Cyborg Nation

by Kaitlyn O’Connor

  She should have felt threatened, horrified, disgusted. She was certain she should have. Instead, she felt weak all over, felt liquid desire heat her blood and send it surging through her in a hot tide.

  Releasing her unhurriedly, he turned and strode toward the door.

  Anger flooded Bronte as she watched his departure. She didn’t know if it was because he’d aroused every nerve ending inside of her with keen anticipation and then left, because she realized she’d come out the loser in their battle of wills and sensed he knew it, too, or if it was a belated defensiveness and outrage that he’d had the audacity to take what he wanted regardless of her tactic refusal to yield. Whatever it was, it was compounded when she discovered that, somewhere in the rounds of being thoroughly aroused when she didn’t want to feel anything toward him at all, she’d snapped the nose piece of her glasses.

  Yielding to yet another stupid impulse, she threw them at him as he reached the door. Fortunately, she had never been terribly good at aiming. The broken glasses hit the wall a good three feet from him and fell to the floor. He stopped abruptly, looked down at the object she’d thrown at him and then threw a glance back at her.

  Gaping at him in seriously belated fear of retribution, Bronte backed up and sprawled across the bed, bumping her head on the wall. His eyes narrowed, zeroing in on her splayed legs, or more specifically the point between her legs where they met. For several unnerving moments she was caught between the hope/fear he was going to turn around and finish what he’d started. He merely bent and scooped the glasses from the floor, however, and went out.

  Dragging in a shuddering breath of relief when he’d left, Bronte pushed herself up and examined her throbbing head with her hand. Discovering there was no blood when it was damned well pounding hard enough to have produced some evidence she’d nearly cracked her skull in her hasty retreat, she rubbed at it until the pounding eased and then pushed herself off the bed and went to perform her waking routine.

  When she came out, Gideon was sprawled on the bunk on his back, his eyes closed, his arms folded beneath his head in a way that made the muscles in his upper arms form a hard, round bulge that made her belly dance in trembling excitement. She halted abruptly, studying him warily and trying to decide whether she wanted her book badly enough to try to retrieve it from the other side of the bed. She glanced at the container of books, but she’d already set her heart on reading the thriller she’d picked out.

  Tiptoeing across the room, she studied him and finally decided he was asleep. The book was near the wall, midway up the bed. Crawl up the end and grab it? Or lean over him?

  She wasn’t crawling into bed with him, she decided.

  An arm caught her around the waist as she leaned over him to grab the book. She landed on the bed and Gideon landed on top of her so fast it took her head several moments to stop swimming. About the time it did, she discovered her ass had landed on top of the hard, tubular casing of her book. “Ow!” she complained, trying to lift her hips off of it.

  Obligingly, he cupped his hips and rocked against her, digging his erection against her mound. She tried reaching for the hard plasti-metal wedged beneath her butt and the mattress and discovered he’d manacled her wrists above her head with his hands. His face against her neck, he nibbled kisses down her throat and tried to use his chin to part the front edges of her suit. The conflicting sensations of pain from the book digging into her and pleasure from the feel of his lips along her throat collided. Uttering little, breathless grunts of pain and pleasure, she wiggled her hips, trying to move the book from beneath her or move her hips off of the book.

  “My book!” she managed to gasp out just about the time he succeeded in parting the mesh closure at her neck.

  He released his grip on one of her wrists, slid his hand down and dragged the book from under her, shoving it to one side. The moment he let go of her wrist, Bronte grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled. Ignoring her tug at his scalp, Gideon hooked his fingers in the front of the uniform and parted the closure to her waist. Squeezing one breast between his thumb and fingers, he opened his mouth over the tip and sucked until her eyeballs nearly rolled back in her head as fire spread through her in dizzying waves. She thrashed beneath him, struggling half-heartedly to fight him off, but Gabriel had already revved her engines and left her wide open to the needs simmering just below the surface of her consciousness. She was fighting a losing battle the moment Gideon reawakened the only semi-dormant pleasure receptors in her brain. Her brain instantly began churning out serotonin in debilitating, will decimating volumes.

