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Wired for Sex:
A.D.A.M.
By
Raven Willow-Wood
& Kimberly Zant
© copyright September 2007 by Raven Willow-Wood & Kimberly Zant
Cover Art by Alex DeShanks2007
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Chapter One
"How's our new … head of security working out?" CEO Cal Johnson asked his VP of marketing.
Phil Whitmore grinned. "Smooth. He infiltrated without a hitch. I've been carefully monitoring the chit-chat around the office, and so far nobody has a clue of what he is. The military is going to be impressed. I think we can safely jack the price per unit up by a hundred percent."
Cal Johnson frowned. Leaning back in his seat, he toyed with the pen in his hand, idly twirling it between his fingers, 'walking' it down finger to finger and back again, over and over until Phil was grinding his teeth.
The mannerism had always irritated the shit out of Phil since he had a suspicion there was nothing either idle or unconscious about it. It was just one more way for Cal to show off his superior dexterity. "It's early days, yet," Cal said finally. "He's only been on the job a few months, and he doesn't actually have that much interaction with the other employees. I don't want to jump the gun on this. He's state of the art-but there's a lot of his makeup that's of a highly experimental nature. We could be in deep shit if we start shipping the new units out and they malfunction-particularly considering their capabilities."
Phil managed an off-handed shrug, although inside he was simmering. He wondered, if he'd suggested months more of testing on the android, if Johnson would've vetoed that idea, too. It seemed to him that, no matter what he recommended, Johnson always went in the opposite direction. "His interaction with the employees has been fairly minimal, true, but the other security guards are already showing signs of deferring to him when it comes to security matters, and the women in the office want to fuck him so bad they can taste it. They've been pretty vocal about it-I'm not counting the ones that just stare at him when he walks by like he's a juicy piece of steak."
Instead of looking pleased by information, Johnson's frown deepened. "Any of them made passes?"
Phil shrugged again. "As far as I know, none of them have propositioned it outright, but they're giving out signals right and left. Obviously, they haven't figured out it's a droid or they wouldn't be creaming in their panties every time it walks by."
Johnson's lips thinned. "And exactly how many has it fucked so far?"
Phil reddened. "None that I know of, sir. I imagine I would've heard about it on the office grapevine if it had nailed someone-or several someones. It wasn't programmed for that, after all."
"Not specifically, but the information damned well ought to be in its data banks. And it was programmed to interact-just like its human counterparts would-It is equipped for sex, and I'd say any man would've taken at least one or two of them up on their offer in this time, wouldn't you?"
Phil was disconcerted. "You think I should tell them to take it down tonight and program that in?"
Johnson looked disgusted. "That would defeat the purpose of this little exercise, wouldn't it? If it fails to perform as an ordinary man would in any given situation, then the programming is faulty, wouldn't you say?"
"So …. Where do we go from here?"
Johnson went back to toying with his pen. "Maybe it's still learning," he said finally. "There are just too many variables in human relationships to program that sort of thing in-every relationship is going to be a little different depending on personality factors. Let's give it a few more weeks and see if it begins to interact more naturally, adopts 'personality' traits of its own. I've looked at the reports myself. The other security guards are deferring to it, but the general consensus is that 'he has a poker up his ass'. They might admire its skills, but it has to be able to blend with the general population or it isn't going to be useful for infiltrations work. I'm not sure but what it wouldn't be better to make it a little more 'average' looking for that matter if all the women are panting after it."
And exactly whom, Phil wondered, turning to study their 'head of security', was going to be the judge of 'average'?
They'd designed him to be perfectly average. At five foot eleven inches, the android was average height, and he was of medium build, neither overly muscular nor underweight. He was Caucasian, so he had blue eyes. They'd decided on ash blond hair, because it went with the eye coloring and wasn't striking enough to call attention to him. His features were very regular, but then they hadn't wanted him to be ugly or scary looking. People would certainly remember that, and anything irregular like a large nose, prominent or receding chin, close set or deep set eyes would've been physical details people were more likely to remember.
He was damned if he could figure out why the women in the office were all atwitter about the android.
Unless they'd heard he was above average in the tool department?
