Chapter 20
Zade lunged to catch her. Her face had flushed red, eyes bright and unfocused, her skin red-hot to his touch.
He must have said something stupid, to spike her temperature like that. Hit some sort of trigger. He pulled up the last words he’d said to her.
Once you start to fight, Obsidian won’t know what hit them.
That was it. Like a fucking idiot, he’d blurted it out. Fight. Obsidian.
With those two words he’d set off an extreme aversion trigger. Those sneaky bastards. They were more ruthless than he thought. They had used her hard.
Hell. Simone had severe stim sickness, and he’d raced out here to the middle of nowhere frantic and unprepared after the brawl at her place. Running scared, acting on impulse, not planning ahead.
She staggered against him, her fever climbing fast, and panic kicked his ASP processor into play. He didn’t have any of Zoe’s custom-designed stim sickness meds. He had an emergency kit with injectable vials, all of them did, but he didn’t haul it around with him anymore. Hadn’t for years now.
He scooped her up and carried her inside. Laid her gently on the couch. Her hand dangled on the floor, so he lifted her wrist to lay it on the couch. She snatched it away. “No! Don’t put them on me!”
He knew exactly what she meant. Wrist restraints. “Never. Shhh.”
An ugly, fear-stained memory rose up. One of his own bouts of stim sickness back in the bad old days. Zoe and Noah’s improvised remedy had involved a filthy flophouse bathtub and big bags of ice stolen from a curbside freezer outside of a convenience store.
He raced to the bathroom tub. Got the water running cold. Sprinted to the second freezer. He’d loaded it with ice for the last Midlander annual meeting. Two bags left. He hauled them to the bathroom on his shoulders and got soaked by the heaving surge of cold water as the mass of ice cubes sloshed in.
He found Simone face down on the floor, trying to get to her feet.
“Simone, let me help you. Let me—”
She slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me!”
Her eyes glittered with a feverish shine. She was getting worse fast. Nothing for it. She had to get dunked with her boots on. He couldn’t wait.
He picked her up while she yelled and flailed. He had the strength of desperation on top of the Ratcatcher’s monster-strength mods, but by the time he got to the bathroom, it was clear that she didn’t see him at all. Or anything else.
She was somewhere else, burning up. A thread of blood trickled from her nose. He wiped it away. Dangerously hot, now. He wondered if they’d given her any resistance to temperature extremes, like his. Oh, please, please God.
He could barely hold her. She was twisting desperately, as if looking for someone. “Mom?” she called.
Pain twisted in him like a knife. “Sorry, babe,” he said. “Just Zade.”
“Where’s Mom?”
“She’s not here, sweetheart. I wish she was here for you.”
“They said if I was good I could see Mom.”
“Yeah—”
“I was good!” Her voice rose to a yell. “Goddamn it! I was good!”
“I know you were, baby,” he said. “It’s not fair.”
Sadistic perverted shitheads. Killed her mom and then fucked with her head about it during her brain stim sessions. So fucking wrong.
She screamed, arched, and fought as he lowered her in. The bathtub was a froth of heaving ice-water, drenching him. He held her in the water, struggling to keep her from injuring herself against the tub as she jackknifed and twisted.
He felt like the latest monster in a long line of monsters. He wanted to kill someone for doing this to her. Wanted it so bad. But they’d wired him up to have only one all-purpose solution for any fucking problem you could name.
Just kill someone to make it better. Snap the neck. Pull the trigger.
She suddenly went limp, sagging down into the water. He hoisted up her head and shoulders to keep them above water as best he could.
Her temperature plummeted. He listened for her heart. It slowed, hiccupped … and then he heard nothing.
No. Time stopped. Breath stopped. He just listened …
To nothing.
He pulled her up out of the water with a huge dripping slosh and laid her down gently on the swamped floor tiles. Water mixed with blood from her nose.
He started pumping on her chest. Mouth to mouth, cardiac compressions, more mouth to mouth. “Simone!” he snarled between breaths. “Don’t fucking die!”
Nothing. Temperature down. No heartbeat. No breathing.
He kept on, but dread was spreading. Fast and dark like a puddle of blood from a gunshot wound. Fear and cold, setting in. That terrifying silence.
A minute ticked by. Two. Three. He kept at it.
He stopped for a few seconds to listen, his own chest heaving—and heard it. The faint stuttering thud of her heart. He didn’t dare let himself believe it.
Then her eyelids fluttered. She let out a stifled cough … and he could breathe again.
