Page 25 of Smart@ss Cyborg

I’m strangely riled as I get in bed beside her. And it takes me a great length of time to fall asleep. Instead of thudding unconscious care of a bruising, hellish physical labor-induced coma as I have been each night, I find myself watching her in the dark, my gaze moving up and down her blanket-covered body.

And distressingly, my breeding sac aches all night.

CHAPTER 9

Every morning, I wake with my face in Becky’s pillow. What’s remarkable about this morning, however, is that when I reach consciousness—Becky is still sharing it.

I blink into her hair, my cheek pillowed by cotton softness and her hair strands. And her neck is directly beside my nose. I don’t know why I do it, but I drag my face over until my nose brushes against her mastoid bone, finding the spot directly behind her ear. Back and forth, I rub her here—nuzzling,this is what humans call nuzzling—finding her indescribably silky. I can see why humans enjoy this. Breath susurrating out of me, I turn and bury my nose deep in her mane.

She smells like something I’ve come to learn is called thevanilla bean,and while I’m not certain exactly what a vanilla bean is, I do find I like the scent of it.

Shafts of daylight aren’t filling the room yet, telling me that it’s earlier in the morning than I’ve ever risen before. And yet I’m awake, and strangely restless.

When I shift my body, I find out why.

I’m lying mostly on top of Becky, and there is nothing between her body and mine save for my undergarment and her nightgown.

Her posterior rests directly against my pelvic region.

This, I imagine, is the major cause of my pissing organ’s excitement. It’s harder than the cast iron driver I use to pound steel posts when I’m putting up fenceline. Grimacing at the way my organ is insistently straining against her bottom, I shift—and my shaft prods her, making my body freeze.

Why does that feel so good?

Astonished, I stay frozen for a good while, trying to assess myself. And while I do, Becky twitches in sleep, and murmurs, “Baby.”

Instantly concerned, I fish my hand under the blanket and above the pillows she supports her underside with until I’m covering her belly.

Inside her, the tadpole rolls, but lazily. Also resting, I gather.

I watch its brain activity, but it doesn't seem distressed. Nor does Becky.

With dreamlike slowness, Becky’s hand slides over mine, silky skin smoothing over my fresh calluses, and her movement releases a stronger burst of her vanilla bean smell.

And then she rocks her hips back against mine.

The movement is slight—but my reaction is explosive. I tighten my hand over the mound of her belly, absently confirming that the tadpole’s brain activity still appears normal, quiet in sleep as it lies curled up inside her—as I plow my hips against her backside, grunting at the momentary relief it brings me.

Wetness slicks the head of my shaft, causing the material between me and her to grab and stick, torturing me with sensation.

Although it becomes apparent I’m not alone in this torture. Becky moans softly, and presses up against me harder. She eases her hips forward, lessening the pressure only to redouble it when she shoves into my front again, the insistent motion of her hips making my eyes cross.

“Creator,” I growl, burying my chin into her shoulder. Crushing my beard into her skin.

Her breath begins to pant from her, and her body makes a slow back-and-forth shimmy that feels exploratory and has me drawing my face away far enough that I can watch. She’s mostly still under the blanket, but our forms are plastered to each other, and although her eyes remain closed, she appears frustrated, a frown line furrowingher brow.

My breath catches in my throat when the prod of my cloth-trapped pissing organ slips between her thighs and gets caught there, shoved against the fabric of her nightgown and trapped by my undergarment. She makes a soft grunt. And then my eyes widen as she very obviously invites me to breed by reaching back and closing her hand around the bulge of my stiffened length.

“Becky!” I cough into her hair, hitching my hips hard against her, trapping her hand.

Her body stills.

I growl, and to my shock I close my mouth over her neck, letting her feel my teeth, urging her to continue with whatever she’s planning.

My growl seems to soothe her. Either that or she responds to the possessive hold my mouth has on her flesh. With sleepy fingers, she hooks her thumb into my boxers and draws them down. Not quite freeing my pissing organ but it’s a clear invitation—and that’s all I need.

I shove my underwear the remainder of the way down and scrabble to find the hem of her nightgown. But I can’t.

Desperate, I jerk the covers off us both. Becky gasps and begins to sit upright, but my field of vision is clear and I go to work. I yank her nightgown up until it bares the curve of her surprisingly delectable-looking backside, and with a strong thrust of my hips, my erection prods again between her soft, heated thighs, hoping to penetrate, this time unhampered.

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