“In training?”
“No. She’s already jumped off that cliff. I saw her robes. The Way of the Something-or-Other. Fully initiated.”
“Now I understand why you’re so tetchy. My advice—go to the pools, forget Lady Celibate and hook up with a Shareem groupie. Sate yourself, make your brain stop boiling. You’ll be fine.”
“Fuck you,” Braden said, but in a calmer voice.
Rees was such a hypocrite. If Braden suggested to Rees that he forget about Talan and get over her by sating himself on a woman who chased Shareem, Rees would come apart with rage.
Rees was partly right, though. Braden couldn’t have his librarian. She was celibate, off limits. End of story. He needed to get over it.
But there was a difference between physical satiation and being with a lady you wanted to be with.
Braden still wanted to compensate her, though, for what he’d done. Shareem had been bred in vats by cold-hearted geneticists for other people’s use. Braden had been experimented on, operated on, stuck full of shots every time he turned around. He knew what it felt like to be used for other people’s schemes.
Braden had caused a lot of trouble at DNAmo. He’d resisted taking his inoculations—which included sedatives and other creative drugs. If a woman they threw to him for sexual experiments was too afraid of him, Braden would refuse to touch her. This resulted in punishment—to Braden—but like hell he’d hurt the lady in question.
The stupid researchers never understood that level three wasn’t about obedience and pain—it was about care, protection and trust. The researchers expected to watch Braden put the woman in her place, but it didn’t work that way. If the lady had real fear, Braden refused to exploit it.
The handlers beat him with shock rods and gave him more inoculations when he didn’t cooperate, but so be it. Braden was strong enough to withstand the punishment, but some of the ladies who’d signed up for the experiments weren’t strong enough to take Braden, and he’d known that.
Shareem were supposed to be docile and do what they were told, until time to perform whatever sexual acts their clients wanted. Then they were to be the ultimate sex toy—until playtime was over. Then it was back to their rooms, sated and obedient.
Yeah, that had worked.
Braden had been created for other people’s use, and the fact that he had used the pretty librarian left a bad taste in his mouth.
He finished his ale, left the table and made his way across the room to the little hallway that held Judith’s public terminal. Braden put a call through to Rylan and asked him to pretty please make him a signing sphere. A very special one.
* * * * *
Two weeks later, Elisa returned home from her shift at the library to find an opaque white box sitting on the table in her foyer.
“What’s this?” she asked Alonda, her housekeeper, as the woman walked briskly through the hall.
Alonda stopped and peered at the crate. “I believe it’s a box, m’lady.”
“Very funny. Where did it come from?”
“Delivered by mail. Before that, I have no idea.” Alonda turned away and continued toward her domain in the back of the house, leaving Elisa alone.
Well, there was only one way to find out. Elisa set down her bag, slid off her sun-blocking robes, and hung them and her breath mask in the closet. She touched her thumb to the pad on the crate to indicate that she, the designated recipient, accepted the package.
Air hissed, and the sides of the crate slid back. Elisa’s mouth dropped open as she stared at a globe of pure crystal shot through with myriad colors. A faint hum, a beautiful note, rippled from it.
A singing sphere.
By all that was holy, a singing sphere.
It was larger than those she’d seen for sale for stupendous prices in Serestine Quarter galleries. A white light pulsed at the center of the globe, as though the heart of the sphere whispered to her.
The crystal had been mounted on a natural stone base, beautiful sandstone from the desert mountains. Etched into the stone were the words, For Elisa n’Arell, with thanks.
She remembered the deep, velvety voice of the Shareem in her library, the Shareem she’d thought about every minute of every day since she’d met him.
My friend makes them, he’d said in an offhanded way about the singing spheres, his blue eyes mesmerizing. And Elisa had said, I’ve always wanted one.
Elisa hadn’t told the Shareem her name. But the information wouldn’t have been difficult for him to discover. She was listed at the front door of the library as well as on the library’s fact site as head of reference, and she’d been sitting at the reference desk.
