Climbing on the motorcycle wasn’t nearly as intimidating as the first time. Enver mounted the machine first, holding it in place as Imogen sat astride it. The entire experience was surreal. Having on pants was totally foreign to her, and then the power and vibrations of the bike between her legs sent shocks through her body she’d forgotten how to fell.

Better than any of that was Enver. Due to necessity, her hips pressed up against him, her breasts tight against his back. She could feel the shaky breath he released when she wrapped her arms around his torso, unsure where to put them. Too low would be indecent, but something about holding onto his chest felt too intimate. She wrapped them around him and held her own hands.

Riding the bike came easily, at least being a passenger. She moved with the bike, dipping and swaying, able to read Enver’s body through the connection where they touched. Finally, she relaxed her hands and placed them on his stomach. The hard muscles under her touch constricted, so the outline of what had to be a magnificent body rippled under her hands. She shifted her weight, as another growling tingle went through her core.

They left the populated area of the city, weaving through empty streets and tight alleys. Enver drove faster than he should, and Imogen was certain they would hit someone stepping out suddenly. But instead of letting herself be controlled by the fear of what could happen, she leaned her face against his back and inhaled the scent of the deadlands from his shirt. Dust and sand. Home.

As she relaxed against him, they began weaving through the less populated area. The streets inclined, and a salty dark scent filled the air.

Enver took her hand and placed it over his heart. The broad muscular chest was warm, and the thump of his heart did nothing to calm her own racing pulse.

She’d been attracted to him all along but hadn’t allowed herself to accept the depths of it. Black hair, mysterious dark eyes that betrayed so much emotion in the tiniest of movements. He was intelligent, efficient, and sometimes cold but that only made moments like this all the more precious. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him so open. She hoped to see him like this more often.

The bike slowed, and Enver pulled to a stop against an abandoned dilapidated building.

“We walk from here,” he said turning partially over his shoulder to speak to her.

She reluctantly pulled her hands away, letting her fingers trail along his sides. She imagined his skin would be smooth and soft. His touch would be gentle like she was learning he was on the inside, beneath all the quiet layers of scowling.

She hopped off the bike and watched as he dismounted in one smooth movement, lowered the kickstand, and adjusted his pants. Was that from the ride or from her?

Another thrill flew up her spine, leaving her without words. She couldn’t help feel a pang of guilt that she was somehow betraying Hiram when she glanced at Enver, his body tall and thin and captivating. But Hiram was dead, and her life with him gone too. She deserved to move on.

She carried the small bag she’d brought with both hands, nervous about wanting to reach out and touch him again, unsure if the boldness would be welcome. Unsurprisingly, Enver remained quiet, except for the occasional direction or grunt.

The further they went, the more damaged the road and sidewalks became. At a sudden drop in footing, Imogen stumbled, and Enver reached for her, wrapping a long arm around her middle. He pulled her against him, his body offering the security she needed not to fall. But when her footing returned, he didn’t let her go. Instead, his eyes drifted down to her lips, and his hand tightened around her waist.

Her breath sped up, and she lifted her chin. The thrill running through her body all morning turned into an aching need to be touched, to be wanted. To have Enver see her as more than an annoyance.

She lifted her hand and ran gentle fingers across his brow, furrowed as always.

His eyes closed, and he leaned into the touch.

As she moved down his face, he tightened his hold on her, lifting her to her toes and against his chest. When he opened his eyes, it wasn’t the dark pits of secret regret she saw, but a mirror of the spark that lit her desire when she looked at him.

He dipped down, his grip strong but his lips soft.

A gentle press of lips, a small hitched inhale, another press of lips.

Imogen opened her mouth, pulling his lip between her teeth, silently begging him to really kiss her the way she’d been longing for her whole life. Not the rushed excitement of the forbidden like with Hiram, or the unwanted advances of boys on the compound. She wanted him to wrap her up in his arms and devour her. She wanted to be seen.

She dropped the bag on the ground next to them and wrapped her arms around Enver’s neck, pushing her body against his so she could feel the hard planes of every place they touched. In the back of her mind she expected him to pull away, to reject or shame her, but her enthusiasm only encouraged him.

They stood in the middle of an abandoned street, and Enver’s hands lowered, dipping down until he grabbed her ass, kneading her curves eagerly.

She moaned into his mouth, loving the sure strong touch. He pressed against her, and the hardness of his desire sent her own need into overdrive. She gripped the long hair at the back of his neck, and opened her mouth, seeking the taste of him.

They kissed like starving wraiths, desperate for more, knowing no limit to their need. Enver’s hands roamed, gripping her breast with the same confident touch as before.

Imogen wanted his mouth on her, his body against her. She wanted this version of him inside of her. Her need slickened, and her hips moved of their own accord, seeking out a greater high.

Long before she was satisfied, Enver pulled away. He rested his forehead against hers and released a shaky breath.

“We’re almost to the overlook,” he said, gravel in his hushed voice.

“I’m okay here.” Imogen brought her hand back up to his cheek and stroked the smooth plane of his face.

“We should go. I shouldn’t have… I mean, I didn’t intend…”

“I liked you kissing me,” she said, pulling away.

His fingers lingered on her hips, but he let her go.

“You should do it again sometime.”

