DeadlyPleasure (2 page)

A low, muted glow illuminated the bed, casting the sleeping
child stretched under the soft blankets in gentle, warm light.

Fair eyelashes lay against round, flawless cheeks, and
pearlescent eyelids closed over eyes the color of the richest chocolate, eyes
of solemn contemplation, eyes that had seen more terror and horror than any
six-year-old should. Long, pale-blonde hair fanned the pillow, a few tousled
strands resting against a rounded jawline that hinted at an inner strength and
the woman the young girl would become. Coral-pink, bee-stung lips were parted
slightly, soft and relaxed in repose, and Corvan couldn’t help but smile at the
location of Emylie’s left hand. Fingers curled into a loose fist, her thumb
propped perilously close to her mouth.

She’d been awfully embarrassed when he’d first found her
sucking her thumb years ago and nothing he could say would ease her shame. It
mattered little when he’d told her all three-year-olds were allowed to do it,
most especially ones without mommies.

She’d stared at him with her large, wide brown eyes and
shook her head. “The man with the needle hits me if I suck my thumb. Are you
going to hit me?”

Three years had passed since that night and he’d never found
Emylie sleeping with her thumb in her mouth again. He’d spent every night since
picturing what he would do to the “man with the needle” if they were ever to
come face-to-face. He’d spent every night since wishing to Fri’ac they would.

Gently, silently, knowing she slept lighter than an Erturian
she-fox, he brushed the errant strands of hair from Emylie’s face.

His fingertips made no contact with her skin, his hand
barely disturbed the air, but her eyelids fluttered open all the same and she
gazed up at him. “Are we safe?”

It was the same question she asked him every night. And, as
always, he gave her the same answer. “We are safe.” For the most part, it was
the truth.

Her small mouth curled into a tiny, sleepy smile and she
closed her eyes again, reaching for his hand with her own. She sighed, the
delicate sound peaceful and heartbreaking all at once, and was asleep once
more.

Corvan studied her for a long, long moment before slowly
disengaging his fingers from hers. She was special. Unique. In a world full of
corruption, perversion and sickness, she was the cure.

He stood, chest tight, throat tighter, and left the room,
crossing to his own sleeping quarters on the other side of the apartment. He
couldn’t describe the emotion making breath difficult to draw, but he knew he
couldn’t live without it now. Three years ago he’d been someone else entirely.
Someone brutal. Heartless. Someone hollow.

And then he’d been sent to kill Emylie. The only one of her
kind.

Every night he thanked Fri’ac he hadn’t.

Every night he wondered whom Unit Zero would send to finish
the job.

And when.

Sector Seven A, Fourth Quadrant, Secular System

His tongue stabbed into her pussy, its slightly rough
surface playing over the throbbing knot of her clit. There was nothing gentle
about the wickedly sharp strokes and she didn’t want it any other way. Strong,
hard fingers gripped her hips, held her both to the firm sleeping pallet and a
mouth in the process of launching her to sexual rapture.

Falynn Mavek, premier Unit Zero Agent, gazed blindly at the
ceiling of her quarters, the bone-stroking vibrations of her ship’s hyper-drive
engines magnifying the waves of exquisite pleasure rolling through her body.
Every nerve ending thrummed with the building energy of her rapidly approaching
orgasm. An orgasm promising to be the first of many. When it came to climaxes,
Forty-Two always delivered.

Her clit was a swollen button of sensitive flesh, the
conduit for every jolt of wet heat the tip of his tongue seared into her core. Falynn
bit down on her lip, the sharp self-inflicted pain an automatic ploy to derail
the moans clawing at her throat. No matter how good it was—and sex with
Forty-Two was always very, very good—she never made a sound during sex.

It wasn’t the years of brutal training under the aegis of
the Unit’s most notorious master agent that had her muzzling her pleasure. She
simply never relinquished control of her emotions. Not anymore.

Perhaps because the last time she’d expressed her pleasure
during sex, her lover had walked away and never came back.

Everyone said Thanatos was dead, but she didn’t believe it.
She
couldn’t
believe it. How could he be? He was too good. Too fast.
Over and over she’d seen him defy the laws of time and physics. He was
unbeatable. Untouchable.

Except by her. That once.

Damn him to all the hells, he’d probably gotten the Itillian
Slap he’d wanted from some other female. If so, she hoped he really was dead.
She hoped he’d died thirsty.

The tongue in her cunt stopped its delicious,
orgasm-inducing action and the fingers curled harder into her hips. “Stop
thinking.” Forty-Two’s deep voice rumbled with potent power and undeniable
command.

“How do you know I’m thinking?” she ground out, pulse quick
in her neck.

He chuckled against her pussy, the rumble vibrating into her
core and making her breath catch. “You know how.”

