by Atkins, Dawn
“You’re perfect, Rena,” he breathed, running his thumbs slow and easy over her nipples until they were hot knots. Arrow after arrow of need flew to her aching clit. She wanted to move, to slide, to rub out the flames right now, so she shifted her position and pushed down, forcing him high into her body, easing the burn a little, but not enough, not nearly enough. For that she had to move fast and hard…
…
“Where’s the fire?” Gage said to slow Rena down. He’d offered up the weakness of his lust in trade for her book secret, and he intended to get the most of it. He wanted to take his time with her nipples, taut beads against his palms, and the lush handfuls that were her breasts. He wanted to stroke her silky belly and squeeze her sweet ass in both hands.
But Rena wasn’t having any slowdown. “The fire’s right here.” She lifted herself off him and slammed back down, rising to do it again, then again.
So good. He couldn’t stop the groan he let out. He preferred the pleasurable agony of a slow build, the ache of holding back, the punch of final release, but if she wanted a fast pump, he was happy to ride that ride.
She rocked quicker, sure of herself, and good at it. He kept his thrusts deep, pivoting his hips to catch her button, wanting to bring her to climax first. She made little gasping sounds, working at it, her gaze miles away, not with him at all. This, he didn’t like. Sex with someone was a two-way deal.
She quickened her pace, then slid her fingers down to rub herself, head back, eyes closed.
He pressed his fingers over hers. “Can I play, too?”
Her eyes flew open and she froze, completely thrown. Her other lovers hadn’t cared? That was a hell of a thing.
“You feel good,” he said to reassure her. “So wet…so ready.” He ran his thumb the length of her swollen pearl and she began to shake. In a few seconds, she caught her breath, surprised again, gave a sharp cry, and began to tremble violently. She was coming, but it was the most held-in climax he’d ever been party to.
He let go, too, groaning in the rush of release.
Rena collapsed against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her and smiled into her neck, smelling the coconut of her hair and her skin, a different kind of sweet, tasting her sweat, clean and lightly salty. His brain slowed, his push to find Beth eased for a bit. A break was good. A break refreshed him for the hunt.
Rena, on the other hand, acted as though she’d awakened to a stranger in the dark. She sat up fast, ready to bolt.
He caught her arm. “Stay a minute. Catch your breath.”
“It’s caught.” She nearly leaped off the bed to scoop up her robe and tie it tight—shop closed. “Let’s put your points in the database.”
In another life, he’d try to find out what freaked her so much, but he realized if he didn’t move fast, he’d miss her log-on. He beat her to the chair and pulled her onto his lap.
“What are you doing?” Rena tensed in his arms.
“Getting comfortable.” Which turned out to be impossible with Rena sitting stiff as a tree trunk, her butt bones digging into his thighs like roots. Not much for cuddling, are you? But he didn’t want to embarrass her.
Without moving his head downward, Gage stared at Rena’s fingers on the keyboard, prepared to memorize her strokes. She was fast, however, and the password was long. He caught three letters, an ampersand and a number, but there were eight more characters. Damn. A few keystrokes got her into a database and she typed “Gage Stone” into a search box. A blank screen appeared with his name and ID number. He buried his nose in her warm hair for a second to get more of that coconut scent and the underlay of her smell.
“This is your stats page,” she said, turning. “What are you doing back there?”
“Smelling your hair. It’s like coconut.”
“It’s just shampoo.” She gave him a funny look, as if she liked that but it embarrassed her, then dragged a chair beside him, where she sat, all business now. “You log your shifts here.” She typed in his start time. Next she clicked to a page labeled “Social Interactions.” Scrolling down to “Sex,” she put in his score. His sex score. Ten K. So surreal.
“No bonus points for technique?” he teased.
“We don’t do bonus points,” she said, completely serious. She clicked through a bunch more screens.
“Wait. Slow down. What was all that that flew by?”
“Files and databases you can’t access yet. You’ll be issued a pass-code with the proper clearance. We get new ones on a variable schedule.”
