More Than a Man (8 page)

"Four more questions," he muttered, trying to
concentrate. Letting her touch him was a bad idea, both for his
sense of control and her motivation to play the game fairly.

"Three," she breathed.

"Four. Lies don't count." He straightened and
forced himself to back up. Her grip tightened near painfully. He
wanted to stay, wanted to continue delving into the smooth circle
of her fingers, but the game was important. Knowing her was
important.

She flexed her empty hand and balled it into
a fist. "I can tell you my most secret fantasy doesn't involve
never getting to touch you," she growled.

"I don't want to know what it doesn't
involve." He sidestepped and caught her wrist. With the aid of his
secondary limbs, he pulled her away from the wall and turned her to
face it. Her feet found the floor. Aya braced both her wrists in
his right hand and stretched her arms high before moving in,
aligning himself along her back. Her breasts flattened against the
mirror.

She turned her face aside, anger and
excitement flushing her cheeks. "This isn't fair."

"It isn't fair that I want to know you as
more than someone I have sanction to live with and fuck? I'm the
one not receiving a measure of fairness, baby. I have to resort to
trickery and games and holding you down. Except..." He widened his
stance and bent his knees, fitting his cock in the slight
indentation between her cloth-covered cheeks. "I suppose at least I
get to enjoy holding you down. You like it, too, but you have some
selfish tendencies. You want everything your way. Fine. Have this
your way. Keep your fantasies secret from me for now. I'll find out
eventually."

He nosed her hair aside and scraped his teeth
down her nape, pausing at the base to suck hard at her skin. She
gasped and bucked, driving his cock higher, the head lodging
beneath the hem of her shirt. Bare silky flesh and rough cloth
twined together, a mix of sensations that urged him to move faster,
grind harder, find release. Aya gripped her waist with his free
hand and wished he had six more hands for touching her. She might
not be willing to confess fantasies, but his imagination was
growing fast and active.

"Three more questions," he whispered in her
hair.

"Four.”

"I’ve decided a lie is an answer. Even if
it's an answer that warrants punishment." He squeezed her wrists to
emphasize his point. "Three now. Open your eyes."

Her heart pounded fast, hammering his chest
through her ribs. Aya flicked the tip of his tongue behind her ear
and stood back, once more palming his cock. Allowing fantasy to
claim his senses, he watched as muscular black vines revived from
dormancy. Two squeezed her upper thighs and spread her legs wider,
the tips snaking higher, testing the crease of her pelvis. Gasping,
Noelle bowed away from the mirror. He took advantage of her
position and lashed a tentacle around her waist, the fourth beneath
her arms, around her chest and back. Curious, touch-sensitive ends
tickled beneath her breasts, around them, squeezing each mound in a
firm, gentle vise. Noelle stared wide-eyed, her breath harsh and
loud in the cube. Her nipples stood long and hard behind her shirt
and she clenched her hands in restless fists.

"Aya," she moaned.

He raised the tail of her shirt, baring her
hips, the small of her back. Choosing his target. Glancing up, he
met her eyes in the mirror. "Game's almost over, baby. Question is,
what do you really think of these?"

All four tentacles squeezed, identifying
themselves. Noelle pulled against his hold on her wrists, squirmed
in his grasp, and said, "I want you."

"All of me." So close. He bowed his head and
rested his brow on her shoulder, watching his fist, the glistening
crown of his cock, his tightening balls. Heat gathered at the base
of his spine and shoved.

"
Yes
, all of you. I want—Aya! I wanted
to
watch
you come."

Fascinated, shaking hard, he studied the jets
of semen as they rained upon her skin, pearly and wet and
claim-staking. Aya's knees shook. His arm bent at the elbow,
bracing his weight against the mirror and Noelle's body. Her neck
craned as she tried to watch the next surge of fluid arc higher up
her back. A low moan vibrated from her, a whispered plea that
didn't quite register through the exultant roar inside his head.
Breathing hard, he raised his eyes to meet hers in the mirror. Her
swollen mouth fascinated him. He'd bury himself between her lips
soon. Regretfully, he swiped tissues from a courtesy dispenser and
cleaned his come from her skin. He’d rather rub it into her but, as
she’d pointed out, they had public niceties to deal with.

