by Cathryn Cade
* * *
VX-900 sat on the divan in the now silent office, hands still on his thighs. Silent except for the slight fuzz of static in his ear, that is.
He wasn't sure what to do about that. He was used to hearing directions from his creator, or the low periodic clicks and beeps that said he was being surveilled, even if Dr. Blu didn't speak. But when VX had been sent to keep Ilya Mondas busy, both previous times he had received a steady stream of instructions and comments while he was in her company, even while he was fucking her.
Fucking her ... ah, that had been no hardship at all. Other females called him to their hotel rooms, and ordered him to do things to them, for them. He did whatever they asked, and his cock performed as demanded, along with his hands and his mouth, but he didn't always enjoy the encounter. It was something he did because he must, like eating the plain food he and his companions were served, or fighting when he was told.
With Ilya Mondas, it had been very enjoyable. She smelled good, fresh and honest, and her pussy was juicy and slick without the aid of lotions, her body taut. Her skin was so soft, and her strong legs had felt very good wrapped around his hips, drawing him into her even though she was so tight around him he'd barely fit.
He'd enjoyed that tightness, as well as the feel of her in his hands, and the smell of her clean skin and hair, the heady scent of her aroused pussy. He'd been pleased when she told suckle her tight little nipples. Perhaps next time she’d ask him to lick her pussy, he would like that even more.
And he'd come very hard. It had felt good, the best. He'd wanted to stay with her, use a damp cloth to clean his cum from her, see if she wanted more. But Dr. Blu had ordered him back to the cyborg quarters immediately, so all he'd had time to do was inform her how to pay for his service. A cyborg argued with the doctor at a harsh cost.
She hadn't liked that abrupt ending to their sex. He tightened his grip on his knees, remembering. She'd looked like one of his opponents in the pit, after he delivered a hard, bruising blow, one that knocked the wind out of them, and then hurt when they tried to breath. Like they were containing the pain behind a tough facade, but feeling it.
He shifted on the soft leather, and rubbed his hands on his thighs. He didn't like remembering that look on her face. It made him have a strange feeling in his chest. The same feeling he got when he had to kill an opponent in the arena, one who'd fought honorably, and should be left to heal, to fight another day. It was wrong. It was ... not him.
Except why he had this notion, he didn't even know. It made his head ache to try and delve into his motivations, even worse to search for any memories beyond this place, so mostly he didn't try. He simply existed, fighting, fucking, refueling and training.
Now he focused on the softness of his seat, and the clean smell of these quarters, the faint traces of her that lingered even after she'd stomped away to her bedroom suite. She'd been angry with him, for offering to give her sex again. He frowned to himself. It was one of the reasons he'd been created, so why had his offer to give her sex angered her?
After a long moment in which his head began to pound again, he shrugged. She was angry a lot of the time, and her anger was aimed as much at others as him. Also, divining the emotions of the females who visited this place was not his job.
He was VX-900, a cybernetically enhanced human male. Made to fight and to give sex. He was intended to think for himself in the battle arena, not out of it.
He frowned again, shifting uneasily. He should be receiving instructions on what to do.
A chime signaled the arrival of her meal. Relief filled him as he rose and walked to open the office doors. At least this was a task he understood.
* * *
Ilya took her sweet time in her quarters. She flung herself onto one of the plush divans in the bedroom to link Dano.
His dark, pretty face—because there was no other way to describe a male with eyelashes that long and lips that soft and lush—appeared instantly, as if he'd been waiting for her in the main room of his tont. Come to think of it, he probably had. Moving camp wasn't quite as exciting as a trip to the Pleasure Palace. You still ended up in the same tont, with the same gear, just a different view from the holovid cams atop the roof.
“Ilya,” Dano cried, his dark eyes alight. “Tell me everyth—” He stopped in mid-word and stared at her, his mouth open. Ilya grinned back at the slim man, who wore an embroidered caftan, and bangles on one arm, a gilded collar around his throat with a dangling bangle.
Without a word, he twirled on finger. She rose and turned in a circle for him, then sank back onto the divan, posing as if ready for a sexy publicity shot.
