand.
“You know…doing it.” Her frown deepened as her face was once again suffused with heat.
“Woman?”
Her face grew impossibly redder, warring with the bright hue of her hair, but he hadn’t missed her shiver. Was her exasperation stirring up more than just her temper?
He flicked open the button at the top of his breeches.
Her gaze flew up to his face. “Priscilla!” she shouted. “My name’s Priscilla!”
“Priss? It fits.” His glance swept her from head to toe. Already he thought of the names he would torment her with when he was deep inside her pink cunt. “Prickly Priss”, if she ceded control reluctantly. “Prim Priss”, if blushes flooded her cheeks. “Pretty Priss”, if she melted beneath his loving.
His cock stirred against his breeches, aching for ease. He quickly flicked open the next button.
“Um…” She backed up a step. “A shower! There’s no way you’re coming near me until you’re clean. What the hell did you bathe in anyway?”
“Whiskey,” he said with a grin.
“Whiskey? How? It’s prohibited.”
“He’s a smuggler,” Agnes interrupted.
Declan knew the older woman’s game. She was trying to remove his only weapon—the truth—by making his occupation part of his role.
“A smuggler? They think I want a criminal?”
“I’m sure they were thinking opposites and all…” Agnes sounded a little desperate.
“Agnes! Unless you care to join us, butt out!” he snarled.
Priscilla giggled. A tinkling, feminine sound that so surprised him, he caught himself gaping.
“Not so smart after all, are you?”
Declan barely heard her words—didn’t care to understand. Her smile took his breath away. Pink, full lips stretched over white teeth and a glimpse of her pink tongue stirred the predator lounging in his belly.
She stared back warily, her smile slipping. “Well, let’s see about that bath.”
He knew exactly where the shower was, but preferred following his hostess through the living room to the marble-tiled hallway beyond to watch the flex and stretch of her ass beneath the satin as she led the way. The plump contours reminded him what the weekend was all about—survival and sex, not falling into her smile.
The creases where her thighs met buttocks were exposed, and Declan had the oddest urge to trace them with his tongue. He, who never lingered over lovemaking, believed foreplay to be a waste of a perfectly good erection.
But here he was wondering if he’d find golden freckles on her ass to match those scattered across her nose and breasts. What inspired him to linger over her rounded bottom was a mystery. She wasn’t at all the sort of woman he preferred.
Her hair was shorter than most men’s. Thick, cropped curls that clung close to her head added to the elfish appeal of her slightly pointed ears.
But her boyish haircut was at odds with the lush derriere that flirted beneath the hem of her underwear.
Since he’d already cast himself in the role of marauder, he didn’t resist the impulse to cup a globe in his hand.
Priscilla shrieked and rounded on him, backing up against the bathroom door. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Giving you your money’s worth.” He moved in, his body so close her breasts would rub his bare chest if she took one deep breath.
“I said, after you’ve bathed we’ll discuss what’s next.”
“Ah! A woman after me own heart,” he said, deliberately misunderstanding her. “Shall I scrub your back first?”
“I am not joining you in the shower. It’s too small.”
“It’s quite large, actually. Room enough for Agnes too, if she cares to join us,” he said, raising his voice toward the end to make sure the other woman heard his challenge.
“You two go right ahead,” Agnes chirped. “I’m going to have a little word with Tonio.”
“You do that!” Priscilla shouted toward the ceiling. “And find out where the off switch is!”
“Do you think you need a safe word?” he asked, lowering his head so that his mouth hovered just above hers. He reached around her, his arm encircling her waist to grasp the door latch, and he tugged it downward.
The door opened behind Priscilla, and she stepped backward into the gray and chrome-appointed bathroom.
She felt horribly out of control of the situation. The beast of a robot had run amok, pushing the limits of her patience and comfort. Didn’t he know she was the one in charge? His eyes glinted with dark, dangerous hints of sensual perversions she didn’t have the nerve to contemplate. If she could just figure out where his power grid was hidden… She needed a few minutes of quiet to think through her predicament. Although…
The more closely she ogled the bot’s body, the more intriguing the possibilities grew. She’d never had a ruffian before. If she could just find a way to wipe that smirk off his face…
His smile grew wolfish. “I’d love nothing better than to work up a lather with you, love.”
Unnerved by his overtly sensual suggestion and the subtle Irish brogue that wrapped itself around his words, Priscilla took another step backward.
His dark gaze challenged her, making her heart skip and her legs tremble. She was unaccustomed to being the prey, as she more often played the hunter in the relationship game. She had never been the object of such a raw, unpolished come-on. If only she could forget the bot was only acting on his programming…
Then again, she was comforted knowing he wasn’t a real man. For she would never have allowed the liberties she’d already ceded this robot. She would never have given an inch of ground, no matter the cost.
This weekend was supposed to be a fantasy, and while it wasn’t shaping up to be the one she’d envisioned, she was willing to go with the new “script” to see just how far this experience would take her. “I’m paying for this weekend,” she said, jutting her chin. “I say we wait.”