  By the time Gideon ceased to tug at her nipple with his mouth and tease the aching nub with the flick of his tongue, she felt like one giant, raw nerve ending, as if her whole body pulsed in concert with the frantic rhythm of her heart, threatening to explode each time the organ contracted and sent another surge of blood boiling through her veins. Weak, completely disoriented by the intoxicating drug pumping through her system, it was more her instinct for self-preservation than her rapidly dwindling willpower that made her grab at his arms as Gideon speared his hands beneath the shoulders of her suit and peeled it down, binding her arms to her sides with the fabric.

  He shoved his arms beneath her shoulders, lifting them to meet his lips. Her neck too weak to hold up her head, her head tipped back against the mattress, arching her throat to his assault. He anointed the tender flesh there with open mouthed kisses, traced the frantic pulse along the side of her neck with his tongue, and moved lower to familiarize himself with the flesh he’d exposed to the mind drugging assault of his mouth. Feeding the blaze he’d already kindled, he moved from her throat, across her collar bone from shoulder to shoulder, blazed a path along the upper slope of her breasts and then climbed the column of her throat to nip at her chin and the line of her jaw.

  She lost her breath when his mouth clamped over hers in hungry possession, sucked his into her lungs sharply as he filled her mouth with his essence—the taste and feel and ruthless domination of all her faculties. His chest settled heavily against hers, flattening her breasts, confining her lungs so that she struggled even harder to catch her breath as he tugged at her clothing, dragging it lower.

  She sucked in a sharp breath to fight the darkness closing in on her as he released her mouth, levered his upper body away from hers slightly and shoved himself downward. Catching the breast in his hand that he hadn’t teased unmercifully yet, he fastened his mouth over it and suckled, effectively depriving her of the breath she’d just hauled into her lungs. It emerged in a half choked moan of sound as jolts of exquisite sensation went through her with every tug of his mouth on the sensitive bud. She realized dimly that she was running her hands over his shoulders and back, curling and uncurling her fingers like a cat’s pleasurable kneading, making faint, mewling sounds in concert as her breath hitched in her chest and then released.

  The sounds, her touch, or his own exploration, or the three combined seemed to chip away at his control. The leisurely, almost calculated caresses he’d begun with became more hurried and graceless as he moved from one breast to the other and back again, climbed the upper slopes to her throat, explored her face, her mouth, and then moved to her ear as if he could not decide what part of her to sample next, as if he wanted to lay claim to every inch of her at once. His breathing rapidly became more ragged than her own. Tremors moved through his great body, becoming more and more pronounced.

  His growing need fed hers, built the fire inside her until she was writhing restlessly beneath him, the splendid friction of her body brushing all along his making her even more frantic.

  Abruptly, he shoved himself upward onto his knees. The cool air striking her bared body lifted the pall of heat burning feverishly in her mind briefly. With an effort, she lifted her heavy lids as he grasped her uniform and peeled it down her hips and legs, tugging it from her ankles and tossing it aside.

  He was staring down her, his face taut and flushed, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing a
nd tumultuous with need. As he grasped his loincloth and tore free of it, Bronte’s gaze dropped to his engorged cock and her body reverted to the instinct to flee. He caught her thighs as she rolled onto her belly, dragging her knees from under her before she’d managed to do more than rise to all fours. She reared upward as she felt his teeth graze one buttock, sending a shockwave of heat through her and a rush of goose flesh up her back. A sharp gasp escaped her as he moved his head to nip at the other cheek and then higher, nipping and sucking love bites up her back as he moved over her.