“What d'you think?” she asked. “You like me?”
“Oh my great God beyond,” her friend breathed. “It's a miracle. A long prayed for miracle. I must go and sacrifice my favorite silk undies in thanks.”
Ilya snorted. “Orson would be rezzed. How about you just calm down and enjoy the new me?”
“Did someone force you into a salon at laser-point?” he asked, scanning her avidly. “Oooh, I want those boots. You know we wear almost the same size, gimme.”
“We do not, liar. But I'll buy you a larger pair and send 'em down, seeing as I'm now the CEO of this great, floating credit cave.”
“Wait right there.” He darted to the tont's open doorway and shrieked, “Riga! Yoo-hoo! Come here now! Bring the baby, just come!”
Ilya rolled her eyes as her friend ducked back into the spacious tont he shared with his lover, one of the band's warriors. Riga was at his side, her long, dark red hair flying in a breeze that also whirled her long skirts as she came in the tont door.
“I left the baby with Liv,” she said breathlessly. Her eyes widened as Dano's had. “Ilya, is that you? Girl, you look stellar.”
She and Dano sank back onto the pile of cushions strewn cozily on the carpet, eying Ilya with fascination. “So you've decided to become a high-powered executive, then.”
Ilya made a disparaging sound. “Not exactly. I'm just here long enough to make sure Vadyal's slime is off the floors. Then I'll ... I don't know, move on.”
Riga frowned. “But running that place is perfect for you. Where else would you go, love?”
“I don't know. Somewhere. I'll have my—our share of the profits from this place, unless something goes wrong.”
Dano frowned. “What's gonna go wrong? Are some of Vadyal's people still lurking around there?”
“I'm not sure,” she said, trying for casual as if it was no big deal.
They both eyed her with concern. “You need to let Stark know,” Riga said. “Those slimers are ruthless as Ingoes.”
“Nah, I'm not pestering the new sheriff with vague suspicions.” Ilya waved the suggestion away. She wasn't facing Joran Stark again for anything that didn't involve imminent death or dismemberment.
“Well, then link us if you find any baddies,” Dano said. “'Cause no one kicks ass like this band, Il Zhazid or no.”
She nodded. “You got it. And hey, we're not that far from you out here—in fixed orbit, y'know. Come out and see me sometime.” Because I miss you like hells, she wanted to add, but that sounded weak. And she couldn't afford to be anything but tough as cerametal, not now.
“Maybe we will,” Riga said. “We'll make the guys bring us for some fun. We can have a look around at the same time, make us all feel better.”
Ilya hoped they waited until she'd figured out what the big secret was that Playa and Bek didn't want to talk about. Her friends were inquisitive, and if they got to poking around, who knows what trouble they might end up in, especially Haro and Qala.
Ryder was an unknown quantity—hadn't been with the band but a few months. Ilya had the sense that the lean blond man had hidden depths. But right now, he was the least of her worries. And damnit, she missed these people.
“Come anytime,” she offered, flinging out an arm to indicate her plush surroundings. “Your visit will be on the house tab. You're part owners t
oo.”
“We are, aren't we?” Dano breathed. Then his eyes widened in glee. “So, tell us—what are the sex workers like? Do they give you a lot of trouble? Have you had any cata-fights on your hands?”
Ilya rolled her eyes. “I told you, it's not a brothel.”
Riga gave her a look. “It's called the 'Pleasure Palace'. There must be plenty of prostitutes there.”
Oh, there were all right ... and she'd been up close and personal with one herself. Not that she was about to admit that to her friends.
“Yeah, there are some. They're not my problem.”
“Your meal has arrived,” VX's deep voice murmured in Ilya's ear. Even though he was in the other room, she jumped like a mawwr whose double tails had been stepped on.
Her friends stared. “What's wrong?” Dano demanded.
Unaccountably, her cheeks burned under the cosmetics. “Uh, nothing. Just business. Time for me to go. Link you soon.”
“Okay.” Her friends looked startled, but Ilya broke the link. As soon as their images disappeared, she hopped up, took a steadying breath, and walked back to her office.
