Lust Plague (Steamwork Chronicles) (3 page)

Her sex flared with an ache so strong she barely understood it. Wetness surged between her legs. She saw herself impaled on him…curving back, breasts upthrust.

What’s wrong with me?

Fear surfaced. She shoved the visions, the feelings, away. No. Never
ever
did she let her body rule her mind. The law, she followed the law, always.

Under her back, rope crisscrossed and something hard, maybe rocks, poked at her, though some sort of cloth was between her and the earth. The sky above was blue, cloudless. Blink again. Half a mile away, she spotted her airship.

“I’m awake, yes,” she croaked.

On her ship, she’d been screaming. Flashes came to her—the bite of clamps on her nipples, men watching, avid, their mouths open as if they swallowed her cries of pleasure… She remembered the hot, near-orgasmic flood of desire.
Why, though? What the hell happened? I can think. I’m still me. Zombie F? Can’t be.

Her rescuer put his hand at her naked shoulder. Even that made her jump and suck in a breath.

“I have to take this last one off. Might sting.” Above the clamp on her left nipple, Sten poised finger and thumb.

The attached wire trailed across her breast. The pain bothered her little. His hand, though—broad fingers, man’s fingers, what they might do to her. She imagined him touching her cleft, sliding in. Her pussy spasmed and she bit her lip.
What the… This is so wrong.

“Wait!” She struggled to get her arms under her, to get some distance between her and Sten. “Don’t touch—”

Understanding flared in his eyes, and for a millisecond, there was something else.

“No? Why not? You need that off.” Before she could react, he’d sat next to her and hauled her over his leg to sit between his knees.

“Because—” With his arm across her middle, he kept her there. Wriggling made him hold tighter. She seethed, wriggled again, subsided.
Damn him
. “Because—”

Being enclosed like she was, by a man, a hard, muscular man, sent everything whirling. And, out of all the men it might have been…Sten. From the moment he stepped aboard ship, she’d watched him. Suddenly nothing in her head seemed to work right anymore. Her thoughts, her emotions, her tongue were weighed down and drowning in warm jelly.

“Because you’re a frigging frankenstruct. Let go!” The words spewed out, and like a balloon accidentally released to the sky, she clutched at the tail end, knew the terrible error she’d made. She gulped.
Why’d I say that? Awful, awful thing to say…

Yet his only reaction was to rest his cheek against her hair and say quietly, “Oh? I thought as much. Leave this on and your nipple’s gonna fall off. How about while I do this, to distract yourself, you tell me what happened up there?”

He put his hand back where it had been.

Fascinated by the sight of his fingers so close to her breast, she licked her lips.

“Wait.” Grabbing his wrist seemed as likely to work as telling an avalanche to stop, but she tried.

As his fingers nudged the clamp, she gripped him tighter, realizing too late what her body would do.
Pulse pulse
. The finger and thumb pressed, released the clamp. All the sensations from the last few hours surged to life. Hot blood needled through her; white shards splintered. Her back arched, mouth open, neck curved—she gasped and shuddered as she came.

When she opened her eyes, Sten’s face was there in shadow above her, blocking out the sky, and she’d fallen sideways onto his thigh. She squinted, licked parched lips. The still-golden blade of a gyrocopter cut across the sky to the left of his head. A swallow flitted past.

“Damn,” she whispered.

“Why?”

His rough voice alone sent tremors through her. Through his clothes, his erection nudged at her bottom. This was intolerable.

“Why? Because I just—”

“Came? I figured that.” His hand cradled her head. His thumb brushed at her earlobe.

She shuddered again, swallowed. Whatever was she doing staring up into his blue eyes? Yet…nothing seemed more important. His face was unusual—heavy cheekbones, wide nose, big deep-sea-colored eyes, every feature laid out large, like a face drawn in broad strokes. Strange how much he appealed to her. Those lips, she envisioned them crushing hers, taking.

No. This wasn’t
right
. Yet…something had changed. Had the zombie virus flipped some switch inside her? She felt what she shouldn’t. And even if, right now, she couldn’t figure how to unswitch it, she would. She damn well would.

“I think I might have Zombie F.”