It wasn't as if they'd made him unusually large, but they'd figured that wasn't an area they wanted him to be average, and certainly not below average. They'd wanted him to have self-confidence, after all.
"Adam," Johnson said abruptly.
The Autonomous Dynamic Android Mercenary, or A.D.A.M. for short, seemed to go even more rigid, although he'd stood at 'attention' throughout the discussion. "Yes, father?"
A dull red crept under Johnson's skin. Phil did his best to pretend he didn't notice, but he couldn't help but be amused at the fact that Adam persisted in referring to his 'creator' and the primary gene donor of his biological makeup as father.
Truthfully, despite the fact that the android had been 'born' in the labs of Robotics Inc., Adam was more of an enhanced human than a biologically enhanced android, but that wasn't something anyone wanted bandied about. The government had strict regulations about playing around with genetics where human beings were concerned. If it ever got out ….
Johnson's lips thinned, but instead of correcting Adam as he generally did, he apparently decided to ignore the title. "You can leave the surveillance tapes. I'll go over them later and pass them along to research and development."
* * * *
As hard as she was trying to focus on maintaining a façade of cool professionalism, Evelyn felt her heart flutter uncomfortably as the door to her boss' office opened. In her peripheral vision, she could see that the CEO, Cal Johnson, and the VP of marketing, Phil Whitmore, were standing in the door. Between the low pitch of their voices and the blood pounding against her ear drums, she couldn't hear what either man was saying, but she wasn't particularly interested anyway-not at the moment.
She was far more interested in the fact that the head of security, Adam Mercury, was in her boss' office.
She didn't know what it was about the man that gave her heart palpitations, but whatever it was she was certainly not alone. As Cal Johnson's personal secretary, she didn't get the chance for a lot of interaction with the general secretarial pool any more, but she had eyes and ears. Since most of the staff behaved as if she was invisible, it wasn't hard to overhear that he was the hot topic and had been since he'd been hired a few months earlier. They discussed his assets. They speculated on his prowess in the bedroom, and they voiced their private fantasies about the guy-and then giggled among themselves like a bunch of teenagers.
Even if not for that, she would've known she wasn't by any means the only female at Robotics, Inc. that lusted over the man.
Whenever the guy strode through the room, he set off the 'hunk alert', and there was almost a charged air of excitement as every woman in the room tensed, pretending to be busy while they surreptitiously checked him out. And when he left the floor, there was an almost collective sigh.
She'd been fascinated with him before the night he'd rescued her from a would be mugger. Since then-well, she couldn't help it. She had a serious case of hero worship for the guy on top of the lust that had already been churning in her heart-and other places-for the man.
Unbidden, the memory replayed through her mind.
She had worked late, as she did at least as often as she pulled her regular shift, and she'd been distracted. She should've been paying more attention, but she'd never felt like there was any danger in the parking garage. Robotics Inc. was deadly serious about their security.
Instead of having her key card to deactivate her transport's locks in her hand like she should've, she'd stopped by the vehicle in the dim light to fumble around in her purse for it. The would be mugger had grabbed her from behind and stuck a knife to her throat. To this day she couldn't remember what he'd said to her-something to the effect that he was going to carve her up like sushi if she made a sound-not that she'd been capable of it. She'd been too terrified.
She hadn't been so deeply in shock not to realize what he had mind, though. As soon as he'd started dragging her deeper into the shadows it had registered in her mind that he was after more than her purse and/or her transport.
Her sense of self-preservation had finally kicked in when he'd removed the knife from her throat. She'd tried to break his hold on her and run. He'd decked her with his fist to her jaw, knocked her senseless. He'd been straddling her, tearing at her clothes when Adam had appeared out of no where-like a ghost-without a sound. One moment he wasn't there. The next he was standing beside the man.
He'd punched the man in the face so hard, so fast, she hadn't even seen the blow. She didn't think the mugger had either. He hadn't ducked or even thrown up an arm to defend himself, but she knew Adam had hit him. It had lifted the man clean off her and into the air. He'd flown several feet before he hit the garage floor, skidded a few feet, and then lay so perfectly still she'd wondered if he was dead.
