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

opened it. She flinched as his mouth opened over the nearly painfully sensitive bud, cutting her gaze down at him in horrified fascination as he started sucking on her. Her belly clenched and then everything else inside of her. Needing to swallow, she closed her mouth around his thumb and did.

A wave of heat flowed through her. The epicenter seemed to be her sex. It tightened again as he flicked the tip of his tongue across the surface of her nipple, this time producing both warmth and moisture.

Her eyelids slipped shut of their own accord. The moment they did, her entire being seemed to focus on the heat of his mouth and the gentle, steady tugging that spread tingles of awareness throughout her body, raising her temperature. And each time he sucked, her sex seemed to echo the pleasurable tug, tightening with the same rhythm.

She swallowed around his thumb again. Again the sensation echoed in her sex. The walls of her channel wept moisture, clenched tightly around the nothing it had to hold on to but seemed to want. The slow seduction of his mouth and tongue as he alternately suckled and then teased her sensitive nipple with the tip of his tongue enthralled her. After a few moments, Bronte completely lost touch with any reality except the building heat inside of her. She had no idea when she began to suck enthusiastically on his thumb in counter to the wildly seductive pull of his mouth on her breast, but disappointment filled her when he withdrew it and then compounded the insult by lifting his mouth from her breast.

It took an effort of will to lift her eyelids and look at him as she felt his gaze on her face. His eyes, she saw, were so dark she could see no more than a thin ring of deep blue around his pupils. His breath was almost as ragged as hers. “Do not bite me again,” he said after a long moment. “You may think I feel no pain. I do.”

Her brain had ceased to function. He’d released her, pushed himself off of her, and rolled off the bunk, getting to his feet before the meaning sank in. She was still staring blankly at his back, though, wondering what had happened, as he strode across the cabin and disappeared into the facilities.

A chill went through her. She shivered, looked down at her bare breast and finally adjusted the undergarment and snatched her uniform together. Shivering as the heat dissipated from her skin, she pushed herself upright and fumbled at the closure of her uniform. Her hands were shaking so badly, though, that she had to realign the edges twice before she managed to smooth the closure.

She looked at Gideon sharply when he left the bathroom, but he turned and left the cabin without glancing in her direction. He’d bathed and changed, she saw. His blond hair, combed neatly now, was slicked to his head, darkened almost to black by the water.

Chapter Four

Bronte’s legs were so shaky when she got up and headed for the bathroom it felt almost as if she was trying to walk on rubberized appendages. Having relieved herself and washed her mouth, she got into the shower to bathe and had just lathered her hair when she heard the door open. Whirling at the sound, her hands suspended in her hair, she gaped at the man standing on the other side of the clear bathing panel.

She’d expected Gideon, although she had no idea why.

Maybe she’d just hoped he had come back to finish what he’d started?

Instead, she discovered it was Gabriel who had stopped to survey her without any pretense of disinterest. Belatedly remembering she was stark naked as his gaze settled on her mound, she snatched her hands from her hair and covered herself. Her hair, laden with soap, promptly landed across her face, blinding her. She squinted at him with the one eye not covered by her hair, blinking to try to get the stinging soap out of it.

Seeing her predicament, he tilted his head, his pale blue eyes gleaming, his lips curling upward slowly until they finally parted in a grin as he waited to see just how long she could stand it before she moved one of her hands to rescue her eyes. After debating for a moment whether she least wanted to expose her breasts or her sex, she finally tilted her head and tried to sling the hair out of her eyes.

He chuckled. Lifting one hand, he showed her the folded clothing he held, glanced around for a place to put them and finally dropped them onto the narrow counter that ran the length of one wall between the bathing cubicle and the toilet, encompassing the lavatory. He paused in the door before he left, however, turning to look at her again. The amusement, she saw, had vanished. “There is food when you are done. This time, you will eat.”

Bronte had never thought she was particularly shy, but then again she had never found herself in a situation anything like her current predicament. And she certainly wasn’t accustomed to being naked around strange men.

Cyborgs.

She let out a huff of irritation. Men, she decided. They walked, talked, looked, and behaved like men—not like any she’d ever been around, granted. But then again, she hadn’t been around that many at all, not in close quarters. To all intents and purposes, they were men.

The garment he’d brought her, she discovered, was a uniform like the ones they’d been wearing when they’d taken her. She supposed it did belong to one of them, though they’d promptly discarded the uniforms once they were on the ship again in favor of the loincloth-like garments that didn’t cover much of anything besides their genitals. Not surprisingly, it didn’t fit her. Although it fit the men almost like a second skin, it hung on her—only coming close to a fit over her breasts, and both the sleeves and the