Cyborg Doms: Fane (5 page)

Desire deserted him, leaving him hungry for something so much more than a prostitute could offer.
Fane slapped her once, and then helped her to her feet. "I'm not in the mood."

"You still have to pay, asshole." Laverne dragged on her shirt, then pushed down her skirt. "I'm charging you for all night." She collected her underwear and headed for the exit.

The door slammed shut. Fane shrugged and moved into the bathroom. He took a long, cold shower. What was happening? His balls ached, and he had just thrown out a female—was he going insane? A warning flashed from his AI; his testosterone levels were dangerously high. He stepped from the freezing shower and dried off. All thought of sex deserted him. He needed to walk.
Computer, dress me in black. Leather boots, jeans
and a cotton shirt with buttons. Connect me to Jace, Mind Speak. "Jace, I'm sorry to interrupt
your hot, monkey sex. I'm going for a long walk. Laverne didn't work out."

"Right. I'm not enjoying this either; I might ditch this bitch and go look for some ass.

There must be a gay bar in this town. Unless, you wanna fuck me raw."

Maybe later, I need some space . . . okay?

Fane shrugged into his leather jacket and left the suite. Inside the elevator, the music reminded him of a funeral. He stepped out on the ground floor and headed for the exit. Outside, cool air hit his skin with just a hint of rain. The sound of thunder rumbled in the distance, and the inky sky lit up with a flash of lightning. Accessing his AI for the map of the area, he headed toward the middle of town. Shop fronts spilled light onto the sidewalk, and flashing signs advertised a variety of clubs and bars. He shook his head. One thing his history omitted was that everything here stayed open twenty-four hours. People milled about. Couples gazed in shop windows, holding hands, groups of kids on hover boards flashed in and around between the pedestrians.

The roads were busy with traffic. This place was not that much different from his own future Earth.

At the end of the retail area, the long line of shops gave way to high-rise apartment buildings, hotels and professional offices, medical clinics and the like.

Farther along the road, Fane came to the seedier side of town. Here, only the occasional person walked by, eyes front and in a hurry. Fane paused to check his map. Perhaps he would find a bar. A strip club,
Bare All for You, c
aught his attention. Yeah, he could record a few memories and play them back later. Crossing the street, he noticed a group of men tugging at something, or dragging a large bundle of rags between them. Shit.

Not rags—a female.

Without a second thought, he ran down the alley. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Fane saw the flash of metal. A youth with a red bandanna tied around his mouth aimed and fired. The bullet burned through Fane's shoulder. Red bandanna began to scream to his friends. One of the youths hit the female across the back of the head. She sank to the ground, burgundy hair spilling across the pavement like blood. Her shirt hung in threads over a lacy bra, and her short, black skirt had hitched up to show a length of golden thigh. She looked up at him, her big, green eyes pleading for his help.

Fane rushed into the melee, fists flying. Without doubt, he inflicted a great deal of damage, but not enough. Blood flew from smashed noses, and then the woman screamed a warning—too late. Pain shot into his head, and his AI blinked out a second before the street lights faded to nothingness.

Chapter Four

Dr. Tamara Bright pushed her hair out of her eyes and stared down at the man at her feet. Heaven's above, her knight in shining armor was a big one—no, big was an understatement. The man had the physique of a professional wrestler and then some.

He was so darn heavy. She could not lift his shoulders, let alone drag him into her clinic. She glanced self-consciously at her lacy, black bra. Hell, the man would have bled to death if she had not used her shirt to make a pressure bandage. She knelt beside him and touched his face. His vital signs were stable, as far as she could estimate. With a shiver, she glanced around. The gang had fled, and the streets were empty. The man moaned. She needed to get him inside for medical attention. She traced the jagged scar under his left eye with her fingertips. "Can you hear me?"

"Aaarh." Fane rolled onto his side. "Yeah, I can hear you. Damage report . . .

broken right clavicle with minimal muscle damage . . . engaging nanobots . . . AI rebooted and okay."

Moving back, Tamara blinked. Was this man having a morbid joke at her expense? She placed a hand on his cheek, turning his head to look into his eyes. Such incredibly blue eyes—he must be wearing tinted lenses.

"Can you stand up? I'm Dr. Tamara Bright. My clinic is over there." She inclined her head toward the heavy, metal, security door.