How the Shareem had discovered her name wasn’t a mystery. Why he’d sent the sphere was.
Elisa reached out and touched the crystal.
The sphere whispered with sound, growing more musical by the second. Ripples filled the air like a sweet chime. Beautiful.
This was an exquisite work of art, and worth a fortune. The Shareem had simply given it to her.
Alonda hurried back into the room. “M’lady, what—” She stopped. “Oh, how lovely. The Way of the Sky let you buy this? How nice of them.”
“No, it’s a gift. To me. For something I did for someone at the library.”
Alonda looked impressed. “Generous. It will look nice in that nook.” She pointed to a bare niche across from the front door. “Always thought that wall was too blank.”
“I shouldn’t keep it.” But it would break Elisa’s heart to let it go.
Part of taking the robes in the Way of the Sky meant living simply—for Bor Nargan women, this meant a house smaller than a mansion and a staff of only two or three. The women of the Way were to meet basic needs comfortably but without ostentation. Elisa was fine with the restrictions, liking her small house with its clean design and empty spaces. It was peaceful.
Singing spheres were considered luxuries. They were hideously expensive and entirely impractical. But so beautiful.
Alonda lifted the sphere in its base, carried it to the niche and set it inside. “There. That looks nice.” She dusted off her hands then took up the empty crate and carried it away.
Elisa studied the sphere as the waves of music sweetened the room. An amazing gift.
She walked down the hall to her study and sat at her terminal. Typing in her personal code, she gained clearance to the Ministry of Non-Human Life Forms’ database, and called up the files on Shareem.
* * * * *
“Braden’s House of Sex,” Braden rumbled as he keyed on his terminal. “I know all your desires and how to make them real— Well, shit.”
He was staring into the brown eyes of Elisa n’Arell, the pretty librarian who’d filled Braden’s dreams for the last two weeks with the dirtiest fantasies he’d ever conceived.
His mouth went dry. “Hey there, sweetheart. You found me.”
Elisa wet her lips, making him want to reach through the terminal and wet them for her. “You sent me the singing sphere.”
“Guilty.”
“Why?”
Braden made himself shrug. “You said you wanted one and I can get them, easy.”
“But you shouldn’t have.”
Elisa didn’t say that in the pleased way a woman tittered over a bauble—Oh, you shouldn’t have! Elisa really meant that Braden shouldn’t have done it.
“If you refuse it you’ll offend Rylan,” Braden said. “He made it especially for you. Plus, you’ll offend me, who bribed him into doing it. I might have to spank you, darlin’.”
He could feel her sweet ass under his palm already. Firm little buttocks, oh, so good. She’d squirm and squeal, and her skin would turn so prettily pink.
Elisa did the lip-wetting thing again. “I want to meet you.”
Hell yes.
Except—celibate. Forbidden. “Come on, sweet baby, don’t tease your Shareem.”
“I meant that I want to talk to you. Where can we meet?”
&nbs
p; In my bedroom, in an alley, in a garden. Wherever you want, honey. “Your library’s a good place.”
“No,” she said quickly. “And not my house, either. Someplace neutral.”
Nothing was neutral when a Shareem was involved.
Having the librarian come to Pas City where Braden lived was a bad idea. Not only might the slums scare a sweetie like her away, Rees wouldn’t be happy. The last two weeks had been quiet—no patrollers questioning why Braden had been to an uptown library, no one connecting the information Braden had snagged from the library terminal to Shareem. But still, Rees wanted to be careful. Which made sense, because their lives were on the line. All Shareem lives.
Rees, damn you, the things I do for you.
“Tell you what, darlin’,” Braden said. “I’ll grab a train and head up the hill to Serestine Station B and wait for you there. The last train back down leaves at midnight—if I don’t see you by then, I get on the train and go home, no questions asked. All right?”
They’d be in public so she wouldn’t worry about him ravishing her. Shareem couldn’t touch a lady until she gave him permission—programming again—but not everyone believed that.