Without Rena’s advanced clearance, he’d have a hell of a time finding out what he needed to know. For that, he had to get into her system somehow.
The pass-codes were given out…changed regularly. How could she memorize something so long that was changed so frequently? It came to him in a flash. She didn’t memorize it. She was reading it off something. His gaze shot to the receipt pinned to the corkboard. It was at eye level and, sure enough, the string of digits included the numbers, letters and symbol he’d watched her type. Luckily for him, Rena trusted her fellow Lifers not to snoop in her system. Either that or she just wasn’t used to visitors to her room.
Meanwhile, Rena had reached what looked like a roster and he stopped her hand. “Is that everyone who works here?”
“Not really. Some Higher Levels lock their files. Some have maxed out points, so they stop charting. Why?”
He took a breath, ready to give his cover story. “I heard a friend of mine worked here. She still might. Beth Mandell? She used different names—Lizzie…Betsy…Elizabeth sometimes?”
“What does she look like?”
“Average height, medium build, brown eyes. Her hair could be any color. She dyes it a lot. She’s an artist. You know how they are.”
The only photo he had was a sun-bleached snapshot from Big Surf, when they were kids, both of their faces slightly blurred. Beth’s distinguishing marks only showed close up—a dimple when she smiled big, a beauty mark beneath her left eye, and a tiny scar on her chin from when she slipped on the steps helping their mother in one rainy night.
Rena studied him. “What’s the deal?”
“We lost touch. I’d like to find her if I could.”
“Tons of Lifers get trained here. She could be anywhere.” Rena focused on the screen, moving on. “Here are the Quests I was telling you about.”
He read down the list, recognizing the ones she’d mentioned. “Volunteering at the NiGo Charter School is worth a lot of points,” he said.
“It’s a big commitment. Since it’s a tech school, you need experience working with kids or with programming, or if you’ve been a teacher.”
“I was a Big Brother for a while.” After a story on teen rehab he’d sold to the Arizona Republic, he’d signed up, taking Javier out once a week for pizza or paintball or to an arcade until the mom moved him to Fresno. Gage hoped he’d done some good, but Javier didn’t seem to want advice and Gage wasn’t much for soul sharing. They spent lots of time driving around listening to Mexican hip-hop, taking sideways glances at each other.
“You’d like it,” Rena said. “These are kids who got lost in the Dead World. Lots of foster kids. I go a couple times a week to tutor them in math.”
“Yeah?”
“Plus I get a chance to learn from Ji Jin, our top programmer. He’s Nigel and Naomi’s adopted son. The school is in his honor. He teaches classes there.”
“The Blackstones’ son is a programmer?” The News Day News article hadn’t mentioned that. “How did they find him?”
“A random orphanage. It was a miracle, since he was so good at just what they needed. He has twin sisters still over there. I think they’re ten years old, the girls. Ji Jin lives for the day they can be brought over and adopted.”
Forget it unless they know game code. Maybe Gage was too cynical. “So Ji Jin teaches you programming?”
“Yes. He’s very patient with me. You’ll meet him on Lifer Monday. The K men are doing final t
ests of EverLife II this week.”
“K men?”
“Our programmers are from Korea, so we call them that. Nigel and Naomi sponsored their work visas.”
No doubt. Slave laborers who wouldn’t dare complain when the masters held their passports…if they even had passports. “Is that what you want, to be a game programmer?”
“I do what the NiGo Family wants me to do.”
“What about what you want? Doesn’t that count?”
“Nigel and Naomi choose paths that are in our best interest and for the greater good.” She gave him that look again. What’s with you?
To change subjects, he grabbed one of her brochures. “Girl Power Project, huh?” He flipped it open, pretending to read it for the first time. “Equal rights for girl gamers? But the Life is supposed to be fair already.”
She frowned. “Guys got a head start in gaming and in the Life. Girls get intimidated, sell themselves short, settle for less.”
“So you came up with this.” He tapped the brochure. “That’s why all those girls were squealing over you in the Dome.”