* * * * *

Fane gazed into the face of his dreams. Fuck, his AI must have sustained damage, and he was stuck in a dreamscape. He rolled onto his knees. Once his head stopped spinning, he staggered to his feet. Hot, burning pain ripped through his chest.

This was no dream. He had become delusional. He moaned and clutched at his shoulder. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Look, I know you're in pain. You have a gunshot wound. Let me help you."

Tamara reached for his arm. "Come with me."

Turning slowly, Fane gazed down at her upturned face. Dirt smudged her pallid features. Railroad tracks of tears streaked her cheeks. God, she was real. He wanted to pull her into his embrace and hold her trembling body against him.
Slow down. Take it
nice and slow. Don't frighten her. Computer, release pheromones.

The woman drew in a long, shuddering breath. Fear filled her magnificent, jade eyes. Fane touched her cheek. He expected her to move away, but she stood there looking up at him. This had to be good—right? What had happened? The jackhammer in his head was not helping. His AI replayed the fight—six to one. He did not stand a chance once the bastard shot him. The blow to his head had come from behind and knocked him flat on his face. He smiled to reassure the woman. The AI supplied him with her name—at least that part of him was working. "More to the point, are
you
okay, Tamara?"

"Yes, thanks to you, Mr. . . .?"

He allowed her to lead him toward a door farther down the alley. "Fane Jacobs."

Tamara wiped her delicate hands on her skirt, and then pressed her palm on the scanner beside the door. The heavy, metal door clicked open. Fane walked inside, his bionic eyes seeing clearly in the gloomy passageway.

"Lights on." Tamara shut the door and led Fane into a small surgery room. "Sit on the table, and let me take a look at your shoulder."

The nanobots inside Fane's blood would repair any damage in a few hours. He glanced around suspiciously. "Don't worry. I just need to rest up for an hour or so."

"No way." Tamara pushed him toward the bench. "You've lost a lot of blood.

That wound needs cleaning, and you have a bone sticking out of your chest. You were correct when you said you had broken your clavicle. Do you have medical knowledge?"

Fane shrugged. "Some. Well, let's say I know enough to fix myself. You don't have to worry, babe." He sat on the bench and met her gaze. "I think
you
need to check that nasty graze on your shoulder first."

"It's nothing." Tamara moved closer and began to remove Fane's jacket. "Please lie down."

"Why did they attack you?"

"Drugs at first, and when I refused to open the surgery door, they threatened to rape me." Tamara shuddered. "Thank God you came along. I told them you were a cop and more were on the way."

Fane scrubbed his hands over his face. He used the delay to retrieve information.

"I'm new in town. Is this regarded as a bad neighborhood?"

"The gangs are a problem. I volunteer at this clinic twice a week." Tamara pushed the hair from her face. "I'm not usually here this late. Staying late was a dangerous mistake." She sighed. "Please remove your shirt."

A lingering look at the rose nipples nestling in the top of her half-cup bra sent aphrodisiac saliva rushing into Fane's mouth. The sweet taste lingered on his tongue.

He imagined suckling those delicious buds and watching her pupils dilate with pleasure. He inhaled. The scent of expensive perfume lingered on her skin, mixed with her own subtle, feminine fragrance—the type of smell a man never forgets. He wanted to lick her all over—slowly. God, he could taste her. Fane lifted his gaze. "I'll do whatever you want, but first you should cover up." He grinned. "I'm only human." He began to undo his shirt. "You're covered in dirt. Why don't you take a shower, and I'll walk you home. Trust me, I'll be fine."

"I don't think that's appropriate, Mr. Jacobs." Tamara folded her arms across her chest. "Lie down."

Fane grinned. The woman had attitude. He liked that and the way her eyes flashed with annoyance.
A natural, fiery redhead and with a pussy to match, I bet
. A woman with attitude would be a challenge to train. His cock pressed hard against the front of his pants. Her gaze dropped to his sex for a fraction of a second, and then she lifted her chin defiantly and tried to stare him down.

He gave a long sigh for effect. "
Fane,
and I agree; it's not appropriate for you to arouse me when I'm in no shape to comply with your demands."

"C-c . . . comply? I'm a doctor. I insist you lie down this instant. You have a head injury, and it's obvious you have no idea of the seriousness of your condition. You could be bleeding to death, Mr. Jacobs."