His black gaze bored into hers, and she slipped sideways, putting space between them. His gaze followed her. She supposed he was already storing data—analyzing her body’s dimensions, her gestures, her responses—to determine which sensual strategy would best serve her needs.
The thought of all that analytical attention to her pleasure made her skin feel hot and cold at the same time, and her panties dampened instantly.
She reached for the control panel on the wall next to the shower and selected the proper wash settings. Water jetted from the shower walls, and she opened the door. “Towels are in the cupboard.” She gestured behind him.
Then she had a disturbing thought. “You can shower, can’t you?” A vision of circuitry shorting in fiery arcs filled her with dismay.
“What?” he asked. “You think I don’t know how? Just because I’ve spent a month in a reclamation suit doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy one.” He toed off his boots, his gaze once again pinning her to the spot.
“They didn’t leave out a detail of your scenario, did they?” she murmured.
Once again, he reached for the remaining buttons of his breeches.
“I’ll leave you to it,” she said, fumbling for the door latch at her back.
His hands paused. “Afraid, Priss?”
She swallowed, her heart thumping, but she shook her head.
He pushed down his breeches and then
straightened.
Her gaze dipped. “Now, I know they goofed. Seven inches will never do.” Her disappointment must have shown on her face.
“For fuck’s sake!” His hands went to his hips, red spots of color on his cheeks.
Priscilla realized he was embarrassed. How intriguing! He responded to emotional stimuli. “They did promise life-like,” she murmured. “I was just hoping for something more than…life-like.”
“It’s proportional with me size,” he gritted out. “What sort of men have you been shagging?”
“If you were just any man,” she said, hoping to stem his dismay, “I’d be giddy with delight—it’s just I had certain…expectations.”
“He’ll be more than adequate,” he growled, stepping the rest of the way out of his clothing. He kicked them away and stomped toward her.
Her heart skittered with alarm. “Well, like I said, the towels are behind you.” She reached for the door behind her.
He shook his head.
“Yes, they are.”
“I’m not talking about the bloody towels. You’re not leaving,” he said, determination stamped in the set of his bearded chin.
“We’ve been over this already. I’m not joining you.”
“Yes, you are.”
He strode straight for her, and Priscilla stood stock-still, shock and delight fluttering in her chest. Why run when this was precisely what she wanted?
His hands closed over her waist, and he lifted her, carrying her into the shower, underwear and all.
Water sluiced over her head, and she closed her eyes as his large hands smoothed over the lacy cups of her bra, grateful for an excuse to avoid his gaze. She hated that he knew how much she wanted this.
He shaped her breasts, squeezing, kneading, and then he flicked open the catch in front. Her flesh spilled eagerly into his hands, and her breath caught on a gasp as his rough palms chafed her nipples.
She swiped the water from her face and stared down to where his dark hands cupped her white breasts. Then she noted the prod of his cock against her belly. His only slightly-larger-than-life-size penis was bronze along the shaft, with a blue tracery of veins that amazed her with their authenticity. Every detail of his appearance, down to the hair surrounding his groin and sprouting on his balls, had been seen to. At least they’d gotten that much just right.
He was so real she had the odd urge to take him in her mouth. What would his AI programming make of that?
No sooner had that thought crossed her mind than she decided to see how effectively the interactive components of his software incorporated physical stimuli. “Let me wash your hair.” That was as far as her raw nerves would allow her to venture.
His gaze rose from her chest and darkened. His face was ruddy, taut. His nostrils flared like an animal scenting a meal. “Don’t you want to remove the rest of your clothes, first?”
She’d forgotten about her thigh-high stockings and panties. She gulped and nodded.
His hands left her breasts and smoothed around her back and downward, sliding beneath her panties to cup her buttocks and squeeze before pushing them down her legs. He knelt to slip them off her feet, which brought his face level with her belly. “Priss, you’re naked here,” he said, gliding the tip of his finger over her pussy. “You’re full of surprises, love.”
Priscilla’s breath caught, and a trembling anticipation accelerated her heart and respirations until she felt the prickling darkness of a nearing faint.
His hand flattened on her shivering belly cupping the gentle swell, and his gaze met hers for a moment. Challenge mixed with the molten promise in his eyes.
Priscilla could only stare, and then she licked her mouth nervously.
He must have interpreted her action as consent for he shook his head like a dog’s beneath the spray and lowered his face to nose between the folds of her sex. His hands trailed down the front of her thighs rolling the tops of her stockings down her legs and off her feet—and still he nuzzled her pussy with his face.
Then she was naked, her skin drenched with water, her vagina oozing her own refreshment. He groaned and lapped at her petals to capture her excitement with his tongue.
Priscilla’s hands fluttered against the tiles, her breasts, and finally his shoulders, stabbing her nails into the ridged muscles. He continued to lap at her folds. She tried to direct him higher to her clitoris with the soft pulsing of her hips. “Please,” she sighed.
