by Cara Bristol
Without warning, he dragged her off his lap and set her on her feet. She swayed, staring at him. His eyes glowed hot, radiating lust and love.
He picked up the flogger, flicked it against his thigh in an exploratory snap. “Put your hands on the platform,” he rasped.
Her knees trembled with excitement, and she assumed a frisking stance. The carpeted stage felt rough against her sweaty palms. She dug her nails into the nubby texture.
Dozens of tiny bees stung her throbbing, tingly flesh all at once. “Ah!” she cried, arching.
Another strike and leather strands splayed out in an electrifying kiss. She rose on tiptoes, a dancer in pirouette.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Yes.” She hissed her agreement, and he teased her again. The merest flick of his wrist lanced nerve endings with rapture. The flogger caressed her ass, the tops of her thighs, delivering barbs of pleasure. Everything she’d hoped for in her life coalesced to this moment, this man, this time. The trembling in her legs intensified, spread to the rest of her body. Her ass burned and tingled, and the musk of her arousal drifted to her nostrils.
“I need you,” she said, peering over her shoulder.
His eyes blazed. “You got me.” He flung the flogger onto the stage, and it hit with a thunk.
The zipper sliding caused her pussy to clench. He didn’t bother to disrobe but tugged down his pants and shorts with one swoop. She’d expected him to take her from behind—the posing stage offered the perfect setup. Instead he turned her to face him. Her tenderized ass hit the edge, but discomfort failed to register. Pain was buried in the past. Only pleasure existed in the present, their future.
He slid into her like he was meant to be. They both groaned. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and thrust with an unbroken rhythm, staring into her eyes. He gripped her hips, tilting her pelvis to provide friction where she needed it most. She wouldn’t last long. Hugging his neck, she closed her eyes, rode the sensation, headed for home.
“No, look at me,” he ordered hoarsely.
She met his gaze. Saw his love, his recognition. How could she have missed it?
His features contorted, but he maintained eye contact. “You’re my Destiny.”
“You’re my…Chance,” she gasped as the burning in her clit triggered orgasmic contractions.
Chance squeezed her ass hard and convulsed.
* * * *
Destiny curled against Chance’s side and grinned. What a picture the scenario would make. She glanced at the scenic backdrop behind them and at the camera mounted on a tripod. She and Chance could be two lovers enjoying an al fresco interlude. She could set the timer, then zip back into place.
Later. She sighed with contentment and wedged her bare leg between his jean-clad thighs. Chance was unzipped but fully clothed; she still wore her shirt, although at some point her bra had become undone and bunched under her armpits.
One question remained. She rose on an elbow, toyed with the buttons of his shirt. “When did you guess?”
He tucked her hair behind her ears. “I think I always knew. I had noticed inconsistencies right off. And then your sister marched into the shop intending to knock some sense into me, I think.”
A tiny spike of hurt poked her. She’d thought Chance had approached her on his own, but her meddling sister—
He touched her face with a gentle finger. “I had already decided to tell you what I knew. Your sister’s visit didn’t influence me.”
She slumped in relief. “I’m glad. But I’m in no position to judge. I should have been more forthcoming. I should have trusted you.”
“It’s all in the past.” He cupped her face and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Let’s focus on the future.”
The End
Read on for an excerpt from another Cara Bristol erotic romance…
Stranded with the Cyborg
Cy-Ops Sci-fi Romance 1
By Cara Bristol
What was so urgent it couldn’t wait until I got back from Darius 4?” Brock flung himself into the wide sensa-chair, which conformed to the angles and lines of his body to provide optimal support and comfort. He would have preferred an android pleasure worker fit her realistic feminine form around him rather than a piece of furniture—as he’d been about to experience when the Cyber Operations director’s summons had come through. “You’re the one who insisted I take respite time.”
“Drink?” Carter punched a button on his console, a cabinet slid open, and he removed a decanter. After pouring two shots of bronze liqueur, he shoved one across the desk.
Brock’s internal warning system flashed an alert. “What’s the bad news?”
“Why do you assume that?”
“Whenever you break out the Cerinian brandy, you’re either trying to butter me up or soften the blow.” He eyed the man who’d been his friend since they’d served together in the Terran Central Protection Office thirteen years ago. Carter’s blank expression betrayed nothing, but the brandy sang like a yellow songbird.
The director knocked back his shot then thumped his chest with his fist. Cerinian brandy went down smooth until the afterburn lit your throat on fire. Or it did to one who was unaltered. Brock swallowed his and felt only slight warmth.
“I have an assignment for you,” Carter said, his voice hoarse from the liqueur. “The Association of Planets Summit is on Malodonus next week. There’s been a threat against…the Terran ambassador.” He hesitated like he expected Brock to short-circuit a computer chip.
After five years without a day off, Brock had been ordered to take R & R or be reassigned to desk duty. His irritation with the edict had been relieved somewhat when he’d arrived at the Darius 4 pleasure resort and discovered the android sex workers were almost lifelike.