Her heartbeat steadied, and strengthened. He listened to it intently. His eyes were wet.
She turned her head toward him. “Zade?” she whispered. “What on earth is your problem?”
His ASP compulsively kept measuring all her vital signs. Blood pressure, temperature, heartbeat. Numbers flickered, constantly updating themselves.
“Your heart stopped,” he told her.
“Oh. Damn.” She lay there for a few moments, staring up at the ceiling, evidently unfazed by that information. Gathering her strength.
After a moment, she tried to sit up. He slid an arm behind her. “Let me.”
“I can manage,” she said, but she needed both him and the sink to pull herself up onto her knees. Then her feet.
She wobbled there on unsteady legs for a moment, still clutching the sink. “Why am I soaked in ice cold water?” she asked. “It’s a freaking lake in here.”
“You had a high fever,” he said. “It was what we call stim sickness. A reaction to an aversion trigger. Your heart stopped for a few minutes. I thought you were dead. Did cardiac compressions. Mouth to mouth.”
“Hmmm.” She looked at him quizzically, blinking as if she didn’t quite understand, then hung onto the sink with one hand while she reached down to pull her wet bootlaces loose. She kicked the boots aside. Yanked off her sodden sweatshirt.
It landed on the floor with a heavy splat. “Strange,” she said. “I don’t feel like I was just dead. Or sick at all. I feel … different.”
She stood, naked to the waist, her slender body goose bumped in the cold. Her soft, pointed tits high and proud. Nipples tightened to deep pink, startling against her paleness. Her eyes intensely focused on his.
And he couldn’t stop helplessly staring. “Uh—”
“I’m freezing in these.” She shucked her jeans, along with socks and underwear. They hit the floor in a soggy knot by her sweatshirt. Then she lifted her wet hair, twisting it into a rope and squeezing out water, arching her back.
There were no words for what that did to him.
She turned away and padded out silently into the main room, a graceful silhouette against the dancing firelight. Seeking its warmth. Ignoring him.
He followed close behind. Watching as she lifted her arms, stretching as she finger combed her damp hair away from her face, stretching so that her breasts tilted up. She didn’t seem to notice or care that she was naked. That he was watching.
He had to handle her carefully. The stim sickness might not be over. “Can I find you something to wear?” he asked. “I don’t know what I’ve got that’ll fit you, but there must be something. It’s cold.”
She glanced down at herself. “But I’m not. At all. Now that I’ve taken those wet clothes off, I feel fine.”
It was true. He sensed her vital heat against his skin. It felt great.
“You seem different,” he ventured. “Are you still, uh … the same?”
Her eyebrows lifted. “What a question,” she said. “But now that you mention it, I’m different now.”
He braced himself. “How so?”
Her careless shrug made her tits bounce tenderly. “I just don’t give a fuck.”
He was wary, but enthralled by the slow, seductive way she shook the wild, damp locks of hair out around her shoulders. “Meaning … ?”
“Whatever I want it to mean. Anything goes. Fuck them all.”
This was no time for all the blood from his brain to reroute itself straight to his tingling dick. This was not what he’d expected. “Holy shit,” he muttered.
“I like the way it feels.” She jerked her chin at him. “You’re the resident expert about all this modified freak stuff. Explain this phenomenon to me.”
“Well, uh. You had stim sickness,” he said again. “It started as a high fever. Do you remember when it came on? Or how you felt?”
“No to both questions.”
Her answer didn’t tell him much. “The fever must have burned out the behavioral conditioning that controls your cognitive processor,” he said. “That’s how it was with us. Maybe not all of it, but from the looks of you, a lot.”
“Everything seems so clear,” she said in a wondering voice. “No pain. No noise. I don’t feel damaged.”
“You’re not. Your mind is working fine,” he reassured her, while thinking that this was a fucking weird conversation to be having with a stark naked woman.
“Good to know,” she murmured. “What’s burned out, then?”
“The inhibitors,” he said. “The panic reactions, phobias, blocks, trigger controls. If your stepdad’s ringtone sounded now, it wouldn’t get to you like it did.”
“So what caused the fever?”
Zade’s body went tense. He’d expected this question, but he sure as hell didn’t want to answer it. Had to, though. No more bullshit.
“I think I did,” he admitted. “By accident. I said something stupid.”
“Yeah? What?”
“No fucking way.” He shook his head. “I’m not repeating it, for any reason. You think I’d risk going through that again?”
“Just say it,” she said. “Let’s see if I’m still a slave. Let’s test this hypothesis. Because I truly do not give a fuck right now if it kills me or not.”