The station was also a place where Elisa could remain robed and veiled, anonymous. If she got cold feet and wanted to back out, Braden would simply go home. Nothing lost.
Except a chance to see her again.
Elisa nodded, looking almost pleased. “An excellent idea. I will see you there.”
She signed off, leaving Braden to gaze at a blank screen.
His dirty fantasies reared their ugly heads again. Sex in a public place was fucking exciting, the possibility of being caught adding to the fun. Serestine Station B had nooks and crannies everywhere.
Elisa was celibate, sure, but that didn’t mean Braden couldn’t dream about being with her. He’d get her in a corner, hidden from the platform, and slide her robes off. Next her dress or whatever she wore underneath, until she stood naked against the painted wall. Her nipples would be dark and tight against creamy skin, her pussy already wet, moisture on her curls.
She’d smile at him with her pretty mouth while Braden commanded her to get on her knees. She’d do it, and then he’d order her to put that mouth on his cock.
He’d stand with his back to the station, screening her from view while she closed silken lips around him. She’s suck, lick, nibble, her hands stealing up to cup his ass.
Braden would stroke her hair, gently move his hips back and forth, back and forth. He’d watch her eyes close, her lips move on his cock, her tongue swipe around the tip. It would feel so fucking good, her mouth wet and hot, the suckling making him want to come and come.
She’d open her eyes and smile up at him, cock still full in her mouth. Braden would loosen her hair until it spread over her bare back, sinking his fingers into its softness. Elisa’s fingers would bite into his ass, and then she’d snake one finger to his anus, sliding it inside just enough to make him wild.
Fucking good.
Too good. Braden’s man was standing tall, pissed off at him for thinking about what he couldn’t have.
Jerking off would release him, but Braden’s hand was becoming boring company. It never laughed at his jokes or made good conversation. He could find another female—Judith, maybe, who was always willing to help a Shareem release—but Braden didn’t like to think about one woman when he was with another. Unfair to all members of the equation.
Braden stripped off his tunic and loincloth, took up the bottle of lube always kept handy and squirted some onto his cock.
“Elisa,” he whispered as he smoothed the lube onto his erection. His fingers soothed him slightly, but not enough. They’d never be enough.
Braden moved his closed hand up to his tip, tickling the slit with his thumb before sliding back down. He got off the chair, put one foot up on the table and glided his hand down to his balls, which were hard and tight, hot.
He patted his balls a little, trying to comfort himself, but nothing was working. He ran the heel of his hand up his cock again, closing his fist around it when he reached the top.
Back down, up again. More lube. Stroke, pull, squeeze. Stroke, pull, squeeze.
“Elisa.” Gods, what a beautiful name. Just saying it made him want her.
“I have your mouth all over me, sucking and licking, making me come. My come is all over your face, and you’re laughing. I bend you over and spank your ass for laughing at me. It’s so red. It feels so good, your tight, sweet ass under my hand.
“I’m shoving you against the wall and you’re still smiling at me. Your pussy is so wet, your come trickling over your legs. I stick my cock right into that wetness, going up into your pussy until you stop laughing. You tell me how big I am as I wedge into your tightness. You don’t know if you can take me.
“But you do take me, more and more. You’re so hot and wet that you open for me, and take my twelve-inch Shareem cock as far as it will go.
“Then you start moaning, making all those beautiful noises you’d make when you’re fucked. My whole body presses against you, your breasts hard on my chest, your nipples scraping me. Your nails rake down my back, your feet press my ass as you hang on.
“I’m fucking you, fucking you so hard, so good, and you are so damn tight. So damn, damn tight, my Elisa…”
Words faded as Braden’s mind went blank to all sensation but friction on cock. His body knew it wasn’t Elisa, so it was nowhere near as good. But hell, right now this was all he had.
Braden’s cock got tighter, harder, his body hotter than hell—or Bor Narga, whichever was worse. He felt the come, the jerking pulses, the need to squirt all over Elisa and inside her.