VX stood guarding a huge hovertray, loaded with sandwiches, fruit and veg and salty crisps. An array of drinks also graced the tray, decorated with typical lavish Palace style with gold-rimmed dishes and a bouquet of edible blooms that looked like rolled sugar and chocolate.
Ilya pointed at the divan. “Sit.”
VX sat.
She guided the tray over to the divan, and perched beside the 'borg. “Help yourself. No one around but us, so no one cares if you break those rules of yours.”
She munched a slice of crisp green veg and watched him ponder her words. He cocked his head, as if he were puzzled by something only he observed.
“I'm running a scrambler,” she told him with a smirk. “So if you're waiting for permission from whoever's in your com, you're not gonna get it.”
His gaze swung her way, his huge body tensing. Ilya held her breath, not even chewing her mouthful of veg as she watched his jaw flex, his muscles tighten, his huge hands flexing on his thighs.
“You should not do that,” he rumbled. “I am to be available for instructions at all times. I am here to ...” he paused, as if searching for the words.
She watched his lips part, the edge of his strong, white teeth, the soft pink of his inner lip and tongue. She swallowed hard, and nearly choked on the chewed-up veg. Okay, mind off the big guy's mouth, and how she'd like to put more than words in it.
“You're here to be my guard,” she reminded him. “My guard. That means I get to decide what you do. And right now, I want you to eat. You need the nutrition, so do I.”
His eyes narrowed behind the mask, and for a long moment he glared at her, his head lowering slightly, his chest flexing so the muscles under his golden skin quivered, as if he was about to charge.
Uh-oh. Nervous sweat pricked under her arms, and the palms of her hands. Shit, if she showed the slightest fear he'd be on her, with a predatory reflex as old as time. Ilya knew it down to her bones. To do what, she didn't know. But this was a contest of wills, and one she was determined to win. Why it was so important that he share her meal, she didn't care to examine. He would do so.
Holding his gaze, Ilya reached out and picked up a portion of artfully sliced sandwich, and took a bite. “Mmm,” she approved.
And if it sounded more like a throaty moan of sexual pleasure, she could ignore that, as she ignored the heat that flashed through her each time she found herself the cynosure of his gaze, even filled with dangerous frustration as it was now.
The sandwich was truly delicious, some kind of thinly sliced white meat with a tangy, salty sauce and the crunch of fresh greens. She took another bite and chewed. Swallowing, she picked up another sandwich, and held it to his lips.
“Eat.”
He glowered at her, but then his nostrils flared as he inhaled the scent of the morsel. He swallowed, as if salivating. His eyes narrowed and his lips curled to reveal his strong, white teeth. Ilya's hand trembled as she fought the urge to yank her hand away. Shit, he looked pissed enough to bite her fingers off with the sandwich.
Slowly, as if compelled, his lips parted just enough for her to slip the food into his mouth. Still glowering at her, he began to chew. A chunk of green hung from his teeth, flapping like a silly little flag as he chewed.
Ilya grinned at him. “Close your mouth when you chew, big guy.”
He swiped his tongue out to capture the lettuce, closed his mouth and swallowed.
“Why?” he asked.
“Why what?”
His gaze bored into hers. “Why close my mouth to chew?”
Ilya raised her brows at him. Then she held up another sandwich. “Because this—this is pretty. When it's half-chewed, not so pretty. Euww.”
He frowned. “What is ... ee-yoo?”
“I dunno, it's a female thing, I guess. Anyway, good?” She held the piece of sandwich out to him.
He moved his jaw as if testing the taste still on his tongue. Then his gaze fell to the food in her hand, and he made a low rumble of approval. “Good.”
Her heart swelled with a pang. She'd heard that before when Var was enjoying a food he really liked. Gah, stop comparing this guy to Var. He was a stranger, a 'borg and a big, muscular, gorgeous nuisance, that was all.
“Stellar,” she said gruffly. She grabbed another piece of sandwich, a handful of crisps and some gremel fruit and veg onto one of the plates, snagged a bottle of cold tea, then nudged the hovertray nearer him. “Eat up. It's all yours, except what's on this plate. This's mine.”