"Two more questions." Aya kissed the side of
her neck. "Do you think you can be quiet while I make you
come?"

"No...yes. Yes." She turned her head aside
and hid her face between her raised arms, her lips pressed hard
against her biceps.

"I don't think you can be quiet." Low-riding
panties gave way to his fingertips as he coasted lower, searching
for the wetness creaming between her thighs.

Noelle shivered and balled her hands into
fists. "Aya."

"I'm right here," he murmured, parting her
sex, rubbing her slippery-wet hair between his fingertips,
relishing every one of her textures. She wanted everything so fast,
so immediate, but he wasn't built that way. Even though she writhed
and begged him to hurry, his instincts urged him to slow even
further, to cherish and memorize every sound from her throat, every
shimmy from her hips. Carefully, concentrating, he skimmed his
middle finger across the slick knot already protruding from its
hood. Noelle jolted in his arms, pulled at the tentacles holding
her and bit her lips to muffle a mewl. He'd bet anything she
swallowed pleas along with the whimper. On the outside, she stood
stiff and obedient but on the inside, she'd be begging and pleading
for him to hurry, deliver some measure of relief. If she had her
way, he'd never win opportunities to treasure her.

Inhaling, he rested his chin on her shoulder
and looked down the line of her body reflected in the mirror. Her
pants tented over the back of his hand. Her stomach flattened
beneath his forearm. She shifted her leg, a slight bend at the
knee, and rocked forward to meet his fingers as he stroked lower,
centering the heel of his palm over her clit and curling two
fingers into her pussy. This time, her gasp exploded past her
attempts at quiet. A high squeak punctuated the end and she ground
her hips forward, trapping his hand between her body and the
mirror. Without her body to watch, he raised his gaze to her face,
absorbing small details. Half-parted lips, furrowed brows, the tip
of her tongue touching her upper lip as she twisted and rocked,
riding his fingers. The tendons in her throat stood out in sharp
relief, physical signs of the focus she committed to achieving
climax.

"Beautiful," he murmured, twisting his
fingers deeper, adding a third. She bumped her knee against the
mirror and bit hard on her lip, her spine bowing. A strangled,
half-swallowed scream broke the quiet of harsh breathing. Aya
kissed her jaw and licked his way into her mouth in time to catch
her shriek when she surrendered. Her knees buckled.

Aya released her wrists and sank to sit on
the changing bench, cradling Noelle across his legs. "Last
question," he said against her hair.

She curled against his chest, still trembling
with tiny aftershocks. "You're a real bastard."

He chuckled. "I'm the sum of traits you asked
for. Last question. What was your first pet's name?"

She balled up her fist and punched his
shoulder. Grinning, he caught her hand, kissed her knuckles, and
said, "You did agree to play the game."

Chapter Five

Her parents owned a gracious home in a
neighborhood known for its gracious homes. Everything from the
community’s manicured lawns to the neighbors’ upscale cruisers in
the parking pads screamed money. Though she'd spent a good portion
of her childhood in this house, Noelle always felt vaguely lacking
when she came home. This was the home they’d purchased to receive
Joy from Babyporium when Noelle was ten years old. This was Joy’s
home, not Noelle’s.

She swallowed past a familiar knot of
anxiety. She might be their born daughter but Joy was created to
their specifications. Joy was everything her mother wanted. Noelle
always felt like she measured up just a little short, as if she had
disappointed her parents in some indefinable way. The State didn’t
allow a created mate more than one born child, so they’d gone to
Babyporium. What was lacking in her that they needed to create
another child to fill that lack?

Before they moved to this estate, they'd had
a tidy three bedroom house closer to the center of Veda City. She
missed that house. She missed the riot of color along the back
fence where flowering vines tangled with bushes that seemed to
burst randomly into bloom and she missed the scrubby yard with more
weed than grass. She hadn't wanted to move, but move they had.
Better schools, better opportunities. A better daughter.

