Authors: Cynthia Sax
Tags: #warrior, #space, #science fiction romance, #cyborg, #scifi romance, #cyborg romance, #medical play, #cynthia sax
Defying Death
Cynthia Sax
He’ll risk it all for one moment of
happiness.
* * *
Cyborgs don’t show emotion. Death learned
that lesson early in his long lifespan. To survive, he hides his
fierce passions behind a stoic wall. He calls no warrior friend. He
never admits to caring for any being.
Even the human female he’s destined to
love.
Tifara is Death’s obsession, his sole
opportunity for happiness, to express the all-consuming passion
burning brightly inside him. He’ll do anything to obtain the
curvaceous medic: defy a direct order, abduct Tifara from her
battle station, and wage war on his fellow cyborgs.
To earn her love, he’ll have to risk much,
much more.
Defying Death
Published by Cynthia Sax at Smashwords
Copyright 2016 Cynthia Sax
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Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal
enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to
other people. If you would like to share this book with another
person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If
you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not
purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite
ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting
the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. All of the
characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this story are
either products of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
First edition: May 2016
For more information contact Cynthia Sax
at
Table of Contents
Need twisted
Death’s circuits.
He gritted his teeth as he strode along the empty
hallways of the freighter. He was a J model cyborg, one of the best
of his batch. He could control himself.
Until he reached the ship. Then he’d indulge his
desire, his frame-deep yearning for the human female he hadn’t yet
met.
Tifara, due to a fluke of genetics, was destined to
be his, forever. He would lead his brethren to freedom, fulfilling
his duty to his kind, and then he would retrieve her.
She was safe. His female was positioned on a battle
station far from any fighting.
The urgency he felt to claim her was illogical.
He’d find release in private. That would relieve the
stress on his processors, on his systems, and he’d return to being
the cool, collected rational warrior he’d been trained to be.
Death entered the docking bay. There were two small
ships in the space. It was almost as devoid of life as the hallways
were.
Almost.
Menace leaned against the ship Death wanted to
access. The J model casually polished one of his long guns, his
movements slow and sure. His coloring resembled Death’s, his eyes
and hair brown, his skin tanned, his model number inked on his
cheek. They were both dressed in their black body armor, always
ready for battle.
Fighting was what they were designed for. It gave
them joy. And now they fought for themselves. They’d escaped the
cruel control of the Humanoid Alliance. Their freighter was headed
toward the cyborg Homeland.
Death didn’t trust that freedom.
“Why aren’t you in the holding chamber with the
others?” His voice rang with command. They’d left Earth Minor two
planet rotations ago, dropping off some Tau Cetian orphans. Crash,
the warrior representing the cyborg council, had called a meeting
to discuss the next steps.
Menace straightened. “There’s no need for my
attendance. Mayhem is broadcasting the information to me.”
They openly displayed their friendship. Death
thought that foolish. The humans could use that to their advantage,
damaging one to damage the other.
But he had more urgent issues to consider at the
moment, his yearning for his female and his need for release
growing. “The third engine isn’t operating optimally. It requires
investigation.”
Menace slung his long gun over his right shoulder.
“Others are more skilled at engine repair.”
Death looked around them. “Those others aren’t
here.”
“I’ll investigate.” The warrior stalked toward the
exit.
Death waited until Menace left the docking bay and
then hastened up the ship’s ramp. Cyborgs couldn’t lie. The third
engine
wasn’t
operating optimally. It had been damaged
during their escape. The repair required parts they didn’t have.
Menace would figure that out and soon return.
Death closed the ship’s doors. He had to find
release quickly. He stripped off his body armor, baring his body,
leaving on his boots.
The vessel belonged to Safyre, Crash’s female. It
was cluttered with personal objects, a concept foreign to cyborgs.
Cyborgs were given one set of body armor and their weapons. They
had no other material possessions.
Only one of Safyre’s material possessions interested
Death. A white scarf once belonging to Tifara twined around a
column.
He leaned forward, brushing the tip of his nose
against the fabric, and inhaled deeply, sucking her scent into his
lungs. The desire sweeping through him hardened his cock and
threatened to bring him to his knees.
When he had first discovered the scarf, he visited
the ship once every five planet rotations. The planet rotations
between visits had reduced to four, three, two, until he had needed
to imbibe her scent once and then twice a planet rotation. He was
addicted to her, to a female he hadn’t yet met. Death gulped the
musk-filled air, opening his mouth to take more of Tifara’s aroma
into his body.
He’d seen the images Crash’s female had collected,
had replayed them in his processors one thousand, two hundred and
seventy-one times. His Tifara was lush and round, with big breasts
and even wider hips, perfect for a large cyborg such as
himself.
Her hair was long and curly and brown with streaks
of red in the strands, like lava flowing through rock. Her brown
eyes were often soft with emotion, with caring. When he imagined
her looking at him that way, his chest heated.