He thrust his tongue deeper, past her folds, and she bit her
lip again. Each time Forty-Two claimed her body, he did everything in his power
to break her silence. It had become a personal challenge. She didn’t mind. It
burned away the emptiness of her existence. It torched the ache in her chest
where her wounded heart thumped. It made him do things to her she’d never let
any living soul do before. Not even—

She cut the painful thought dead, focusing instead on the
feel of Forty-Two’s tongue and now—Kiirs, give her strength—his finger in her
cunt. No. Make that
two
fingers. Each long digit squirmed and wriggled
inside her, seeking the sweet spot within as his tongue retreated to roll again
and again over her throbbing clit. She shoved her hips higher, forcing her sex
harder to his mouth, letting the exquisite fire licking through her body
consume her. Almost.

She would
never
relinquish control completely. Not
again. Once was enough.

“Stop thinking and let me make you forget.”

Forty-Two’s growl sent a shiver up Falynn’s spine and her
nipples pinched tight. She looked down her body into his eyes, unable to miss
the furious light burning in their blue depths. His desire blazed like an
inferno there, and in those flames she saw a determination and hunger so
powerful, her throat squeezed shut.
Kiirs. If only…

She balled her fists, killing the futile wish as ruthlessly
as she killed her targets. He may be the only one even close to making her
scream again, but he could never destroy her pain.

She pumped her hips, needing him to scour away the old hurt
building in her heart. She needed to come. She needed to feel something apart
from nothing. “Get out of my head and finish the job.”

“Yes sir.”

“Don’t call me sir.”

“Yes, Proserpina.”

“Don’t call me that either.”

Forty-Two chuckled again, the sound both bitter and warm,
before—thank Kiirs—he returned his very talented mouth to her sex. He sucked at
her clit, nibbled and nipped with his teeth. She bucked, choking back a gasp.
He dug his fingers into her flesh and jerked her butt off the mattress,
stabbing her anus with his tongue. Her back arched under the overwhelming
sensations, forcing shoulders and feet against the sleeping pallet as her
fisted hands scrabbled for a hold in the bunched sheets.

Shit, he really knew what to do to make her hot. He was
aggressive, almost brutal. He took from her with a savage greed that made her
cunt flood with fresh cream.

Sliding his large hands under her hips, he cupped her butt
cheeks, squeezing each curve of muscle as he tortured her anus with his tongue.
She drew in a silent breath, feeling her ass grow damp, painted with the slick
lubrication secreted by his tongue. Preparing her for entry.

Flaccid, his cock was massive, the phallus more than befitting
his seven-foot frame. Erect and stiff with desire, it was the stuff of every
sexual being’s fantasy.

She knew he was going to penetrate her anally and her pussy
grew sodden with anticipation. Anal sex with Forty-Two was like a double dose
of concentrated pleasure spiked with pure pain. Incredible, punishing and
completely unsentimental. What she needed. What she deserved.

An appreciative rumble sounded in her companion’s chest and
he yanked her harder to his mouth, lifting her legs from the bed to wrap them
around his head. His hands mauled her ass, her hips. He peppered her tight
opening with rapid jabs of his tongue, the thick muscle growing more pointed
with each stroke until she felt its slick, rounded tip push into the puckered
hole.

She clamped her mouth shut, fists tugging at the sheet. She
bucked, her wild rhythm in perfect sync with Forty-Two’s tongue. His fingers
stretched her cheeks farther apart, granting his mouth greater access to her
hole. He dipped into her, tongue fat and stiff, a smaller replica of the
enormous shaft between his solid, steely thighs.

By Kiirs, she was going to come.

Unbidden—and as always—an image of Agent Thanatos filled her
mind.

Raw want shot through her. Raw, tortured want. His eyes had
promised so much more than that one moment of heaven. And yet he’d never
returned. He’d never broken his word to her once throughout her training and
yet…he’d never returned.

Loss and pain absolute flooded her soul—at the very second
Forty-Two tore his mouth from her ass and sank his cock inside her.

Her orgasm crashed through her body, brutal and sudden and
more forceful than ever. Accompanied by the cruel, inescapable memory of another
climax from a different time and a different place, the rapturous screams of
that
release echoing in her head even as the silence of this one flayed her wanting
heart.

She came. Without a sound.

He pumped into her, watching her face, listening for a sound
he never heard.

A decommissioned GU Type R42 military combat android, Forty-Two
had spent his entire existence in battle and now functioned purely for Falynn
Mavek, the woman who’d given him life.

The only way he knew Falynn was in the throes of an orgasm
was the squeezing contractions of her ass on his shaft, the tortured, haunted
expression in her eyes and the violent spike in activity his bio scan detected
in her cerebral cortex.

Still, the base response was enough for Forty-Two’s own
orgasm—a phenomenal feat of bio-engineering achievement—to surge through his
body. The living flesh encompassing his teratanium skeleton flushed, artificial
blood pumping through veins engineered to fool even the most astute medico. His
balls grew tight, drew higher, closer to his groin, until what felt like an
eruption of molten energy burst from their swollen mass, hurtling up his long,
thick cock. A roar tore from his throat. It rattled the small room and drowned
out the sounds of the ship’s engines.