“They’re fans of my avatar, but it gives me a way to encourage them.”
“It says here you want girls to be Watchers?”
“It’s an elite duty and there are girls who are qualified.”
“How do the Watchers feel about that?”
“Mixed. Some are cool with it—Zeke, he was at the entrance—and Boscoe, the guy I fought in the Dome.” She paused and he watched her face grow hard. “If we could just get past the knuckle-draggers who get their weenies in a twist—”
“Ouch.” He pretended to protect his crotch.
She flashed a smile. “You get my point.”
“I do. I’m down. Girl Power.” He raised a fist.
She looked skeptical. “So I can sign you up for Card Guy duty as the Prince of Persia?”
“Depends on how many points I get.”
She smiled, more relaxed now that the sex was over and they were talking about something she cared about. “Right now, my goal is to get Nigel and Naomi’s support. We want quotas and there are cost issues for training, so if they give the project a push, we’ll be light years ahead.”
“What can I do to help?”
She gave him a sideways look. “What are you after?”
“Nothing…well, maybe we could try out your bed again.”
She reacted with a shiver of desire, which gratified him, but she shook her head. “Sorry. No real reason. No points for repeats.”
God Almighty this was a crazy place. “What if I don’t care about points?”
“You’d better. You’re new. You need all the points you can get. Take it from me. It’ll take me a while to replace that phone.” She nodded at where it was plugged in. “You’ll have no trouble getting sex-point offers.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re good-looking and built.” She spoke flatly, reciting facts, but still her words set up a low buzz in his blood. “Mainly, you’re fresh meat.”
“You make me feel cheap.”
She laughed, a full, fun laugh, and he was glad he’d made her do it. “You’ll see what I mean on Lifer Monday. You won’t believe the points you can rack up.”
“I’ll bring a calculator.” He couldn’t believe they were estimating potential hookups like this. “I am serious about your cause, Rena. If there’s a way I can help I’d like to. You’re my guide, after all. I’m on the team.”
“You can sign the petition.” She pulled up the Girl Power Project website and waved him to the keyboard. “We need all the testosterone we can get.”
While he was waiting for the petition PDF to load, he spotted a charcoal drawing of a toddler pinned to the corkboard behind her monitor. He took it down. “This is you?” With those big, serious eyes and sweet mouth, it had to be.
“Yeah.” Her cheeks flashed pink again. She pinned it back up. “One of those, you know, sidewalk artists.” She was lying, he could tell, and he’d upset her again. Anything personal he touched or mentioned bugged her—her books, her portrait, hell, her climax. If he ever expected to get at her computer again, he’d better back out of her space. He grabbed a few brochures. “How about I pass these out?”
“Up to you, but we’re not going again.” But he could tell she was pleased. Score one for the home team.
Chapter Four
Usually, Rena loved Lifer Mondays so much it embarrassed her. The gaming, the gossip, the Dome battles, and hanging out with Lifers made her grin all day. Lifer Mondays felt like a family picnic from some sitcom.
That was usually. This Monday, not so much. Her stomach churned and her nerves jumped over what was to come with Cassie.
Plus the Gage situation irritated her. She sort of regretted the sex. Sex in the Life was supposed to be easy and friendly—for pleasure and points. No meant no and yes was always safe. So much better than the Dead World, where sex could get mean or dangerous in an unguarded heartbeat.
Lifers sometimes did overnights with each other or had crushes and flings, but regular hookups got weird—they set you apart, separated you from the group. Lifers were a Family. There was no need for couples. Because there were no points for repeat encounters, guys didn’t hound you. They just moved on. Everybody got what they needed.
Sex with Gage had been…different. He’d paid too much attention to her. He’d wanted it slower. Every time she thought about it, she got a pointless flutter in her parts. Stupid. Move on.
On top of that, he’d made her uneasy in her own Quarters, looking around at every damn thing, reading between lines she hadn’t known were there. He’d looked through her books and God knows what all. She’d lied about her picture. No sidewalk artist had drawn it. It was Tiffany, the trophy wife of her adoptive father, Bingham Wingate III, the big daddy of networking software.