Cyborgs rarely showed emotion. The Humanoid
Alliance, their makers, considered it a malfunction. Warriors were
decommissioned if they smiled, sliced into pieces while they
remained alive.
Death would protect Tifara’s smile. He’d fight, kill
to ensure she could always look at him that way.
She’d reward him with her pink lips, her
always-laughing mouth.
Frag. He stroked his hard cock, sliding his hands up
and down, up and down his shaft, from his hairless base to his tip.
She’d be warm and wet and willing, engulfing him in her delectable
scent, surrounding him with her softness.
He’d drive into her, seeking the sanctuary of her
form, the bonding, the connection only she could give. Death,
conscious of his greater strength, of how fragile and breakable his
little human was, would be careful with her, giving her all
pleasure and no pain. She’d pant, her gorgeous breasts heaving, her
pink lips parted.
He’d thrust harder, deeper. The little medic would
call his name, her voice breathy with passion. Death rolled his
aching balls, his fingers trembling.
Tifara was his weakness. That both frightened and
thrilled him. No one could ever know how valuable she was to
him.
That was why the scarf remained wrapped around the
pillar. The primitive possessive part of Death roared at him to
remove the cloth, to hide it from the other males, from his
possible rivals, to not allow anyone else to breathe her scent, to
think of her with lust, that emotion now flowing through his
circuits.
But taking that action would be a declaration of
caring. He’d never put his Tifara at risk. She was everything to
him; his sole chance at happiness, at having offspring, love.
His visits to the ship were enough. For now. He ran
his hands over his shaft, yanking on his skin harder and harder,
abusing his form, punishing himself for his need.
A bead of pre-cum formed on his tip. He swept one of
his thumbs across it, spreading his essence over his cock. His
balls hugged his base, the pressure building, building,
building.
Skin smacked against skin, the sound echoing in the
small space. He envisioned Tifara writhing beneath him, sweat
glistening on her pale skin, her nipples tight. Would they be as
pink as her lips? He wanted to lick her, taste the salt of her
skin, the sweet femininity of her.
Frag. He grunted, drawn into his fantasy, wanting to
make it into reality. How could he wait to breed with her, to claim
her? She smelled so good, was so lush, and the thought of the
kindness, the caring in her expression when she looked at her
friends, how she would soon look at him, stripped his
restraint.
Death braced his booted feet apart and worked his
cock with more vigor, rocking his hips into his palms, the muscles
over his lower abs rippling, his thighs flexed, as hard as his
frame. His fit physique shook, the tremors escalating. He fought
the battle with himself, delaying coming as long as he could.
But he was weak, so very weak. Her scent was too
exquisite, filling his lungs, curling around his soul. He imagined
his medic’s capable fingers on his balls, squeezing and—
He roared, his release catching him by surprise, and
he pushed forward. Cum arched from his cock, splattered on the
tiled floor. He came and came and came, purging all of his need,
all of his passion. A puddle of spunk formed before him. The scent
of breeding mixed with his female’s fragrance.
When there was nothing left, when he’d given
everything he had, he sagged against the wall, his legs trembling,
the tension within him temporarily alleviated.
Death swiped a cleaning cloth over his tip, removing
the remnants of his pleasure. The fabric sucked up the cum,
rearranging the molecules into air. He snapped the cleaning cloth
to refresh it, returned it to the horizontal support where he had
found it.
The floor was a mess. He placed his palms on a
control panel and interfaced with the ship. Small doors opened in
the walls. Cleaning bots exited, whirled around him, removing all
proof that he’d found release in Safyre’s ship.
Crash would damage any male who left his scent in
the human female’s personal space. Or he’d attempt to damage him.
Death pressed his lips together. The E model couldn’t best him in a
fight.
Death donned his body armor, skimmed his hands over
his weapons, ensuring all of his guns remained in their holsters,
all of his daggers were in their sheaths. His restraints were
missing. He’d used those to repair the seats in the ship, a small
payment for his use of the space and a thank you to Crash’s female
for, unbeknownst to her, bringing Tifara into his realm of
awareness.
Death leaned toward the scarf, took one more deep
breath, inhaling Tifara’s scent, and straightened. He was needed in
the holding chamber. Crash wouldn’t start the meeting without
him.
He moved soundlessly down the ship’s ramp.
His stealth was in vain.
Menace had returned. The warrior stood at the
bottom, arms crossed, eyes glimmering with humor. “If I hadn’t
heard it, I wouldn’t have believed it. You’re a sick bag of bolts,
Death.”
The male knew he’d found release in the ship. Death
maintained his grim expression, not allowing any of his
embarrassment to show. “You’ll say nothing.”
Menace’s smile faded. “That doesn’t have to be
communicated, my friend. If it weren’t for you, I would have died
solar cycles ago. You have my full loyalty.”
Death knew that but he took no chances with the
safety of his female. No being could know how he felt about
her.
“Crash is waiting for you.” The other J Model’s head
twitched in the direction of the holding chamber. “I didn’t tell
them where you were or what you were doing.”