  Her eyes widened with a touch of panic when the head of his cock parted the cheeks of her ass as his hips descended, bumped along her cleft, and finally settled against her clit as he pinned her with the weight of his hips. His chest settled lightly against her back, his upper weight supported on his elbows as he nuzzled her hair aside and gnawed lightly along her shoulder and the back of her neck. The heated, creamy moisture already gathered in her sex, flowed, saturating her channel and the lips of her sex even as he lifted his hips and the curvature of his cock faithfully followed her cleft until it found her opening.

  She grunted, gasped sharply as the head of his cock parted the mouth of her sex. He bit down on her shoulder as he cupped his body over hers, curled his hips to thrust upward, stretching her until she was gasping for breath. Easing the pressure, he delved shallowly until he had coated the end of his cock with her welcoming moisture and then thrust again, driving deeper. She bucked against him as he strained to battle her clinging flesh to claim her fully.

  Releasing his hold on her shoulder abruptly, he uttered a groan, shifted upward to disengage their bodies and then rolled her almost roughly onto her back. Grabbing her tangled legs, he shoved them out of his way and leaned/fell over her, catching himself with one arm as he grasped his cock with his other hand and engaged their bodies again with a shaking haste than defied any semblance of finesse. She arched her back as he plunged deeply, bearing down on her with teeth grinding determination until her flesh yielded to him. The arm supporting him, shaking, buckled as he drove home, as if the claiming sapped the strength from him. Gasping harshly, he managed to catch his weight with his other arm as he fell. Slipping both arms beneath her, he tightened them around her as he began to pump his hips in a rhythmic thrust and retreat along her channel that left Bronte gasping for breath, feeling scoured by the fire that gathered in her belly like molten lead, making her feel heavy, weak, faint and at the same time so breathlessly close to exploding with rapture that a sharp gasp was forced from her with each pounding thrust of his cock deeply inside of her.

  She caught his rhythm, curling her hips to meet his plunging assault. A low, almost animalistic groan left her as the shift in position offered her g-spot for his stroking caress and her body quickened. He echoed her groan with a deeper one, shuddering, thrusting faster. As if they were racing, fighting to see who could reach the pinnacle first, Bronte dug her nails into his shoulders and lifted faster. Gideon fought for breath, fought the tremors wracking him all over and drove into her in short, deep strokes. A sharp cry left her as she abruptly reached climax. Shuddering, gasping to catch her breath, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut as the waves of bliss wracked her. Uttering a long, growling groan that was part relief part ecstasy, Gideon grunted and shook as his body pumped his seed deeply inside of her.

  Bronte’s arms and legs dropped weakly to the bed as the last of the tension left her. Gideon dragged a long, shuddering breath into his lungs that nearly caved her chest in and then rolled off of her, trapping one of her arms beneath his shoulders. She was too blissful to care at first, too sated, too weak. As her fingers began to tingle and sting from lack of circulation, however, she roused herself enough to start tugging at her arm to dislodge it. Uttering a sound that sounded a lot like a complaint, he grunted and heaved and finally managed to roll onto his side and off of her arm so she could reclaim it. As soon as she snatched it to her, he rolled onto his back again and went perfectly still.

  Mildly irritated, Bronte groped around for something to cover herself with as her body slowly cooled and a shiver skated through her. Coming up empty handed, she lay still for a few moments, trying to decide whether she wanted something to cover herself with badly enough to actually sit up and hunt it. The pleasure and heat of passion had completely deserted her, however, and finally, still feeling sluggish, she pushed herself upright and looked around.

  Gideon, she discovered when she glanced at him, was sound asleep, a half-smile curling his lips.

  She had no idea why that satisfied smile instantly brought an upsurge of anger and made her long for the nerve to clobber him but it did. Narrowing her eyes, she studied his face, fighting the urge and finally mastered it. A sticky residue between her thighs caught her attention as she eased toward the end of the bunk. When she’d reached the foot of the bed, she parted her legs and stared down at it—mostly with surprise, until it slowly sank in that it was semen—not her own bodily fluids, but a mixture of hers and his.

  Semen!