When Tiff thought being a mom might be a fun hobby, Bingham went right out and bought her a baby. Rena. Two years later, Tiffany ran off with her next hobby, her personal trainer. Why had Rena kept the sketch? She didn’t remember Tiffany. The house staff who’d been around that long did not speak kindly of her either.
Gage had picked up her lie, which she did not need. He made her feel…naked…exposed. She hated that.
At least he wasn’t due until nine, so she had time to clear her head with a Dome battle. She set off until a sharp pain in her head stopped her. The lights seemed to stab at her, the music seemed too loud, the Lifers frantic and sad. What the hell? Then she remembered she’d skipped her Electrique this morning. The fuzzy elixir was her wake-up coffee and calm-down nightcap. She cruised into Blood Electric for a restorative dose, where she found half dozen Lifers at the bar, a few at tables bearing down on programming manuals, working toward the beta team, no doubt. Beta work was a blast.
“Electrique, m’lady?” Baker said, after she eased onto a stool. He staffed the bar as a courtesy on Lifer Mondays. She nodded, accepting the bright red liquid, dense with bubbles, and downing it in one long, refreshing swallow.
“Word is you got an Owner Quest,” he said. “Congrats.”
All heads turned her way.
“What is it?” Rachel, one of Rena’s Recruits, asked. Her screen name, WrathGirl, suited her. She had a fierce temper and an arrest record for bar fights in the Dead World. Dome battles helped Rachel blow off steam and private sessions with Maya got her over a past with parents who would beat the shit out of her for not eating her peas. With her mad battle skills, Rachel would be a great Watcher. All Rena had to do was get her voted in.
“You know she can’t say,” Baker chided.
“But we’re your crew.” This from James, screen name GodofGame, who had a crush on Rena and trailed her on Mondays like a puppy. “Is it, like, dangerous?” He’d been a brilliant, friendless geek, expelled from five high schools over cracking the grading system or website or whatever amused him. He’d soaked up the Life like the desert sucked up rain.
“Prolly they’ll make you
a GM and send you somewhere.” He sighed. “Wish you’d manage this Lounge.” He nodded toward Rick Bondurant, the general manager, working on the shift schedule a few tables away. Lifers disliked him for his blunt way of speaking and strict style. He wanted to run the Life like an army barracks, instead of easy and loving as Nigel and Naomi intended.
“This is the flagship Lounge so Rick wants us to set an example.” She disagreed with his methods, but supported his goal.
“Set an example, my sweet pink ass,” Rachel said. “He gives girls the crappy shifts and cuts the guys slack when they screw off. We need Girl Power.” She lifted a glass for a few halfhearted clicks from the others.
“You’re just pissed over that AAL for gaming on shift,” James said.
“Sure I’m pissed. Why was I singled out? Because I have no Y chromo, that’s why. Guys game all the time when we’re slow.”
Rena lifted a pinch of GPP brochures from her messenger bag and handed a few to Rachel. “Stop bitching and talk up the Project.” She put the rest on the bar. “Anyone shows interest, hand them one, would you?”
Baker nodded. “That AAL is petty bullshit,” he said. “If Bondurant had any sense about morale, he would leash back the new Watchers.”
“Damn straight. They’re needle-dick ass-hats,” Rachel grumbled.
Rena agreed, but held back, not wanting to ratchet up the resentment. She would love to manage a Lounge—more than she wanted to be a programmer, really—but GMs had to rise through the ranks. Rena was three levels below the lowliest supervisor job. Being GM, even with girl quotas in place, wouldn’t happen for at least two years.
“In the manager’s meeting, I heard they might fire the Seattle GM,” Baker said, flipping the Electrique fridge key around on a finger. “Revenues from the place are swirling the drain. Lifers keep transferring out. It’s staffed with mostly temps now.” That worried Rena, she had to admit.