As gratifying as that had been-just having Adam appear and knock the man cold-he'd turned to her the moment he dispatched her attacker and crouched down to examine her for hurt. She could still remember the look on his face-part avenging fury, part concern-as he'd touched her with gentle hands, helped her to sit up. She'd thought for several moments after he'd examined her bruised face that he was going to get up again and pound the man to a pulp. He'd looked that furious.
Instead, when she'd started crying, he'd pulled her against his chest and just held her, stroking her back, murmuring soothingly to her, although she couldn't remember anything he'd said. There'd been an awkwardness to his caress that told her it wasn't something he was used to doing, which had only made it all the sweeter that he was willing to comfort her even though she could tell it made him uncomfortable. And he'd held her until she'd felt calm enough to pull away. He hadn't just patted her awkwardly and told her she was alright and shoved her away. He'd allowed her to stay within his protective, comforting embrace until she felt safe again.
She thought it was that more than anything that had helped her to overcome her terror, kept her from having nightmares about the incident. He'd given her such a strong sense of security that that part of the incident had stuck in mind much more vividly than the attack that had prompted it.
He always smiled at her whenever she saw him since then, almost as if to say he was looking out for her and she didn't have to worry. She was safe. He was there to make sure she was safe.
And, god, she wanted to wrap herself up in the man so badly she could taste it!
Trying not to be too obvious, she lifted her head and smiled politely in Phil Whitmore's general direction as he strode across the reception room and went out. He didn't acknowledge her, but then he always had behaved as if she was a piece of the furniture.
Ordinarily, that would've upset her, even though she was far more focused on impressing the big boss-that was her goal, anyway, to impress the big boss, and, hopefully, if she worked her ass off, get promoted to the big league-but she barely registered the snub as she glanced oh so casually at Adam … and discovered he was staring straight at her-studying in her a way that made her go all hot and liquid inside.
To say she was disconcerted would've been an understatement. The discovery froze her-every brain cell, every molecule in her body. She wasn't certain how long her brain functions were shut down, but she was certain what flipped her 'switch' again.
He smiled-slowly. His beautifully formed lips spread, curled upwards at the corners and then parted to show a double row of perfect white teeth and then his smile widened until soft laugh lines formed in his cheeks, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and light danced in his eyes. It lit up his entire face and was the sweetest and at the same time, the sexiest smile she'd ever seen.
She was entranced. The smile jump started her heart from a flat line to Indian war drums. Her lungs expanded, feeding desperately needed oxygen to her brain so that it began to function on at least a basic level. Smile, it commanded herself. Smile back. Flirt stupid! She felt quick thaw set into her face, felt her lips begin to curl.
"Ms Carlson!"
She jumped so violently she dropped the file she'd been holding in her hand. It hit the floor, scattering her paperwork in every direction. Dismay filled her. Blood poured into her cheeks, making them pulse like a flashing neon sign, the heat rising from her neck and ending in her hairline. "Yes, Mr. Johnson?"
"I need you to take a few memos."
She quietly cleared her throat, her mouth having gone suddenly dry, trying to regain some composure. "Yes, Sir! Coming!"
She dropped to her knees, grabbing frantically at the papers and trying to cram them into the folder. A pair of large feet shod in military style boots entered her vision as she crawled along the floor. She stopped. She didn't really want to see his expression, but she couldn't resist the urge to look.
He dropped to a crouch in front of her just as she tipped her head up.
She tried not to look at his crotch. She really did, but it was right there, practically in her face, and the position he'd assumed pulled his pants taut over his muscular thighs, molding the fabric around the most perfectly lovely piece of man meat she'd seen in a very long time.
Or maybe never.
Her throat constricted as her sex sucked up every drop of moisture in her body and formed a pool of molten want low in her belly. She'd never really been 'in' to oral sex-certainly not with a complete stranger-but the sight of his thick cock instantly conjured a mental image of her grabbing it and stuffing it in her mouth.
She tore her gaze from it with an effort and discovered he was holding out one of her papers. The smile that curled her lips was the automatic 'polite but not overly friendly', but even that froze as her gaze continued upwards and connected with his.
This close, she was surprised she didn't spontaneously combust.
He was smiling again, faintly this time, looking a little puzzled, she thought.
"My name's Adam. When didn't introduce ourselves … before."