  No pleasure bot she’d ever heard of produced semen. Their cocks were self-lubricating, but it was lubrication, not semen! This was definitely semen.

  She whirled to look at him with mounting outrage, battling a sense of absolute disbelief. He was feeling around the bed blindly, she saw, either searching for her or for the covers bunched at the foot of the bed. She didn’t know or care which. Shoving herself to her feet, she stalked toward the bathroom, snatching her uniform up off the floor on the way.

  By the time she’d bathed, she’d managed to slough off the last of her surprise and confusion and work herself up into a real rage. She had been defenseless with the surprise attack and he’d taken full advantage of that moment and his prowess as a pleasure bot to inundate her senses with so much pleasure that she’d had no sense at all inside of five seconds! He’d known she didn’t want anything to do with him, the sneaking, low down, conniving …. Cyborg! That was why it was a sneak attack! Premeditation! He’d just been waiting to catch her off guard so he could fuck her senseless and then just … ignore her when he got done with her like she was another machine, instead of a human being who had every right to expect at least a ‘thank you ma’am, nice hole’ and a pat on the head when a man was done with her!

  And what had he done? Rolled over and gone to sleep with that self-satisfied smirk on his face that still made her want to clobber him!

  She halted to glare at him in seething resentment when she left the bathroom. As she raked him with contempt, however, her eyes settled on her book, wedged between his knee and the wall. She was going to have that damned book!

  Stalking over to the bed, she leaned over to snatch it. Just as her fingers closed around the cylinder, she felt his hands close around her. Uttering a growl of outrage as she was flipped over him to land on the bed on her back again, she glared at him ferociously as she landed. “Don’t even think about it, buster!” she snarled.

  The look of intent on Gideon’s face vanished abruptly. Confusion and then anger flickered across his features. “Who the hell is Buster?” he growled.

  Having gained her release with surprising ease, Bronte had already sat up, grabbed her book, and scooted toward the end of the bed when he asked that question. It caught her off guard, jerking her gaze toward his.

  “I am Gideon,” he emphasized as she met his angry gaze. “Who is Buster?”

  Bronte looked away quickly before the urge to smile could get the best of her. She cleared her throat. “Oh, sorry. That was the last jerk that fucked me,” she said sarcastically as she climbed off the bed with her book and stalked toward the door.

  “We will get your eyes fixed when we get home,” he said tightly as she reached the door.

  She shrugged, but she didn’t look back. “I had my eyes closed … but if you think that will help clear up the confusion....”

  Hah! Take that, asshole! She thought as she left the cabin. Let’s see how you feel about being used as a convenient pol
e and then tossed aside like an empty cock wrapper!

  Discovering that Jerico and Gabriel were watching her with almost identical expressions of hopeful expectancy, Bronte sent them both drop dead looks, stalked over to the bench beside the dining table, and sat down. Fuming with the realization that they had both been well aware of what was going on in the cabin and hopeful they were next in line, it took all she could do to focus on her book enough to at least appear to be reading it.

  Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the two exchange a questioning look before they turned and focused on their instrument panels. No! she thought angrily. Bronte is not on the menu tonight!

  Assholes! Horny brutes! Cyborgs! She thought furiously.

  How dare they just expect her to spread her legs to accommodate them! As if she gave a damn if they had blue balls! “Go fuck yourselves,” she muttered under her breath as she resolutely turned to the beginning of her book, ignoring the startled glances Jerico and Gabriel threw at her over their shoulders.

  Chapter Seven

  Gideon glared at the door as it closed behind Bronte, outraged that she had implied she had had no idea it was him pleasuring her. “Who the hell is Buster?” he muttered, punching his pillow hard enough with his fist that it ruptured and stuffing whooshed out the hole in a small, snowflake-like cloud. Waving the particles away, he flopped back down on the bed and dropped the pillow over his face.

  She could not confuse the prowess and superior dexterity of a pleasure bot with a mere human! He did not believe that for one moment!