by Eve Langlais
“Nice place,” she remarked, glancing around as she strode to the large island set in the middle, strewn already with bits of wire and other electronic junk. Lowqi had to sweep a section clean before she could deposit the crate holding the drone.
“Not the most sturdy of rooms. They’ve yet to create a glass strong enough to withstand the vicious cyclones that come through a few times a year.”
“So why not set up inside the house instead?” she asked, turning to lean against the worktable edge.
Lowqi swept a hand. “And miss this view?”
“Good point.” She pulled the drone from the crate and set it down.
Lowqi immediately approached and leaned over to peruse. “This is an interesting model,” he remarked upon seeing it. “Custom made.”
“How can you tell?”
“The design for one thing. All the drones on the market have a certain thing that sets them apart.”
“Can you tell who made it?” she asked. Because if it were someone other than Snypes, then she might need to have a chat with them.
“No distinguishing mark on the front.” He flipped it over and showed a sigil etched into it. “No signature either, and yet this indicates number fourteen of fifty-one.”
“Fifty-one? Are you sure?” Because Zak, the only one of them with actual video recording ability, had replayed the data from their invasion of Snype’s workshop. It showed only fifty drones departing with pieces of the God Gear.
The look Lowqi cast her showed reproach. “Are you going to question everything I say?”
No. Because, in this, he was the expert.
“What else can you tell me?”
Running a handheld scanner over it, he mumbled, “Traces of latmevilium.” Confirming what she knew. “A mash of other metals in there. Simple core processor.”
“Can you tell if it had a specific destination?”
“Maybe. I’ll have to connect to it and see what information is stored.”
“Keep an eye open as well for possible routes of the other fifty.”
“Do I dare ask what used to be in its storage compartment?” He shone a light in the opening.
“Gears.”
“Must be special ones given your interest.”
Lowqi might be a friend; however, that didn’t mean she trusted him enough to reveal her reasons. “All cogs are special,” she said, hedging.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” She brow creased in puzzlement.
“Your very reticence is an answer.”
That thinned her lips. The problem with people becoming friends? They began to know her too well.
“Hmmm.” Lowqi hummed.
“What? Did you find something?”
Rather than reply, he whirled, searching for a new device that he placed on the drone. He then scribbled some notes in the air that lit and hung as if actually drawn on something.
“You found a clue.”
“Maybe.” He stopped and gave her a look. “But I won’t find it if you keep interrupting. Go. Relax. Eat. Sleep. Bathe. I don’t care what you do, but leave me that I might work.”
In other words, stop watching over his shoulder.
“Fine,” she snapped, stalking toward the door.
A glance back showed Lowqi once more engrossed in the drone, taking it apart with specialized tools, making notations in the air that would automatically transcribe and be saved for study later.
Fascinating…for Lowqi perhaps. He was right. She could do nothing here. So she went and found some food.
The replicator she located in the kitchen must have cost a fortune because it spit out some of the most delicious food she’d ever eaten. Not that she trusted it right away. She tested it with her finger for poison and even then tossed bits of it at the birds kept in a cage. Brilliantly colored, with long plumes dangling from their heads, they ate what she gave and didn’t die.
After her meal, she took a walk in the garden, almost shooting the tiny orange lizard that ran over her foot. She didn’t hesitate to pulverize the much larger arachnid that followed not long after.
The gardens, with their panoply of bright blooms and peaceful sounds, soon bored. She’d yet to catch a glimpse of Wulff.
Wait. Surely that wasn’t the reason why she wandered aimlessly. Did she expect him to be spying on her?
Truthfully? Kind of. Lowqi had implied Wulff experienced jealousy. Well, wouldn’t a jealous male want to know what she did—and stop it?
Apparently not.
Annoyed, she headed for the wing with the guest rooms. The four closed doors mocked her when she arrived. How to know which one he chose?
Rather than boldly knock to find out, she pressed her ear to the portal. Heard nothing.
Feeling a tad stupid, she nonetheless listened at the next as well. Silence.
Perhaps the doors were too thick.
When there was no sound at the third, she began to move away. Then she heard a faint mumbling. Then a thump.
Now that she knew which one to avoid, she chose the room farthest from him. Entering, she paid little mind to the décor. What did she care of the massive bed with soft linen or the view of the beach as the sun set?
She headed for the bathing chamber where she soaked in a hot, scented tub. It should have relaxed and eased her body; however, tension kept her taut. She needed to do something a little extra to fix it. And screw any cameras watching.
No need to lick a finger with the water making her damp. She touched herself between the thighs, the nub of her clitoris already swollen. The gear piercing it sensitive to her touch. A twist and tug was all it took to have her squirming.
As she played with her piercing with one hand, she slid her other farther between her thighs. She worked a finger against her sex back and forth, spreading her labia, eyes closed and teasing herself.
Imagining someone touching her. Not just anyone.
Wulff.
A big and burly presence between his legs, rubbing that scruffy jaw against her inner thigh. Tickling her sensitive flesh when he licked her.
The very thought had her nipples puckering, and she undulated in the water, her hands working faster.