She almost came at the sound of his voice. "I know," she said in a throaty whisper she hardly recognized.
His brows twitched together in a faint frown. Seeing the 'god's' displeasure, she searched her mind a little frantically for the cause of it. "Oh! Evelyn. My name's Evelyn."
The frown cleared. The smile reached his eyes. "You have your hand on my knee, Evelyn."
She snatched her hand back as if she'd put it in fire. "I was … uh … reaching for the paper," she explained hurriedly, looking away as she felt the blood pulse in her face again and trying to focus on picking up the rest of the papers. He helped her, gathering a small stack and straightening them. Her hand brushed his as she took them. She tried to ignore the way her belly tightened and her heart stuttered. "Thank you for helping me … uh … Mr. Mercury."
"Adam."
She shot him a quick glance, evading his eyes. "Thank you, Adam."
"Ms. Carlson!"
"Yes, Mr. Johnson. Coming!" she responded, trying not to let any of the mixed emotions Adam was creating in her into her voice. She dropped the folder on her desk and darted toward his office door.
STARMEN
By
Raven
Willow-Wood
(c) copyright January 2007 Raven Willow-Wood
Cover art by Jenny Dixon (c) copyright January 2007
New Concepts Publishing
4729 Humphreys Rd.
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
"You think of something," Vincent muttered, irritated himself now since Miroc seemed determined to shoot down all of his suggestions. It wasn't like he was in the habit of doing Miroc that way. No matter how hair brained Miroc's ideas were, and some of them were pretty wild, he usually agreed to go along. "You're the brains here. I'm just along for the ride. How are we going to explain having them?"
"One of these days …," Miroc growled.
"You're trying to blame this on …." Vincent was distracted from his outrage by something petting his leg. He looked down to see Jo-dy, stroking his leg as if he was a favorite pet. His belly clenched.
Apparently, not content with that much contact, she started rubbing her face all over his leg, the top of her head just barely grazing his naked manhood in her attempt to get as much of her skin all over as much of his skin as possible. Alarmed more by his instant reaction than her behavior, he jumped back, falling on his ass since she didn't relinquish her grip on his leg.
"Something is definitely not right," Vincent muttered in a strangled voice. "She's acting like I gave her a sexual stimulant instead of a sedative," Vincent added, glancing at Miroc for help and discovering his friend had a cling-on of his own to worry about.
Sweat beaded his brow as Jo-dy worked her way upward, wantonly caressing his flesh with her hands and body, tasting him with her lips until the blood pounding in his skull and his nether regions began to feel volcanic in nature.
He was going to choke Miroc for talking him into this, because if she kept it up he was going to be forced to do something really stupid and illegal, like fuck her brains out, and then they would be in a hell of a mess. Four seasons of imprisonment was a walk in the park compared to what sexing an alien species would cost them.
Placing one hand on the top of her head to hold her off, he glanced at Miroc for help again. "I could use a little help here, damn it, man!"
Miroc's eyes were rolled back in his head. The guttural noises he made, apparently in an effort to respond, made Vincent distinctly uneasy considering the female seemed to have swallowed his cock and she should be the one choking.
Cannibalism, he wondered?
Or maybe they didn't consider it that since they were a different species?
Before he could reason it out, Jo-dy, who'd been driving him half mad by nuzzling her face against his lower belly, sucked his testicles into her mouth and began to make a humming noise. He almost exploded right then.
His fingers fisted reflexively in her hair. As if that was some sort of signal to her, she released his testicles and, before he could drag in a decent breath of relief, covered his cock with her mouth.
His eyes seemed to roll back in his head-or he went blind. In vain, he struggled to recall some of the language he'd been so carefully translating. Realizing finally that that was useless, he tried to prod himself to rise so that he could grab her and pull her off. He couldn't seem to do anything but writhe helplessly beneath her, for it took every ounce of concentration he could muster to keep from coming.
"This OK not," he said hoarsely when she finally lifted her head.
She smiled, her eyes heavy lidded, though not, obviously, with sleep. "Better than OK," she murmured, shoving his limp arm away and nibbling and licking her way up his chest.
"Not law," Vincent muttered a little desperately, grabbing her shoulders and trying to hold her away from him.