She picked up the bag and took a step back. If he thought she was some fragile thing he might break just by touching, he had another thing coming. She was no whimpering virgin, and just a taste of Enver’s lips proved what she’d been imagining since she moved in. There was more to him than it seemed, and she wanted to discover all of it.

But she’d give it time.

Patience was a virtue and all that.

Enver gave a noncommittal grunt, and Imogen turned away as he adjusted his pants.

Must be getting tight in there.

She wanted to find out just how tight, but he obviously needed more time.

They walked another crumbling block, Enver’s hand hovering just behind her lower back, ready to steady her, but not making contact. Her skin’s temperature rose under where his waiting hand, waves of heat bounced between them but never connected.

At the end of the street, the buildings disappeared and nature took over. Some structures still stood in dilapidation, covered with vines and grass, trees growing through windows and out roofs.

“This is beautiful,” she breathed.

“We aren’t even to the Ocean view yet.” Enver chuckled.

“But who knew so much green still existed? Even the compound isn’t like this. Everything is measured and organized. We grow enough for harvest, and the hydrofarms usually bear fruit. But this is unheard of. It’s real nature.”

“I usually just walk right through here, never really stopped to consider it.” Enver contemplated the area slowly, as if seeing it for the first time. “I guess no matter what we do we can never really kill nature.”

“That’s what the ecovangelists believe.”

“Are you trying to convert me?” Enver laughed and started walking again.

“Heavens no! I don’t think anyone could even convert me at this point!”

The mood between them changed so subtly Imogen barely noticed, but with each step, Enver’s shoulders dropped another infinitesimal amount and soon even his stride changed. So much tension must be stored in his body. What had put it there? What had he been through?

They rounded a final corner and climbed up a small incline which was some kind of structure overgrown with vines. Before them, stood a wall so large her mind couldn’t grasp the engineering it must have taken to keep it standing, and behind it, a vast spread of deep blue ocean.

Waves rose and pounded against the wall, leaving white foam at the edge. The next wave slapped against the Deluge before the last had dissipated back into the water and Imogen gasped.

“That’s where all our electricity comes from.” Enver pointed to a section of the wall in the distance. “The water is let in there and funneled through the hydogenerator’s various feeds via gravity until it fills the basin at the bottom and is forced back out into the sea. A constantly moving monstrosity.”

“It’s beautiful,” Imogen sighed.

“The ocean is amazing. I love the smell up here.”

“No, the Deluge.” She turned to face him. “It’s magnificent. What a feat of ingenuity and mechanics. Humans can do amazing things when we set our minds to it. I’ve never seen anything like it. It must take constant maintenance.”

“Where do you think all our patients come from? It might be an engineering miracle, but it eats cyborgs up and spits them out without a second thought.”

They sat, staring out over the ocean that reached so far Imogen couldn’t see the other side. It reminded her of gazing out of the compound boundaries and the desert beyond, longing to see what else existed in the world. That had been her dream, until she fell in love. A pain in her heart threatened to swell at the thought of what the elders had taken from her, but she pushed it away. They didn’t deserve any more of her than they’d already taken.

“Most cyborgs work on the wall, don’t they?” She opened her bag and took out Enver’s food to hand him, their fingers touching for the barest of moments, sending warmth up her arm.

“Except for the high-end transhumans who live in sky city, but they would resent even being called a cyborg.”

“Why don’t you?” Imogen asked the question she’d been wondering for weeks before digging into her food.

“I don’t have to.” Enver shrugged. “I have a skill people will pay for, so I do that instead.”

“But you barely charge anything, just enough to cover food and what you need for patients.”

“I don’t need much.”

Imogen stared at his profile as they sat silently eating. He didn’t talk much, but the things he said resonated so deeply within her she understood him. He was comfortable with a simple life, a useful life. He wanted to do more than just live in this world. He wanted to make it better.

“Why do you work for Garvan?” The question flew out before she meant to speak. It was supposed to just be a thought. Why would a good man agree to work for the cyborg cage fights?

Enver’s shoulders lifted again with tension, and his narrow eyes developed lines at the edges. He didn’t turn to her, instead directing his words out to the ocean. “I don’t work for Garvan. Chance pays me out of his cut as fight manager, and I know Chance would quit if he could afford to do something else. The whole goal is to keep people as safe as we can. Before Tane, the guy who was the manager before Chance came on, a lot of cyborgs died in the ring. Cynkers wouldn’t risk coming down in case the police raided, and there aren’t exactly a lot of doctors’ offices in the slums.”

“So, you do it to help people?”

Enver shrugged. He’d already spoken more than usual, but she wanted to know more. She wanted to know everything.

“You’re a good man.”

He exhaled in a rush and turned to face her. The fire from their kiss back in his eyes. “We should go.”

“We don’t have to.” She leaned in, ready to receive him.

“I have to get you back out to the Ward before I need to be at the Ball & Joint.” He stood and reached out his hand.

She took it, welcoming the coolness of his cybernetic hand. She’d seen him work on patients, even perform surgery. His hands were so precise, so capable. She imagined them against more than just her hands and shivered.

“The breeze can get chilly up here. It’s the water in the air.” Enver said, rubbing his hands on her upper arms before retrieving their trash and bag.

“That must be it,” she said, trailing behind him as they walked back to the motorcycle.