Tweaking her clit. Penetrating her sex. She seesawed fingers in and out, feeling her channel clenching. Needing.
Wanting something bigger and thicker to fill her.
How thick would Wulff be? She’d never seen him truly nude, but it didn’t take much imagination. She’d stared at him often enough. Noticed the bulge below his waist.
A man of his strength would be able to handle a little roughness. To hold on while she rode with wild abandon.
Thrusting her fingers ever faster, a small moan escaped her. Would he try to take control, flip her onto her back that he might plunge into her?
The very idea sent a shudder through her. A hot desire that had her flesh and pleasure coiling.
Would he kiss her? Touch her? Look into her eyes and perhaps even love her?
Her body arched in the tub as she orgasmed. Her sex clutched, squeezing her fingers. She was limp after, and yet no more relaxed because Wulff had brought a new level to her masturbation.
Could she not escape him? She just wanted an end to the turmoil in her mind and the ache between her thighs. Perhaps she should return to the workshop and insist Lowqi do his thing and see if it helped assuage her resurgent desire for Wulff.
Yet the idea of letting Lowqi between her thighs was repugnant. Instead, she grabbed a towel and headed for the beach. Even this late in the day, with the suns having set, the sand retained its warmth.
Her toes, bare—a rarity for her—dug into the silky texture as she headed for the waves. Their gentle swell called to her. She wore only a form-fitting body suit, eschewing some of the more tantalizing outfits others chose. She had her goggles protecting her eyes as well. Just in case. One never knew what kind of microbes could infect the body.
Wading into the warm water, she waited until it came to mid-thi
gh before throwing herself forward. She swam, slow measured strokes that eased her body, relaxing it as she fell into a steady rhythm.
Her mind, though, proved more resistant. So much turmoil and all over one male.
Why did he have to go and kiss her? She’d been doing well fighting his allure until that moment. Now it was all she could think of.
One stupid kiss.
Better than any fantasy she’d ever entertained.
Hotter than any other kiss she’d experienced.
Would the sex be just as good?
Probably. Yet, there remained a problem. What happened after?
Say she slept with Wulff, good sex or not, it wouldn’t matter. The dynamic between them would change. Which, in turn, would change her place in the crew. If things didn’t work out between her and Wulff—a very distinct possibility—then she would be the one without a group to fall back on. Without the only friends she’d ever truly had.
Her brother would still be there for her, but his friendship with Wulff would take a beating. All because she had a throbbing between her legs that she wanted him to fix.
Caught in her own thoughts, she didn’t realize how far she’d gone until the swell of the waves caught her and lifted her as if in a giant watery fist.
Treading water, moving her legs in a counter-clockwise motion, she noticed the night sky appeared darker than it should, missing any signs of stars. Clouds had rolled in, dark menacing ones. The wind rose with the coming storm, whipping the waves into a frothy frenzy that kept her bobbing, flotsam at the ocean’s mercy.
She needed to return to shore. She began swimming in earnest, the rumble of thunder ominous in the distance. At least that meant the lightning remained far away
Kicking with her legs and pulling with her arms, she fought against the waves that tried to sweep her farther from shore. The headway she managed barely made a dent. Siyborgh strength didn’t count for much as the storm made the ocean its mistress. The water reacted to the wind’s call, the waves rising higher and higher, lifting her enough that she got a fabulous view of the island, its tiny glowing lights too far for safety.
Would she die ignobly, buried by the waves, drowning, perhaps no one even knowing until one day her bones washed upon the shore? It couldn’t end like this. Yet, she saw no way to save herself.
“Ursy!”
She barely heard the shout over the whistle of wind in between crashes of thunder. As another wave lifted her, she saw Wulff on the beach, a big bulky shape. He ripped off his shirt before diving in.
How did he figure that would help? The strength he’d need to pull them both to safety was more than even he possessed. That didn’t deter him. He sluiced toward her, aided by the storm, the waves moving him forward so that he appeared to fly through the ocean.
Coming to her rescue. How defeminizing. A strong female, she was capable of saving herself.
As if to mock her, the sudden swell of a wave pushed her under, forcing her to close her mouth lest her lungs fill by accident. Her lack of caution on a strange world was about to kill her, and his heroism would probably cost Wulff his life, too.
Upon bobbing to the surface, she realized she couldn’t see Wulff. Not a single blob marred the surface of the water. She cast her gaze about frantically. Surely he’d not drowned. Perhaps the rough water hid him.
She ran a finger over her lenses, changing them to one that sought heat. There was nothing to indicate a body. The subtle pink hue of the water consistent with nothing darker.
He was gone. Dead trying to save her.
It filled her with a deep sadness that had her relaxing all her limbs. Which, of course, was when something grabbed her!
The thing beneath the waves clutched her tight and yanked her under water. Pulled her down, down, down, even as she thrashed and fought to get back to the top. Peering down, she could see nothing through the murk, but she could feel herself being drawn to the bottom.
What happened to the ocean being dead? Whatever grabbed hold had probably killed Wulff.