First Carter told him to go then he recalled him. Brock wouldn’t blow any gaskets, but he was irked. Quit jerking me around. “What government official hasn’t received a threat? It’s part of the job. What’s so special about this case?” He shifted in the sensa-chair so its fingers could massage his lower spine.
“According to intel, Lamis-Odg is involved.”
Lamis-Odg had contributed nothing significant or positive toward the advancement of society in thousands of years yet opposed the AOP’s goal to draw the peoples of the galaxy into an alliance. Historically, the backwater planet had been more bluster than bite but, in recent years, had resorted to terrorism to intimidate its adversaries.
Brock flexed his right hand. “How certain is the threat?”
“It’s being treated as a level two.”
Level one threats most often represented the rantings of a lunatic who would not act on the threat—or who lacked the means to do so. In a level two, a specific target had been named by a perpetrator who might have the means to carry it out. Level three was considered probable, and level four was imminent.
Call me when it gets to level four.
Carter spread his hands. “I’m told the CPO has intercepted a transmission indicating the ambassador was recently placed on Lamis-Odg’s enemies of the state list.”
“So no specific plot has been identified?”
“No. The risk was bumped from level one to two because she is an ambassador and other intercepted communiqués suggest Lamis-Odg has become more active.”
“So why doesn’t the Central Protection Office handle it?” Guarding government and diplomatic personnel fell into their bailiwick. When he’d been a CPO agent, he’d managed level two and three risks all the time. While a two should be taken seriously, it didn’t require the specialized abilities of the covert Cyber Operations force.
“The ambassador has refused protection.”
Figures. “Why?”
“She has a meeting with the Xenian emperor to convince him to send a delegate to the Summit and join the AOP.”
Brock scanned his memory banks for information on the small planet in the Omicron sector. Like Lamis-Odg, Xenia had no interest in joining the AOP
. Unlike Lamis-Odg, the Xenians weren’t hostile or violent—they were pacifists who shied away from conflict and interplanetary politics.
Carter continued, “She fears showing up with a security detail will send the message there’s something to be wary of.”
“Isn’t there?” Brock said drily, and then added, “If the ambassador has refused security, then I don’t see why it’s our problem.”
“I was asked for a favor.”
The bad premonition Brock had gotten when he’d received the summons, and again when Carter had broken out the brandy, grew stronger. “Suppose you cut to the chase.”
“The ambassador is Mikala Aaron’s daughter.”
Sonofabitch. “Pia?”
Carter nodded.
Pia. Short for Penelope Isabella Aaron, or, as Brock had code-named his former protectee, Pain in the Ass. Every member of the Terran First Family had a designated CPO agent assigned to him or her.
An adolescent Pia had done her damnedest to dodge him. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d caught her attempting to sneak out of the executive residence unescorted. Nor had he appreciated her practical jokes and dirty tricks. When her attempts to shake him had failed, she’d lodged false charges of sexual misconduct.
Shot at numerous times during his career, Brock had been seriously wounded twice and almost fatally once. Pia had been his waterloo—or would have been if Mikala Aaron, aware of her daughter’s machinations, hadn’t stepped in.
Brock folded his arms across his chest. “It doesn’t have to be me. Get somebody else.”
“President Aaron has requested you.”
“Former President Aaron. She’s a civilian now. And we don’t report to the president anyway.”
Carter sighed. “I could order you to do it.”
As Cy-Ops director, Carter was Brock’s superior—technically. But the organization officially did not exist, and commanding a band of rogues who operated outside the law required finesse, rather than blunt orders. “You won’t,” Brock said.
Carter inhaled, held his breath for a moment, and then exhaled. “No. I’m asking you to do it—as a favor to me.”
Favors, like shit, rolled downhill.
“Don’t do this to me,” he said, arguing against the inevitable. He owed Carter his life. If not for the director, Brock would have died in a military hospital or been left a shell of man, a chunk of his brain gone, an arm and two legs missing. Carter’s secret force had whisked him from the intensive care unit to a clandestine cybermed installation.
Brock had been in no condition to consent to the treatment he’d been subjected to, but if he had been aware, he wouldn’t have hesitated. He wanted to live. Cybermed docs had injected him with nanocytes, tiny robotic cells, and implanted a microcomputer in his brain to control them. He’d been fitted with prosthetic limbs. Under the influence of the biomimetic particles, he’d regenerated human muscle, tendon, and skin. Excruciatingly painfully, but it had happened. They’d kept him unconscious for most of it.
When he’d awakened, his body—and, to some degree, his mind—had been rebuilt. He’d been transformed into a bigger, stronger, more resilient Brock. And then Carter had recruited him as a cyberoperative.
Cyber Operations didn’t respond when the going got tough, Cy-Ops responded when the going got impossible. When your only choice was to kiss your ass good-bye, that’s when Cy-Ops moved in.