"No it isn't," she agreed pleasantly, dipping her head and devouring his mouth in a searing kiss, suckling his lips and darting her tongue daringly in and out of his mouth.
When she straddled him, enveloping his member in her hot, wet cleft, Vincent lost the battle for reason. Grabbing her, he tipped her onto her back and began a mindless search for the paradise she promised. "Fuck it," he muttered to himself. "She'll never remember it anyway with the Slephlurr."
She was so tight and hot and wet he almost lost it before he managed to work his cock inside of her. She groaned as if he was killing her, but one look at her face was enough to reassure him it was ecstasy, not pain that dragged the sounds from her, and that was enough to finish him off.
Grabbing her hips, he began pounding into her frantically until it began to seem like a race as to whether his heart, his brain, or his cock was going to explode first. She screamed, bucking against him, her channel quaking around his cock.
Rapture engulfed him as her body continued to milk him of his seed, the explosion so powerful it not only rocked him, it dragged a hoarse cry from him. Almost the moment his body ceased to convulse, he sank into a euphoric semi-conscious haze, collapsing weakly on top of her, too drained of energy even to consider moving.
Time seemed to stand still. Slowly, his heart rate and breathing returned to normal, however, and his brain began to function again.
When it did, something occurred to him that hadn't in the heat of the moment. The Slephlurr hadn't put her to sleep as it was supposed to. It had had a wholly unexpected effect on her, and if that was the case then neither could he count on the Slephlurr producing the memory loss it generally did.
Thoroughly roused now, Vincent pushed himself up and looked down at Jo-dy. She'd either lost consciousness from the sedative, finally, or, more likely, she was sleeping the sleep of the sated. Ordinarily, the last thought would have pleased him. At the moment, it didn't.
When he rolled off of her, his first thought was to look around for his co-conspirator.
Miroc lay sprawled on his back, the woman on top of him, his face a perfect picture of a moronic bliss, which told its own tale even if not for the fact that the woman was still mounted on his shaft.
At least he wasn't the only one in deep shit, Vincent thought irritably as he got to his feet with an effort.
It occurred to him after a moment that maybe he still wasn't exactly thinking straight. Miroc was out like a light. He wasn't exactly a credible witness to his crime. He had probably been too busy to notice what he was doing.
Just on the off chance that the Slephlurr actually had worked as it usually did, he stalked over to the transporter area, snatched his loincloth up, and put it on.
The woman, he saw when he returned, was dripping 'evidence'.
Maybe Miroc wouldn't notice that, though.
Shrugging, he nudged Miroc with his toe.
Miroc snorted and swatted at his foot. "You do beat all, you know that Miroc?" Vincent growled. "All that whining about doing time for making contact, and then you go and fuck the woman?"
Miroc struggled and finally managed to open one eyelid a fraction of an inch. After staring at Vincent blankly for several moments, he looked down. Both of his eyes popped open and his shoulders came up off the floor.
Shaking his head, Vincent leaned down casually, lifted Jo-dy's limp form from the floor and tipped her over his shoulder. Straightening, he headed toward his private quarters at the back of the ship.
Once inside his cabin, he laid her down gently on the soft folds of his sertese, watching it mold to her body, memorizing every inch of her. Unable to resist, he leaned over her, his hands on either side of her face, taking in the sweetness of her expression. He wondered how this amazing woman could still shine so beautifully after having endured so much at the hands of her own kind.
The desire to kiss her came to him suddenly, almost overwhelming in its intensity. Slowly, agonizingly, he moved closer to her slumbering form, until his whole body was a mere tantalizing breath away from her. If he took a deep breath, his chest would caress hers. His exposed nipples hardened at the thought, and his cock began to pulse back to life. Traitor, he thought of his cock. He swallowed convulsively, realizing that for perhaps the first time in his life he was nervous, unsure of how this woman was affecting him, and she was doing it all in her sleep.
This woman is probably desired by every man on her planet. She has almost certainly known the loving caresses of many. And what a body to caress. Disconcerted at the direction his thoughts were heading, he stopped just short of pressing his now very needy body against her luscious figure.
What was he doing?