She reached for the knife she kept holstered by her side. Good thing she never went around unarmed. Fingers around the hilt, she did her best to bend and slash at the thing gripping her ankle, only it moved too fast. The pressure of the water conspired against her, and the rush of bubbles blinded even her goggles.
Meanwhile her lungs ached. The strain of holding her breath making itself felt. She could last a few ticks of the cog under water, but having not yet upgraded her ability to breathe, she’d drown if she didn’t get air soon.
The thing tugging at her hit the bottom, and her momentum slowed as she came level, agitated sand suspended in the water and rising bubbles blinding her still. But that didn’t stop her knife from striking. It hit flesh, and there was a bellow, even under water.
She paused before slicing again and blinked. The turmoil around them settled, the storm not able to reach this deep, and her heat-sensing goggles showed a shape before her.
A humanoid form.
She rolled her fingers on the goggles, changing the lenses to her aquatic version, only it was too dark. Another click turned on the lights, illuminating none other than Wulff.
Very much alive, despite the red blood threading from his bicep. His fleshy eye was closed, meaning his bionic one winked at her. Bubbles emerged from his chest, and she noticed the fine line of vents on his rib cage.
The bastard had an upgrade, one that let him filter air from the water. Must be nice. Her own lungs protested the lack. She stared overhead, seeing nothing but water and more water.
Could she make it?
She kicked from the bottom, only she didn’t get far before his hand clamped around her ankle, pulling her back. He dragged her into his embrace and slanted his mouth over hers.
She gave in, melting against him. At least if she died, it would be while they kissed.
10
“Impossible? Nothing is impossible with the right gear.” – The Mighty Mecha Bible
When Wulff mashed his mouth against Ursy’s, he expected her to fight. For one thing, she’d made it clear their last kiss left her unimpressed and possibly even more annoyed with him than before. Secondly, he’d seen the way she struggled for air, and here he was holding her prisoner.
But he had a good reason. He shared his breath. A completely altruistic kiss.
Did that mean he didn’t enjoy the feel of her mouth against his?
Oh, he liked it, make no mistake. He took great pleasure out of having his mouth latched to hers, giving her air. Enjoyed even more the way she clung to him, legs locked around his waist, arms holding him tight while he plodded along the bottom, the weight of his boots increased with just a press of a button. Better to walk along the bottom than deal with the rough seas on the surface.
Wulff still recalled that moment of heart-stopping horror when he’d emerged onto the wind-tossed beach in time to see Ursy go under a gigantic wave. He’d only been on the beach by accident, drawn by the allure of a storm rolling in, hoping to bask in its wild fury.
Slightly panicked, he didn’t pause to ensure Ursy needed his help before he threw himself into the water. He saw her in danger and acted. A good thing that he came to her rescue.
She almost died.
Did her relief at foiling death taint the kiss of life they shared? Nope. She felt sweet against his mouth. Her lips pliable, her tongue a lithe thing he longed to feel elsewhere.
He gave her air, finding a certain eroticism in the fact they shared one breath.
So much to enjoy, such as the way she fit perfectly in his arms. How her legs were just the right length to lock around him. Her arms twined around his neck, and not to snap it.
Still a possibility knowing Ursy. After all, he’d saved her, which meant she’d be royally annoyed once they reached shore and reality intervened. Best enjoy the moment while he could.
He deepened the embrace, his tongue twisting with hers, his hands slipping from around her torso to cup her buttocks.
What a perfect handful.
As if she heard him, she tightened her legs around him, grinding her mound against him. The pressure of her against his arousal brought a groan, which she swallowed.
She roused him with simple foreplay. Fully clothed, and yet he couldn’t remember being harder. It made him wonder if he’d be able to hold on long enough to get inside her, feel the silken fist of her channel.
His fingers dug and rubbed her firmly against him. A shudder went through her along with a drawn-out moan that vibrated against his teeth.
Their lips remained busy for the entire walk back to the beach, and even as he emerged from the waves, and the wind-whipped raindrops struck his skin, he kept kissing her, groaning into her mouth, ready to place her on the wet sand and drive into her. He throbbed something fierce, and every time she shuddered and squeezed him tighter, he almost came.
“Here or a bed?” he growled into her mouth.
Big mistake.
First off, because she stopped kissing him. She shoved away from him, causing him to stumble as she leapt to the ground and gave her head a shake that sluiced water from her hair, leaving it in wild spikes.
“Nowhere, Woofy.” She eyed him with a smile. “I can breathe on my own now.”
He couldn’t. His heart raced erratically. He almost asked if she was screwing with him, except he knew Ursy. Knew this was still part of her torture, payback for him saying he wasn’t interested.
He’d been only an unenhanced youth of fifteen major rotations. How was he to know he’d change his mind?
Ursy knew. Hence why she cursed him.
As if they weren’t in the midst of a raging storm with waves licking higher and higher on the beach, reaching for them, she wrung out her hair. She dragged her fingers through the short strands, leaving it in spikes.
“Where’d you get the breathing upgrade?” she asked.
No, thank you for saving me. No, let’s go back to my room and finish what we started. And judging by the smirk hinting around her lips?
She knew exactly what she did.
On purpose.