The coolness at crotch and breast reminded her of how Ling had cut away her panties and sliced holes in her bodice. Where were her hands? She moved them to cover her breasts and crotch. Ugh. More problems. Sten didn’t seem inclined to release her despite her revelations.
What’s wrong with the man?

“Did you hear? And, um, clothes. Have you something I can wear?”

He stroked his chin. “Clothes? You sure you have the virus? You’re talking. And you’re not one of them überzombs. No orange eyes.”

For a few seconds, his words seemed to echo in her head.

“Überzombs? You mean raised men?”

“Whatever. Like that guy on your ship. Neither of us is a zombie.”

We aren’t?
Relief sliced through her.

The movement of his mouth fascinated her. She half closed her eyes. Off balance, she felt herself awakening to desire again and tried to fight it. Was he looking at her body? She fumbled, repositioned her hands. She
had
to get away from this man. “My lieutenant? Ling? He went mad. My crew—”

“Were rutting their brains out. Having fun. Doing what comes naturally, I suppose, when inhibitions are removed. There’s nothing more you can do for them.” His thumb stroked her ear, swept an electric thrill through her body. She opened her mouth the smallest distance. Cool air wafted across her tongue, lips.
More, please.

No. People are up there. My people
. By the equivalent of gritting her teeth and running through a multiplication chart in her head—
the square root of one hundred and forty-four is twelve
—she put a brake on those chaotic feelings.

With a calculated look, as if he watched the minutiae of changes on her face, Sten resumed caressing her ear. “You know why I was there, on your ship? We have history.”

His words were confetti on the wind, blown away and gone. She couldn’t resist turning into the caress, closing her eyes. So sensuous, like a hot sigh owning her body.

“You like that, Kaysana?”

“Mmm. No.” But it was really a yes.
He remembers me? From where?
As the massage continued, her thoughts slowed as if swimming through warm syrup.

“I was on your ship firstly because they told me I was needed. And second, because you were there. When the PME announced all frankenstructs were free, yours was the ship I took to get out of the country. I remembered you.”

She stared up at him, watched as he lowered himself—those blue eyes coming nearer, growing bigger.
I should move
. His fingers played with her ear, and it was so damn mesmerizing.

Then his lips pressed onto hers. Soft, insistent, yet with so much maleness embodied in this simple touch she couldn’t help groaning into his mouth. The light, feathering way he idly moved her lips with his, licked her, or gave a small teasing nip sent a searing message from her mouth to her clit. Unable to resist, she put her arms around his chest, answered his kiss. When she tried to pull him closer, he stopped and looked down at her.

“Do you like that?”

That same question.

Truth fought with the lie waiting on her tongue. “N… Yes.”

“See. The way I look at this, we can give in to how we feel right now. Or not. And that would seem a waste.”

He cupped her sex with his hand. She arched into it, gasping as he slid one finger along her slit, then slowly pushed between her labia and inside her.

“I can stop.” He searched her face. “But you know what would really please me? Making you want me enough to beg. That would just make my goddamned day. I’m easily pleased.” The intensity in his eyes said the opposite.

Beg? Never
. She blinked, went to say the words…

In and out slid his finger, dragging her juices with it. The moisture slicked her pussy—some trickled down her slit, cooling on her ass. Her eyelids glided shut. The sound his finger made, this proof of her desire, made her want more—more inside her, more faster, more deeper,
more everything.

“Beg, Kaysana.”

Sten
. The name returned. She snapped open her eyes.
Frankenstruct. What am I doing?
Mortified, she met his gaze. He stared back, determined, full of the knowledge of what he was doing to her. Thick, slow, he moved his fingers. Wetness squished. Her vagina ached and squeezed around him.

Beg? No. Never
. Even though her body screamed,
yes!

She scrabbled for purchase, hands slipping on the blanket beneath. Her palms scraped across dirt and leaves. “I have to go. Let me up. This is hardly—”

“Proper? Maybe not. But I like it. So do you. You want me.” Said flatly, like he had no doubt. “I can see it. Like I also see
this
.” He shifted above her, added a third finger, rammed in, fast, hard, stretching her, hitting some place high that jolted her in an exquisite way.