Huffing out a breath, irritated with herself,
she tucked her cruiser behind her father's utility vehicle. Aya was
stone silent beside her. He hadn't said a word through the entire
drive. The silence didn't feel like anger, but rather like
disappointment. She wasn’t sure what happened between RetroThreads
and her parents’ parking pad.

She peeled her fingers off the steering
column and turned to face him in the evening gloom. "Aya," she
began hesitantly.

The force of personality behind his shadowed
green eyes knocked her off track. The words slid down her throat
and she lost whatever she'd been about to say. What was in those
eyes? Patience, certainly. Determination. But something else, too.
Something almost heartbreaking. She just couldn't put her finger on
it. Uneasy, she looked away.

He splayed his fingers on his thighs, the
muscles of his forearms going taut. "What, Noelle?"

She shook her head to clear it and made
herself meet his eyes. "You know how this afternoon you asked about
my family?"

His thick black brows lowered. "Yes."

"I told you Mom wants what she thinks is best
for me. One of those things is a husband. But she wants to design a
man for me. She isn't going to be happy I did this without her
input. She isn't going to want to like you, and she's very
stubborn."

His forehead smoothed out. "So are you. I
don't have to love your mother. I want to like her, I want to get
along with her. But if she doesn't want that, it isn't a
requirement."

Noelle shook her head again, this time in
frustration. "I know she wants me to be happy. She believes I'll be
happy with a carbon copy of my father. I love Dad, but I'd go
insane if I married someone like him. Mom just doesn't get that,
and Mom can be very ugly when she's angry. She's definitely going
to be angry."

He shrugged, looking unconcerned. She
scowled. "This is important. I'm trying to warn you. My mother is
going to make this difficult. She's not going to be nice, and
she'll probably be nasty. Dad will do his best to blunt the edge,
but Mom is going to see you as a mistake."

His nostrils flared and temper moved briefly
over his face. He controlled it immediately, all expression wiped
clean. "Let me be clear. I am not here to make your mother happy.
It would be nice if we get along. I will do my best to do so. But
her opinion of me doesn't matter. It only matters to the extent
that
you
let it matter. What is important here is not her.
It's you."

She fisted her hands in her hair, clenching
her teeth. "It's not about me, Aya. It's about how she is going to
treat you."

"I'm telling you, don't worry about me. You
worry entirely too much about what other people think."

He opened the door and got out, leaving her
to follow.

The neatly kept stone path led to the front
steps and every step weighed on her. She had brought him into this
situation. It was her responsibility to ensure he wasn't
harmed.

At the door, he stopped, turning her to face
him. "You work yourself into a state over things you can’t fix. It
is a sad truth people don’t think of others when they speak or act.
You can't change other people, Noelle. You can only change yourself
and your reactions. I choose not to give your mother the power to
hurt me."

The knot in her stomach didn’t ease. No
matter what he said, she knew from experience her mother's words
could hurt. Bracing herself, she knocked.

Her dad opened the door. Relief made her
shoulders sag even as his welcoming smile faded to puzzlement.

"Dad." Her tone drew frowns from both
men.

"Noelle, honey. What's wrong?"

His instant concern made her want to hug him
and never let go. Dad never let her down. Dad never hurt her. Why
the hell couldn't she want someone like him? She cleared her
throat. "Um, Dad, this is my new husband, Aya. Aya, my dad, Richard
Lytton."

Surprise gave way quickly to a genuine smile
of welcome. "Call me Rich. We weren't expecting you."

Aya cut a speaking look to Noelle. "So I
understand. Sorry to spring it on you."

Rich held open the door. His sandy brows
arched and he ran his tongue over his teeth. "Somehow I don't think
it was your idea. Come on in.”

Noelle followed her father into the house.
Aya’s hand rested on the small of her back, a heated reminder of
their connection. How could such a small touch keep her so attuned
to him?

Acutely conscious of the polish and style of
the house, she worried her lower lip. Her own house was very
different, more cottage than showplace. A symbol of how different
she was from her mother.

They went through the kitchen, all modern
appliances and sleek work surfaces, toward the back yard. Her
mother was engrossed in an animated conversation with Joy, her
hands gesturing widely. Joy nodded thoughtfully in response.