Calling a cyberoperative to escort an ambassador to a summit meeting? A ridiculous waste of manpower. Pia as protectee? Impossible. Maybe Cy-Ops’s involvement made sense in a twisted way.
“Ten years have passed. Penelope is different now,” Carter said.
Brock doubted that. “Does she know about me?”
“That you’re a cyborg? Of course not. She hasn’t been told anything about the program or even that you’re the one who’s been assigned to her.”
“Yeah, spring it on her. That will go over well.” He could envision the tantrum, and, after she calmed down, the scheme she would devise to circumvent the decision. The last time he’d seen her, she’d been emerging from his quarters half-dressed, a triumphant smile tilting her lips. Shortly thereafter, two fellow agents had come to arrest him.
President Aaron had exonerated him, the transcripts from the investigation had been sealed, and he’d been offered reassignment. Instead, he’d taken a position with an anti-terrorist investigative organization. His unit got attacked; his fellow operatives had died. Carter, who’d been working with Cy-Ops all along, had swooped in and saved his ass.
“I’m not saying I’ll do it, but, hypothetically, if I had a computer meltdown and agreed, what would be my cover story? I couldn’t tag along as her bodyguard because that would unsettle the Xenians.”
Carter poured another shot of Cerinian brandy and downed it. He met Brock’s gaze dead-on. “You’d accompany Ambassador Aaron as her husband.”
“Oh, hell no!”
* * * *
“Oh, hell no!” Penelope glared at her mother. “A husband? Are you crazy?”
“Not a real husband,” said Mikala. “A bodyguard.”
Penelope shook her head. “The Xenians are wary as it is. If they think I need a bodyguard, it will derail any chance of building an alliance. That’s why I rejected the Central Protection Office detail.”
“You’ve been listed by Lamis-Odg.”
“Who don’t they want to kill?” Penelope dismissed the threat with a snort. “They’re a small planet of crackpots halfway across the galaxy. Anyone who disagrees with anything they believe is targeted. ”
“They can’t be ignored, Penelope. Their support is growing. They’ve been able to recruit the disgruntled and mentally unbalanced from many different planets, train them, and send them home. They’re like that malignancy eradicated in the 23rd century.”
“Cancer?”
“Yes, like cancer. They invade the host cell and turn it against itself. Lamis-Odg sympathizers are everywhere.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“I served as President of Terra United for ten years. I have classified information you haven’t had access to.”
“I have a greater chance of dying by having my PeeVee malfunction and crash than I do of being killed by a terrorist. I’m not going to let the specter of some lunatic fringe organization with imaginary grievances prevent me from doing my job. There’s no way I can meet with the Xenian emperor if I bring a bodyguard.”
“I had a hunch you’d say that.” Her mother lifted her chin. “If you don’t agree to the protection, you’ll be removed from the diplomatic mission.”
“With all due respect, Mother, you don’t have authority over the Department of Interplanetary Affairs. I’m going to Xenia and to the Summit on Malodonus alone.”
“Don’t believe that I don’t have influence because I’m no longer in office. Many people still owe me favors. I will contact the Minister of IA and have you reassigned.”
When your mother was ex-president, parental meddling occurred at a whole new level.
If she’d been a little less mature, Penelope might have stomped her foot and yelled, “You’re not the boss of me,” like she’d done when she was a teenager. Instead, she took a deep, calming breath and released it silently. “As you wish, Mother.”
Mikala clasped Penelope’s shoulders and kissed her forehead. “I know you find security an encumbrance, but it’s for the best.” She stepped back. “Your bodyguard will arrive tomorrow afternoon to escort you.”
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Other Books by Cara Bristol
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Cy-Ops Sci-fi Romance series
Stranded with the Cyborg (Book 1)
Mated with the Cyborg (Book 2)
Captured by the Cyborg (Book 3)
Trapped with the Cyborg (Book 4)
B
reeder series (Sci-fi romance)
Breeder (Book 1)
Terran (Book 2)
Warrior (Book 3)
Rod and Cane Society (Spanking romance/bdsm light)
Unexpected Consequences
False Pretenses
Body Politics
Disciplinary Measures
Reasonable Doubts
Irresistible Attractions
Other Titles
Destiny’s Chance (Paranormal romance)
Longing (Paranormal romance)
Goddess’s Curse (Fantasy romance)
Educating His Bride (Historical romance)
Long Shot (Corbin’s Bend spanking romance)
Stolen Moments (Romantic comedy)
Naughty Words for Nice Writers (Nonfiction/thesaurus)
Author Bio
USA Today bestselling author Cara Bristol has published more than twenty-five erotic romance titles, including contemporary and science fiction romance. No matter what the subgenre, one thing remains constant: her emphasis on character-driven seriously hot erotic stories with sizzling chemistry between the hero and heroine. Cara has lived many places in the United States, but currently resides in Missouri with her husband. She has two grown stepkids. When she’s not writing, she enjoys reading and traveling. To learn more about the author, visit her website at http://www.carabristol.com, friend her on Facebook, or sign up for her author newsletter.