“I do,” he said. “Please, Simone. Don’t.”
She ignored his words and closed her eyes to concentrate. “Shhh. Don’t distract me. I’m trying to remember what you said just before I got sick.”
“Goddamnit. Don’t do this,” he begged. “It’s not fair.”
“That never stops anyone else, so why should it stop me? You said, ‘Once you start to fight, Obsidian won’t … ’ Oh! Yes. I felt it.”
“You did?” Like he hadn’t noticed her heart-rate spiking.
“Yes. When I said fight and Obsidian. Those two words gave me an electrical buzz. So that’s an aversion trigger?”
He nodded. “You okay?”
“I think so,” she said lightly. “Fight Obsidian, fight Obsidian, fight Obsidian! Rah rah rah. Nothing. It’s deactivated.”
“Could be,” he said. “That’s good.”
She’d moved on. “No inhibitors. Mmm. I like the sound of that. Freedom.”
“Yeah. So … what does that mean for us?” he asked hopefully.
“There is no us,” she said sternly. “You lied to me, used me, and fucked me over. I’m not excusing you for one second. You’re still in the doghouse.”
“Damn, sorry. Guess I got confused, what with you strutting around with no clothes on.”
“Deal with it.”
He whistled under his breath. “Don’t be cruel.” But he secretly liked her high-and-mighty attitude. Lots of hot, strong vital energy behind it.
“I will if I want to be. Do you go for that?” Her eyes flicked with curiosity to the bulge at his crotch. It strained painfully at the seams of his jeans.
“I’ll go for anything that involves you,” he told her.
They just stood there in the dim room, the fire crackling. The strangeness of the night had torn away all the veils between them. What remained felt naked and raw.
He didn’t exactly know how to handle that. Had to learn it on the fly.
“Just so you know,” he said. “If your Divine Highness is in the mood for sex, I don’t have condoms here.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t bring women up here. Ever.”
She waved her hand. “I have a contraceptive implant. And I don’t have any diseases. You?”
“Totally clean.”
“Good, then.” She took a step closer. “It’s a non-issue. Speaking of implants. Tell me more about mine.”
“I can only tell you the obvious stuff,” he said. “Like this scar, here.” He lifted the hair on her scalp above her ear. “They told you this was from the accident, right? But it’s not. This is your main processing unit. We all have this one.”
She pushed him down onto the couch, and put her foot up next to his knee on the cushion. “There’s a scar right here,” she said, stroking a silvery mark high on her upper thigh. “I assumed it was from the accident. Thoughts?”
“Ah … um … ” He didn’t have any, not with the pink lips of her pussy pouting out like a sexy tropical flower. He sniffed the hot scent of her arousal.
“Zade?” she murmured sweetly. “Hello?”
“Quit fucking with my head,” he growled.
“Nah. I don’t think I will.” A slow smile curved her mouth, which was now a hot, rosy pink. “You keep staring at my pussy like you want to lick it again.”
He broke out in a sweat, ASP surging, data flickering and scrolling wildly. “Of course I want that,” he said.
“You did it well,” she said. “So you get to do it again.”
“But … you’re pissed at me,” he said warily.
“Yes, very. So?”
“If I take advantage of your weird mood, you’ll hate me for it later.”
She thought about that. “I just might, Zade. But what’s worse? Fuck me and I hate you for it later … or refuse me and I kill you right now?”
He would have laughed, but his mouth was already busy.
* * * *
She gasped at his hot, hungry kissing against her mound. He caressed her with his hot breath, a tantalizing promise of pleasure to come, and then licked her pussy lips open with seductive slowness, lapping and nuzzling. Tongue thrusting, sliding, circling, and plunging with ravenous abandon. Finding her clit. Teasing it tenderly.
Her whole body hummed with that awakening to mindless pleasure. She could almost forget what had happened to her, with these erotic sensations filling her and obliterating all else.
She wound her fingers into his damp hair. Wave after warm, delicious, caressing wave pulsed through her.
She found herself curled up in his lap afterwards. Cradled in his arms with no idea how they had gotten down into that position. He was cross-legged on the floor, cuddling her, raw yearning in his dark eyes. He had no right to look at her like that. To reach inside and grab her heart. That was way too much power to give up to him.
She struggled until she was sitting up straight and clambered off his lap. “You’re all cold and clammy,” she told him.
“I know,” he said. “And you should get some rest anyway.”