Unable to resist, she collapsed down, neck tilting back, gasping.

“Mmm. Uh.” She grabbed wildly at his biceps, dented his skin with her fingers.

But. He’s frankenstruct. I mustn’t.

Torn between two desires, she pushed with her feet, trying to shove herself away from him. All the while, he pumped into her, and each new thrust flowered sensations within, farther, higher, tighter until her body wrapped around that rhythmic penetration. She shoved with her feet again. He followed her.

Cornered. Confused. Her ragged breaths, her frantic, hammering heartbeats betrayed the turmoil in her soul.

“Yes? Or no?”

White-hot desire met her fears and doubts and flamed them into a molten puddle. Her fingers pressed so hard onto his muscles, they hurt.

Her determination broke and fell away. “Yes!” she choked out.

“Say please.” His fingers swirled, rubbed up and down on that wonderful spot.

“Please!”

“Good.” He sucked out those fingers, and for a second, she could breathe, could think again…except he gathered up her wrists and a piece of rope.

“Wait.”

So easily he took her hands above her head, tied them. Leaves rustled as he linked the rope to something. His strength dwarfed hers. Resisting was like holding back a mountain.

“Wait!”

“Stop? Now?” He sat back on his heels, parted her thighs with his big hands, and studied the juncture of her legs. Seeing how he looked at her sent a fresh tide of moisture seeping out and trickling along her slit. She tried to slow her breathing, but her entrance clenched as if he’d brushed her with a finger. One side of his mouth curved up. “Damn. I don’t think so. No.”

His shaggy, sun-bleached hair dangled across his face and he pulled a strand from his eye. Methodically he took another piece of cut rope and tied his mane back into a rough ponytail. The rolling shift of muscle awed her. Then he settled his warm palms on the tops of her thighs, thumbs down and close to where she wanted them, and inched them inward. She whimpered, embarrassed, humiliated yet so
hot
. Legs quivering, she struggled not to push her groin at him.

“You want me, well, you’ve got me.” He laid three thin wires across her stomach.

Oh no. No.

The first clamp went onto her clitoris, and she came, screaming, from that alone. When the second and third bit her nipples, her mind was still fogged from orgasm. He pegged those wires to the ground on each side of her. Mute, panting, uncomprehending, she watched him kneel. Shock hit at the first wet lick of his tongue across her clit where it poked up between the clamp. Every muscle in her body stiffened. The sapling behind her creaked as her arms strained and the rope pulled taut. Breathing stopped. Thoughts froze.

The licking went on and on. Excruciating yet divine, building up to a level where her body hummed with tension. She’d thought the wire gone from the clamp attached to her clit, but something tugged on it. He’d pulled it tight as fishing line, down into the earth between her legs. Hands, nipples, clit all strung. With those little teeth, he controlled her. She wanted to writhe, couldn’t. Heels digging into grass, fists clenched on rope. One final scorching path of tongue across her willing flesh, and she cried out and plummeted into blazing ecstasy.

Alight with pleasure in a way she’d never experienced before and finding her eyelids welded shut, Kaysana slowly shuddered back into normality.

She opened her eyes, found him there, waiting, watching, kneeling above with his arms propped on either side of her chest. Her tongue probed and traced the soft inside of her lower lip. Words refused to arrive.

He reached and undid the clamp that held her clit.

Gah
. The casual release scorched her. In that moment, she was his.

A smile touched his lips. “Never ever thought I’d enjoy seeing a woman come so much.”

He bent and kissed her stomach. His mouth marked a path with little kisses up between her breasts, across the bodice to her throat, where he bit. Her eyes hooded. She hated his sort, acknowledged the fact, and wanted him so bad. The scent of him was as potent as the roughest liquor to her senses.

“Don’t,” she managed. The word, half glued to her tongue, came out mangled.

“Don’t?” This time he brushed her lips with his, drew back, said firmly, “Too late. You’re mine, Kaysana.” He arched his palm under her breast, let his thumb skim across where skin and cut fabric met.

The placement of his hand on her breast seemed such a casual possession of her flesh. That she couldn’t
do
anything was both frightening and horribly thrilling.