Cyborg Nation by Kaitlyn O'Connor (english readers TXT) 📗

Her front side stayed cold despite the furnace at her back, though, and after a few moments, she struggled until she managed to roll over and burrowed as close to the source of heat as she could get with her arms pinned tightly to her chest. He stiffened all over again when she nuzzled her cold face against his warmth. After a few moments, though, he merely leaned away long enough to pry her arms away from her so that her elbows weren’t digging into him, arranged her to suit his own comfort and curled around her again. As hard as the surface was that she found herself flattened against, it radiated heat, and the moment she thawed enough for her muscles to relax, she went under again.

Her last thoughts and impressions before she had gone to sleep stirred her awake some time later, wandering randomly through her mind at first and spawning bizarre dreams and then not so strange but a good deal more disturbing dreams. The faces of the cyborgs swam in and out of these half-waking dreams, first one and then another. She jolted awake just as Gideon’s face zoomed in to her mind’s eye in an extreme close up.

Sucking in a sharp breath, she opened her eyes, and then blinked to try to focus the blurry image looming over her.

Gideon, his face propped on one hand, was staring down at her intently, his long, blond hair tousled from sleep, his deep, dark blue eyes narrowed. Bronte stared back at him blankly while her mind wrestled with the dream she’d just had, trying to disentangle dream from reality.

His hand, the one not supporting his cheek, which she discovered had been resting on her hip, settled on her cheek. The pad of his thumb stroked along her lower lip, making it tingle and itch.

And then he stuck his thumb in her mouth.

Quicker than thought, she chomped down on the digit with her teeth.

Sucking in a sharp breath, he snatched his abused member from her mouth, scraping it on the sharp edge of her teeth still digging into it.

Horror at her insane impulse to bite him washed through Bronte even before the pain she’d inflicted translated into a furious frown on his face. Instinctively expecting retaliation, Bronte threw her arms up to shelter herself.

He caught her wrists, pried her arms away from her face and shoved her arms over her head. She resisted every inch of the way for all the good it did. When he’d crossed her wrists over her head, he locked them in place with one hand, the tight curl of his thumb and forefinger almost completely encircling both wrists. She stared up at him warily when he shifted the weight of his chest over her to pin her body in place, staring down at her through narrowed eyes.

“I’m sorry!” she said on a choked breath, choked because the weight of his chest pressed down on her belly and lower chest too heavily for her to drag in more than a shallow breath.

He didn’t look appeased. She saw why when he brought his injured thumb into her view as he examined it. She’d drawn blood. His eyes were glittering when he shifted his attention from his thumb to her face again.

A twinge of rebelliousness had sparked to life, along with guilt, as she had studied his thumb. She hadn’t invited him to stick his damned thumb in her mouth after all! But the spark winked out at the look of intent on his face.

It dawned on her as she stared up at him in wide eyed wariness that he was contemplating retribution. “It was an accident,” she added quickly as his gaze moved from her face to the neck of her uniform.

The comment brought his gaze back to hers. “You accidentally bit me?”

She reddened at his tone of disbelief. “Miscalculated?” she tried. “It was a muscle spasm.”

He caught at the neck of her uniform and yanked at the meshed closure, opening the thing from neck to waist. She sucked in a shocked breath. With deliberation, he caught the edge of her stretchy undergarment and yanked that down, too. Her breast popped free of restraint, the dark aureole instantly puckering at the cool air and making her nipple stand erect. Her eyes widened as his head descended. Gritting her teeth, she yanked at her arms and rocked, trying to elude the mouth descending purposefully toward her breast.

Squeezing her breast with his hand, he extended his tongue and licked the skin all the way around her distended nipple. It knocked the breath out of her as if he’d punched her in the stomach. She tensed all over with distrust, still expecting pain for pain, unable to manage a clear train of thought, but certain he was only trying to lull her into a false sense of security. Puckering his lips, he closed them over the tip, plucking at her nipple with no more than his lips until it became so engorged with blood that it began to throb.

She was shaking all over when he lifted his head, but she almost sighed with relief.

It was short lived. Releasing his grip on her breast, he settled his hand on her face again, used his thumb to pry her jaws apart and slipped his thumb inside her mouth. She stared at him, wondering what he expected, or wanted, her to do. She wasn’t stupid enough to even try to bite him again, however.

She hadn’t actually meant to bite him to start with. It had just been one of those insane impulses that sometimes hit her out of the blue, a brain malfunction that inevitably led to disaster when the random impulses hit her.

After staring at her a long moment, as if daring her to bite him, he lowered his head again. Bronte bucked against him uselessly when she saw his intent, but it only helped him, lifting her breast to his mouth as he