She gave him an assessing look. “Rest? Rest is what you’re thinking about right now?”
His eyes widened. “Get real. You just had stim sickness. You almost died. You must be exhausted.”
“I’m not.” Their eyes locked. It was strange to feel so free. So fearless.
It looked like Zade was beginning to realize there was no use in arguing with her.
“Are you scared of me?” She tugged him toward her, but she couldn’t pull him off balance, as if his legs were steel pillars sunk in bedrock.
“Kinda,” he said cautiously.
As if. She knew better, but what the hell. She reached down to stroke the prominent erection that pressed against his sodden jeans. “Get your clothes off.”
He stripped off his sweatshirt. His complicated swirl of scars and tattoos told such a different story now that she saw the larger picture.
She reached for his belt and found herself locked in his hot embrace. He tilted her head back, cupping her head—
“No!” She jerked it away in a sudden panic, shoving him away.
“What? What the hell is wrong?”
“Don’t kiss me,” she blurted. “Just … don’t.”
He gazed at her, dismayed. “You don’t want me to be gentle?”
“I just want sex. That’s all. Not romantic bullshit,” she said. “So skip the dreamy lover boy act.”
“But that’s the crazy thing,” he said. “It’s not an act. It never was.”
“I still don’t want it. Don’t get sappy on me.”
He sighed and lifted her hair away from her face. The gesture was tender, in defiance of her orders. “Pure gold,” he murmured. “You are so fucking beautiful. It wipes me out.”
They stared at each other. A long, tense silence.
He lifted both hands. “I don’t want to screw this up.”
“Too late. You screwed it up before we met. Salvage what you can.”
“You make this so hard,” he growled.
“How?” she demanded. “Why? It’s sex, not rocket sci—”
Her words were cut off by his furious kiss. His arms locked around her, but she twisted away. “I said don’t kiss me!” She slapped him. Hard.
He barely reacted, just rubbed his jaw. “Is that what you need?”
She took a step away. Back straight. Chin up. “What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Hit me again. Fight me. You can’t hurt me. I won’t let you. And I would never, ever hurt you. So you’re safe. Go crazy. If that helps.”
She was too angry to do anything but hit him again, but her hand hurt. “Safe, my ass,” she muttered.
He beckoned her forward. “Come on,” he urged. “Show me what you’ve got. I like this game.”
She shoved at him. “It isn’t a game!”
“Call it whatever you want.” He walked backwards slowly, toward the niche where the bed waited, effectively forcing her to follow him there. “But don’t think you can control me once we get going. You know how it is with us.”
His nonchalance infuriated her. This was going to be the last goddamn time she gave into temptation. And every single fucking second of it was going to be on her terms. “Shut up and get those jeans off,” she ordered him.
He laughed under his breath. Wrenched his belt open and shucked his jeans. They hit the floor with a thud, and his thick erection bobbed up, high and proud.
She stared at him, drinking him in with her eyes. His lean, powerful body, his gorgeous face, his big beautiful cock.
He reached for her, but she stepped quickly back. “No! I’ll do the touching,” she said. “You just stand there and be good.”
He gripped his hugely erect cock, stroking it. “One condition,” he said. “Don’t try to tie me. I don’t do that. I’ve had enough restraints to last ten lifetimes.”
“No restraints,” she assured him.
“Fine.” He waited. “Okay. You have exactly three seconds to tell me what you want me to do next. One. Two—”
“Lie down on the bed,” she said.
He jerked on his reddened cock, massaging pre-come over his cockhead until it shone with eagerness. Then he turned and strode over to the bed.
She followed behind, studying every detail of him. His ass was breathtaking.
The bed was a four-poster with a wrought iron headboard, all scrolls and loops. She was already thinking of how to use those as he lay down, slowly, stretching out on the white sheet and looking up at her. “Now?”
“Put your hands up behind your head. Grab the bedframe and don’t let go.”
He jerked up onto his elbows, frowning. “Why? I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to.”
“Just do it, Zade.”
Still, he hesitated.
“What?” she asked. “Does it go against your instincts? Does it make you feel exposed and vulnerable?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Do it anyway,” she said. “Price of admission. It’s not like I could actually fucking hurt you. I’m not that crazy.”
He reached up and clamped his fists around the wrought iron bar. His arms were a marvel of male anatomy. Those taut, defined shoulders flexing and bulging.
She climbed onto the bed and swung her leg over him, straddling his thighs. She splayed her hands over his chest, leaning over him.
“Don’t you dare let go,” she whispered.