He remained perfectly still for several moments, battling the temptation to keep going. One side of his mind was saying, go ahead! You're already screwed! The other reminded him that he wasn't absolutely certain he was screwed--yet.
Sighing with a mixture of irritation and disappointment, he pushed himself up and away from her sleeping form and left his cabin.
It was a crying damned shame he couldn't count on the Slephlurr erasing her memory of the events just prior to blackout. If he'd thought for one moment she wouldn't remember …. He killed the thought abruptly. He couldn't just callously dump her back among her own people, not after all they'd done to her, even if it meant saving his hide. He was going to have to think of something else.
He bumped into Miroc in the corridor, who was just coming out of his own cabin. Something teased at his mind, and he frowned thoughtfully, trying to jar it loose as he headed back into the main cabin and plopped down in his seat at the table they used for dining and work.
Miroc, looking a good bit worse for wear, dropped into the chair opposite him, staring glumly at the table top as if he could see the germs crawling across it.
Dropping his elbow onto the table top, Vincent propped his chin on his fist and studied his colleague. "Miroc, you haven't by any chance been fucking around with the genetic properties of the Slephlurr, have you?"
Miroc had glanced up at him when he'd called his name. At that, his eyes widened fractionally. He looked down at his hand almost immediately, studying his cuticles with frowning concentration. "No, why?"
Vincent began drumming the fingers of his other hand on the table top. "Just curious. I've never heard of the stuff having such an effect on anybody, and I'm damned if I can see anything about Jo-dy that leads me to believe she's that different from us."
Miroc shrugged. "Maybe it's an anomaly."
"In the plant?"
"Uh, yeah."
Vincent's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You sure you didn't get bored and decide to do a little experimenting with the Slephlurr?"
Miroc slammed both palms against the table top and stood up abruptly. "If you're going to accuse me of something, I don't see why you don't come right out and say it! I'm in a world of shit already, man. Give it a rest, will you?"
Vincent studied his friend with interest, trying to tap the sense of relief threatening to well to the surface.
Miroc hadn't noticed. Now, all he had to do was something creative with the ship's security recorder and he was home free.
"All right, fine. If you say you weren't screwing with it, I'll take your word for it, but I still think it's damned strange."
Miroc ground his teeth in frustration. "I messed with it! Ok? Happy now? And now I'm screwed."
"If you'd told me that to start with we could've avoided all this, but you just let me think I was sedating them."
"As if I could think with them making that racket! I had clean forgotten about the tests. Besides, as far as I could tell, it really hadn't changed anything. It's not like I had something to test it on."
Vincent studied his friend thoughtfully. "Was she good?"
"Shut up!" Miroc growled.
Vincent stood up, patting his friend on the shoulder consolingly. "Never mind. We'll think of something. We always do, don't we?"
Miroc looked at him with a mixture of surprise and hopefulness. "You'd … help me out of this?"
Vincent gave him a look. "Hey! We're best buds! Of course I'll help you out! What are friends for?"
Miroc looked so relieved Vincent felt just a little guilty, but he'd promised he would help him out, and he would. There was no sense in both of them being so bummed out that they couldn't think straight. If nothing else, worse case scenario, Miroc might need somebody on the outside of the prison that was on his side.
After trying without a lot of success to rake his fingers through the tangled mess of his long black hair, Miroc scrubbed his hands over his face tiredly. "I need to get cleaned up."
"Sure. I'll just give this all some thought and see what comes to mind."
"You're not going to set a course for home?"
"Now? I think we better consider other options before we think about doing that-leave that as a last resort. We're not due to check in yet. That gives us a little time to think up alternatives. Before-you know-I figured we could probably get out of anything serious, considering the circumstances. This is a whole other problem."
Miroc studied him for several moments and finally sighed resignedly. "I'm not really comfortable with the idea of getting you more involved than you are already. This could be-really unpleasant, especially if we try to cover it up and they find out we covered it up."
"Forget it. I'm not going to let you go down for this if I can help it, not when we were trying to play good Samaritan and it just went badly. Our motives were pure. Just remember that."
Vincent pushed a small panel in the wall near the table and two pairs of telephonic translators emerged. He took one pair and handed the other to Miroc. "We're definitely going to need these."
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