He pumped into Falynn, wanting her to scream. Wanting her to
surrender to the pleasure he knew he gave her. Wanting her to abandon the
control she so fiercely held.

She didn’t. As one orgasm after another claimed her, as he
drove his cock harder and harder into her tight sphincter, making her grip the
sheet of her sleeping pallet with white-knuckled fists, the association neurons
of her brain burned white-hot with memories of a man he could never erase. A
man who had taken from Falynn the ability to abandon herself to emotion. A man
presumed dead.

Forty-Two didn’t worship a deity—really, whom did an
obsolete AI pray to anyway? His maker?—but more than once he’d found himself
wishing Unit Zero Agent Thanatos alive with a fervency similar to prayer.

He wanted to kill the man himself.

Left wounded and malfunctioning on a bloody, corpse-riddled
battlefield by the GU’s military unit after their brutal occupation of Itillian
two years ago, Forty-Two had been one failed diode away from complete systems
shutdown when Falynn had found him. Her emotionless gaze had flicked over him
once, before—with fluid grace and jarring speed—she’d reached into the twisted
mess of ribbon cables in his broken neck and deactivated him.

When his systems came back online, he’d discovered he was in
a Dragonfly-class deep-space craft with his E.S.O.U.L program activated. For
the first time in his short, violent existence, he felt emotions. Shocked
surprise quickly gave way to suspicious confusion.

Why?
The first word he’d ever spoken. Why had she
“saved” him? Why had she activated his emotion sensor operational uplink
program?

She’d never given him an answer. Instead, she’d placed a
small mirror on his chest and left the cramped quarters.

Stunned amazement washed away his confusion when he glanced
in the mirror. The teratanium exo-battle armor encasing all Type R42s was no
longer visible. Not only had the mysterious woman activated his emotion matrix,
she’d activated his humanoid camouflage mode as well.

He’d been her constant companion ever since.

Forty-Two stared down at the Unit Zero assassin writhing in
silent sexual rapture beneath him. He would do anything for Falynn. No matter
what she asked of him, he would do it. Falynn had given him another existence
when his makers had decided he wasn’t worth repairing. Falynn had elevated him
from a mindless ’droid with a single purpose—to extinguish life—to a sentient
being governed by emotions too powerful to name.

Falynn had given him that worth. All without explanation,
reason or expectation.

A once-mindless killing machine gifted with raw emotions,
pining for a living, breathing woman who now existed as an emotionless
assassin.

She didn’t need a protector, but he acted as one anyway. She
didn’t need a caregiver, but he functioned each minute of the day to see her
cared for. She asked nothing of him except the escape sex offered from her
self-torturing emptiness, and he gave her that willingly. He wanted to give her
more. His E.S.O.U.L allowed him to feel, and every emotion he’d experienced
since Falynn reactivated him was for her.

If only she felt the same for him.

The complicated weave of cables, CPUs and sensors in the
center of his chest cavity grew tight, heavy. One day he would make her scream
with sexual pleasure. One day she would break her silence.

He moved his hands from her ass cheeks to her hips, slid
them up the flat plane of her stomach to palm her breasts. Her body still
shuddered from the string of orgasms he’d wrought, vibrating up his arms and
setting his circuitry on fire. He moved his fingers to her distended nipples,
pinched them with a force first savage then gentle. He was capable of crushing
a teratanium girder with his fingers alone, but the millions of tiny sensors
under his skin, coupled with his bio-readings of Falynn’s body, told him the
exact force needed to make her sex flood with fresh juice and her heartbeat
quicken.

Fists bunching the sheet, she rode the climaxes crashing
through her body, hips bucking slightly with each shudder that claimed her. A
slight flick of her eyes, dilated with constrained pleasure, told him what she
wanted, and he complied, dragging one hand from her breast down to the smooth
curve of her mons.

Staring at her, hungry for the changes in her body only he
could detect, he rubbed the pad of his middle finger over her swollen clit.

Falynn hissed—the most noise he’d ever elicited from her—and
closed her eyes, breaths rapid and shallow as the last of her orgasms erupted.
A haunting expression twisted her face, rapture and self-loathing at once, and
she sank her teeth into her bottom lip. As always, controlling her release. Her
response.

A surge of bitter disappointment tainted the electricity
shooting through Forty-Two’s system. Once again, he’d failed.

He slowed his penetrating thrusts, letting his E.S.O.U.L
control his actions. If required, he could continue to fuck Falynn until his
power unit depleted, but it didn’t take the comprehensive readings of her
bio-rhythms to tell him she was satiated. The soft, distant light in her eyes,
the relaxing of her fists on the sheet, the long, slow exhalation of breath
told him he’d given her what she’d wanted, what she’d needed.

He’d brought her to multiple climaxes—six, to be precise—and
now it was over. Until she next required escape from her demons—demons who
always wore the mask of her former trainer and mentor—Forty-Two was just her
copilot and companion. A combat ’droid in the guise of a man, protecting a
woman who needed no protection.