"I don't think so.
You're
injured, white as a ghost, and trembling. That tells me you're the one in shock. Look babe, I'm worried about you. So placate the injured man and go take a shower." He winked at her. "I promise I won't watch."

"There's no shower here, so that's not an option."

He could almost see her thought processes at work. She chewed nervously on her bottom lip. Her eyes held a soft, vulnerable, expression of smoking desire. He aroused her. Her hard nipples peeked invitingly over the top of her lacy bra, and her breathing became ragged. The woman in her wanted him to take her right here, right now. The ethical doctor in her would only think of his injuries. He would make it easy for her.
Computer, turn off pain, realign right clavicle.

With a grunt for her benefit, he straightened his arm, allowing the collarbone to snap back. "I've broken my clavicle heaps of times; it's no big deal." He met her gaze.

"Okay, so we compromise. You go over there and wash up, and I'll take a look at your shoulder. Then, when you get your color back, you can help me with this scratch. I don't want you passing out on me, Doc."

* * * * *

Tamara swallowed hard. Fane certainly appeared lucid after that strange outburst. How he had managed to snap his clavicle back into place without passing out defied explanation. He held her gaze with his magnetic eyes, his mouth turned up in a crooked grin. This close, he made her heart race and her pussy cream. Holy hell, he was her patient, and she had sworn an oath, although, right this minute she could not quote it to save her life. She considered the damsel in distress syndrome and the paper she had read about women who fell for the men who saved their lives. With a shake of her head, she dismissed the idea. He was far too gentle for her—not the dominant man she craved. Yet something about Fane drew her to him, sexually.

The past few years had seen a string of would be lovers, but none had satisfied her. The decision to bite the bullet and go with her desire to try flogging had come to fruition a few months previously. She had joined the BDSM club, Whips, and experienced the joy of domination. The house doms and her, 'no sex' policy had gained her experience, but had not cured the longing for her own dom. A man she could love and trust to give her what she needed to achieve a sweet, pleasure-pain climax. Not that she'd had too much luck finding a suitable dom to go all the way with at Whips, either.

Tamara took stock of the man before her. Fane had broad shoulders and muscles chiseled from steel. Not to mention those handsome, rugged looks she liked in a man.

His amazing eyes trapped her. She inhaled his masculine musk, and the unique scent made her legs weak. Desire shot straight to her core. The overwhelming need to bend her head and sample his full, luscious lips made her head spin. She could imagine his hands all over her. He had such large hands, the type perfect for spanking. Her pussy quivered. To make matters worse, he actually liked her—red hair, freckles, and all. The massive bulge in the front of his pants gave her all the proof she needed.

Tamara met his gaze. She would comply with his wishes. The bleeding had already stopped, and he did not appear to be in any immediate danger. The best idea would be to seal his wounds and get him the hell out of her clinic before she made a complete fool of herself. With a nod, she turned toward the glistening, stainless steel sink and washed her face and arms. Drying her hands on a paper towel, she turned to face him again.

"Okay, you win." She pulled on latex gloves and dropped a pair on the bench beside Fane. "Wash your hands, and I'll get the supplies."

"These gloves won't fit me." Fane moved toward the sink. "And, I promise I don't have any germs that could harm you."

After selecting a variety of bandages and instruments from various drawers, Tamara set them on a surgical cart and wheeled it to the table. Fane stood looking down at her with his startling blue eyes. She gave him her best professional smile and sat on the bench. "I feel rather foolish sitting here when you have a gunshot wound."

"Women are precious, and they need to be cared for." Fane sniffed at a bottle of antiseptic. "This is going to sting."

With the care of a surgeon, Fane swiftly cleaned and then applied a dressing to Tamara's shoulder.

When he finished, she slid off the table. "Thank you. Please lie down on the table, Mr. Jacobs."

He stretched his magnificent body along the entire length of the bench. Tamara held back the desire to push a lock of silky, black hair from his face. The wound on his shoulder appeared much smaller than before. How could this happen? It made no sense at all. The man should be bleeding and in significant pain. She activated the Bio Scanner. The holo-image flashed on for less than a minute then faded. The entire system crashed, but not before Tamara glimpsed enough of the internal workings of her patient to cause her concern. She gasped and stepped back, knocking the cart into the wall.