He grunted and pushed her back against the tiled wall, and then encouraged her to lift one leg and drape her thigh over his shoulder, opening her wider. She anchored herself, her hands clutching his hair as the strokes of his tongue lengthened, deepened—and occasionally stabbed inside her. Still he ignored her engorged, aching clit.
She sank her fingernails into his scalp and tugged on his hair. “Please!” When he didn’t accede to her demand, she wrapped her fingers around his ears and pulled. “Higher!”
His shoulders shook. He was laughing, but she didn’t care. She only cared that the leg supporting her weight trembled, and her womb tightened with each foray of his tongue.
His fingers spread the folds at the top of her pussy and pulled them upward, exposing her clit at last to air and water—and his dark gaze.
Priscilla held her breath as he leaned forward and his lips closed around the hard knot of nerves that leapt and shot pulses of excitement to her core, tightening her belly, pushing her closer to release.
“Please…Declan.” She remembered his name when all other awareness had narrowed to the suctioning of his mouth as he worked her clit, flickering his tongue against it, sucking on it with his lips.
She squirmed and gasped and moaned, her voice rising as the tremors started in her belly and radiated outward, until suddenly, she was flung beyond herself.
When the darkness receded, she opened her eyes and stared down at him.
“Now, you can wash my hair.”
She was knuckle-deep in suds before she realized he had commanded her to do it. She should be infuriated and scold him to discourage such behavior, but her body still tingled delightfully.
Later, she’d tell him he must be more respectful of her. Remind him she was the one in charge.
For now, she enjoyed his low moan as she massaged his scalp with her fingers. His hair was longer than any man’s she’d ever dated, and she worked the strands with shampoo and rubbed them on her breasts. How would his hair feel when it was dry and followed the movement of his head down her body, to brush her belly and thighs?
“I believe my hair is clean, love,” he murmured. “How about scrubbing me back now?”
Her eyes flew open, and she realized she’d pulled his head to her abdomen and was rubbing against it.
He stood and turned away, and her gaze trailed down the broad shoulders and taut waist to the hard, rounded muscles of his ass. Her fingers itched to test their firmness and see just how real he felt.
She reached into the soap decanter, waited for the injection of foam, then began her journey at his shoulders.
“Am I too high for you?” he asked, looking over his shoulder. “I’ll kneel.”
“N-no.” He was just the right height. Her arms stretched, and she cupped his shoulders, measuring their breadth.
Priscilla rubbed the foam in circles across and down his thickly muscled arms. Then he lifted them high, and she reached around to comb her fingers through the tufts of hair beneath his arms—an amazingly intimate act that tightened her nipples to pebble-hard points. She didn’t dare linger or she’d be tempted to press the tips to his back and rub like a cat.
Instead, she washed down his sides, enjoying his satiny skin and the ropey ridges of muscle beneath the surface. Down the center of his back, she squeezed and circled, moving lower while noting the tension that built in his shoulders and buttocks. She wondered how the apparatus between his legs was responding to her “stimuli”. But first things first…
She reached for another squirt of foam and slid h
er hands over his ass. Priscilla caressed his flanks, then circled inward, enjoying the involuntary flex of his buttocks.
He groaned, and his hands braced his weight on the tiles at the far side of the stall, his legs shifting apart. For the first time since he’d stepped out of her kitchen, Priscilla felt totally in control and reveled in the feeling. Encouraged by his acquiescence, she glided her hands along the seam between his buttocks—and lower, reaching between his legs to cup his balls.
Chapter Four
‡
“Witch!” Declan released all his breath in a hiss as her soapy hands enveloped his sac. Sweet Jesus! It had been forever since anything felt that wonderful. He widened his stance to give her greater access, his head dipping low as his body tightened. “Keep that up, Priss, and I’ll spend myself against the wall.”
“You like that?” she asked, her voice husky.
He groaned. “What man wouldn’t?”
“What man? Hmm.” One of her small hands left his balls and circled and squeezed a cheek, and then traced a path along the crease of his ass, a fingernail scraping the cleft. “Like this too?”
The minx was nearing dangerous, forbidden territory. “Be careful now,” he warned.
She laughed, a low sultry sound that sent shivers down his spine. “Maybe I want to watch your…hardware in action.”
A grin tugged at his mouth. “My hardware is tempered steel. Care to test the edge of me blade?”
“Perhaps I want to explore that forbidden territory. I’d love a taste of adventure, smuggler.” Her nail grazed his anus.
His body shuddered, and he lost the trail of their banter. “Enough!”
“Turn around,” she whispered.
Dragging air into his lungs, he pushed off the slate-gray tiles and turned. He found her kneeling in front of him, her skin suffused with a bloom of color that painted her cheeks, her neck, and the tops of her small, round breasts. The tips of her nipples had blossomed to a full, red rose.
Her hands were cupped around a cloud of foamy suds, and as he watched she lifted them to encircle his cock, sliding the soap along his length.
The Pleasure Bot (Planet Desire Book 4) Page 3