“Damn, woman, I want your pussy,” he moaned.
Then he screamed, “Elisa!” And came all over the place.
Braden braced himself on the wall, nearly sobbing with the relief of his orgasm. Ropes of come circled his fingers, the cream of a man who was dying for a woman. He was breathing hard, fast, panting. Braden threw his head back, his hips moving faster.
Fuck, fuck. Fuck!
And then it was over. Braden fell against the wall, panting in release.
He felt a tiny bit better but it wasn’t as good, not nearly as good, as being inside Elisa. Elisa would be perfection.
Once Braden could walk again he staggered into his bathroom. A towel beckoned from the rack and he grabbed it, wrapping it around his too-sensitive cock.
Braden groaned. He daydreamed of Elisa’s slim fingers, so efficient on the library terminal. What would they feel like gently cleaning him off with the towel?
Aw, damn it.
His cock was rising again. Braden slammed on his water shower, stepped under the hot stream and let his hand have its wicked way with him again.
* * * * *
Braden checked the time readout on the train platform for the zillionth time. A quarter of an hour to midnight, and Elisa still hadn’t shown.
She wasn’t going to—Braden had figured that by now. He’d have to go home again, back to his fantasies, back to another shower and another bottle of lube. He’d jerked off so many times his hand was going to start demanding candy and jewelry.
The last train left at midnight, and if Braden didn’t get on it, the two female patrollers who wandered the platform would arrest him. Maybe stun-gunning him just for fun.
Patrollers were trained to resist the calming effect of Shareem pheromones, some patrollers better at it than others. Rees, the master, rendered their resistance training useless—Rees could make the patrollers not take notice of him or forget what they were about to ask him. They always neglected to demand his ident card, the shit. When another Shareem was with Rees, he could extend that fuzzy forgetfulness to both of them, but Braden was on his own tonight.
These patrollers had been eyeing Braden since he’d arrived, watching him lounge on a bench drinking coffee as hovertrain after hovertrain went back to Pas City without him.
They
moved toward Braden now, ready to be pains in his ass.
“You’ve been here a long time, Shareem,” one said.
She spoke in the sneering, condescending tone that all patrollers used. They must take seminars in sneering.
“Yeah?” Braden said. “So have you.”
“It’s our job to be here,” the second said. Yep, same seminar.
“Must be rough having nothing to do but follow a man around a train station,” Braden said.
“You’re not a man,” the second one said.
Suck me, woman.
The first one held out her hand. “Let me see your ident card.”
“Why? You can look me up in the database. My picture’s in there. Not my best shot, but you get the idea.”
“Ident card.”
Fuckers. A Shareem refusing to give a patroller an ident card would be immediately arrested. If Braden got hauled off to the nearest patrol station he’d miss Elisa, who still had ten minutes.
Braden tugged a piece of plastic from the belt that also housed his breath mask and slapped the card into the woman’s hand. Without thanking him, she tucked the card into her handheld and frowned at the readout.
“You’re the one called Braden.”
“So glad you can read.”
“Looks like you’re due for your inoculations soon. Why haven’t you gotten them?”
Because Braden hated his six-month inoculations and put them off until the last possible minute. Back at DNAmo he’d never known exactly what they were going to shoot into him, and sometimes they’d had to hold him down to do it.
The only medic he went to now was Katarina, his best friend’s lover and a friend in her own right. Katarina mixed the concoction herself and told Braden exactly what was in it, and he trusted her. But Braden’s old fears died hard.
The inoculations were redundant, because every known disease had been programmed out of Shareem genetics from the get-go. All diseases, not just sexually transmitted ones.
The shots also kept the Shareem from reproducing, which, to Braden, showed a big flaw in the “Shareem aren’t human” idea. If Shareem weren’t human, why were humans so worried about Shareem making babies? Even if a Shareem managed to make a child, then logically—if Shareem weren’t human—that child would be sterile. Like mules. Automatic end of problem.
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