The huge, muscular borg, who could crush her skull between his two hands, her throat in one hand, looked to her as if not sure she really meant for him to have all that food.
“Go ahead, eat.” She bit the top off her recyclable bottle and took a drink of tea. it was cold and strong and a little sweet, just the way she like it.
And even sweeter was watching VX get into eating the meal. The 'borg picked up each new viand, examined with his gaze, sniffed it, and then put it in his mouth. She could tell when he really liked something, because he scanned for the next available piece as he chewed, and stuffed it in his mouth as soon as he'd swallowed.
He tolerated veg, but he liked gremel fruit, and he quarking loved moonberries, yamas and sandwiches. The salty crisps he crunched through and then chugged an entire bottle of water.
Finally, he let out a belch that Ilya was pretty sure they could hear down in the galleys, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The tray was nearly empty, except for a few lumpy, purple veg. Ilya understood—she couldn't stand those herself.
“Should've gotten you some chocolate crispies,” she said, smiling as she popped a last moonberry in her mouth. “We'll get those next time.”
He considered this. “What is ... choc'laht? “
“What is chocolate?” She shook her head, and drained her tea bottle. Only one way to explain the dark, creamy treat. “It's like sex—you have to experience it to understand.”
“Is not ee-yoo?” he asked. Ilya eyed him, sure she saw a glint of humor in those dark eyes.
“Chocolate is the opposite of euww,” she assured him. Then she spied the bouquet still gracing the tray. “Here, this looks like chocolate.”
Plucking the tallest bloom, which was dark brown with a pink center, she held it out to VX. His wide mouth curled up at one corner, and his nostrils flared. “No one eats the ... uh ...”
“The centerpiece?” she supplied helpfully. “This one you do. Open up.”
He pressed his lips together. But then his gaze blanked, and he opened his mouth obediently. Something about his abrupt submission left Ilya feeling ill, as if she'd booted a mawwr or something. She dropped the chocolate flower on the tray, where it landed on a plate that was empty except for crumbs.
“Shit, sorry. Of course you don't have to try it,” she said. “Your choice.” She took a breath, and blew it out, f
rowning at him.
“Everyone gets to make choices in my world,” she said, resolve hardening in her like cerametal. “And that includes you and however many other 'borgs are on this place. I'm gonna see to that.”
She rose, plucked another flower, this one white chocolate with lavender piping, and then stared at it, wondering why she'd plucked the thing from the centerpiece.
The 'borg gazed at her expressionlessly, as if she were speaking in a language his translator could not parse. “If you do not wish me to guard you, what would you have me do? I await your commands.”
Her hand moved, seemingly of its own accord, and before she thought, Ilya threw the flower at him. It bounced off his hard, hollowed cheek and fell to the tray.
“Nothing!” she snarled. “I don't want you to do anything. I want you to go away and leave me alone. Stop—” Stop tempting her, when he wasn't really available, not of his own free will. And when he wasn't the man she really wanted.
Except that he sat there, with a smear of white chocolate by his mouth from the candy she'd thrown, and she wanted to lick it off.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
VX lifted one hand and batted the tray out of the way. It sailed away, the bouquet falling with a clash of utensils and crockery. He was breathing hard, his massive chest rising and falling, his fingers digging into his thighs.
“If you do not want me, I go now,” he said, his deep voice a mere husk of sound.
Ilya stood there, mesmerized by the look in his dark eyes. “Why?”
He swallowed, his throat working. “Because ... my body wants to fuck you. And your body is ready too, but your voice says no.”
Ilya forgot to breathe. “But, can't you just ... ask me?”
Slowly he moved his head in negation. “It is not my place. Your wish is my command.”
“Oh,” she sighed, giving in to the beguiling heat between them. “Well, in that case ... you should stay. But I'm not commanding you—I'm just .. I'm asking. You can say no if you want.”
He stared at her for a long, suffocating moment. Then he licked his lower lip with one swipe of that pink tongue. “I say, yes.”