Page 72 of Dustwalker
He had seen hair and eyes of similar color to Lara’s, had seen skin as fair and silky. He’d seen lithe legs and pert breasts, flared hips and delicate feet, slender necks and elegant arms. He had seen so many faces with fuller lips, more defined cheekbones, thicker lashes, had gazed upon so many people who should’ve been more appealing.
What was it about thiswoman that drew him so completely?
Ronin reached forward and lifted a lock of her hair, letting it run between his fingers.
Lara wasn’t defined by any single trait, just as he wasn’t defined by any single part. He was no more his optics than she was her eyes, no more his actuators than she was her muscles. She was both a sum of her parts and somehow independent of them. His processors couldn’t quite explain it, couldn’t quite comprehend it, but it was the truth.
Her eyes enticed him with the spark of life they carried. Her lips demanded his attention each time they changed with her emotions. The movements of her limbs were a language all their own, abstract, mysterious, and infinitely compelling. Her humor, though sometimes beyond his grasp, leant an etherealness to her presence. And her willpower, strong as steel, was far more admirable than it was frustrating.
She existed in this world, had been beaten down by it, but she had never surrendered. Instead, she’d lifted her chin, displayed her scars, and pushed on, never allowing the flame of hope inside her to be extinguished.
Lara shone bright. It was her life force, everything that was her, a shining beacon in a sea of darkness.
And he could not resist being drawn in.
Her eyes fluttered beneath their closed lids.Dreaming, a distant memory told him.
The closest he could manage was through simulations, which rarely included visual or audio components. At heart, it was all numbers, complex calculations based on a variety of data. Cold, mathematical speculations of what might or might not be. He could take images and sounds from his memory and alter them slightly, could even combine them into something different, but he could not make anything truly new.
Lara’s dances alone were proof that she could create at will.
Ronin lightly ran the tip of his finger along her arm, from shoulder to elbow. She stirred, rolling onto her back with a little smile on her lips, but didn’t wake. Was her expression in response to his touch? Did she recognize it, even in sleep?
If he woke her and initiated sex, he doubted she’d resist despite her exhaustion. His optics trailed down from her chin, along the lines ofher slender neck, over her collarbones, and to the gentle slopes of her breasts.
If I take her nipple in my mouth and caress it with my tongue, how will she react?
His focus dipped to the short, red curls on her mons.
What if I part her thighs and put my mouth there?
In the years since his reactivation, Ronin had coupled only rarely. There’d been pleasure in it, in satisfying his desires. And he’d crossed into the White twice—the cessation of all processes, of all inputs, leaving only a brief but intense explosion of gratification. It had never lasted for more than a second or two, but it had happened.
Lara’s body had wrapped around his, had welcomed his phallus inside hungrily, and every movement she’d made had sent waves of electricity through him. She’d brought him to the White, tossed him across the threshold and left him to drift. He’d been aware only of the feel of her body, of her heat, her tightness, and the overwhelming pleasure of their coupling.
There’d been no bed, no bedroom, no sounds but hers—her cries, her heartbeat, her panting breaths. No Warlord or Cheyenne, no Dust. Only that white space, that blankness, that had been filled by her.
He’d lost nearly ten seconds when his functions returned to normal.
His penis stiffened again. Why not wake her? There was time. Afterward, she could rest as long as she needed, and they would make plans. She had given herself to him, and he’d become lost in her; their coupling left him wanting more.
She just lost her sister.
Images of Tabitha rose to the forefront of his mind. Somehow, he stopped himself from superimposing Lara’s face on her sister’s body. Her life could end in an instant…
That thought halted Ronin’s other processes for an instant. Though it was impossible, he felt like his power cell had been drained nearly to nothing, like his limbs were too heavy, like his components required more energy than he could muster to continue operation. But nothing in his system indicated a problem. Nothing could account for that feeling.
Fortunately, it soon passed, but a hint of unease lingered with him.
Lara had given herself to him for comfort, to be distracted from her pain while their bodies were intertwined. She was exhausted and grieving. He couldn’t bring himself to wake her. Couldn’tbe so selfish.
Ronin withdrew his hand and settled it atop the blanket between them. His want for her was undiminished, but what they’d done was no sign of a deeper emotional connection. She had been in need, and he’d provided. There was no guarantee she’d want him again. No guarantee she wouldn’t regret what they’d done when she woke up.
He’d been alone for so long that it shouldn’t have mattered. Ultimately, her feelings toward him were unimportant.
Weren’t they?
So why was the notion of her rejection so unsettling? Why did he crave more of her?
