Weapons Master Galactic Gladia - Anna Hackett Page 0,18
man had a hard head, and wouldn’t listen to reason.
They moved quickly through the tunnels, and soon came to the doors of the House of Rone, flanked by two cyborg guards. The guards nodded and opened the doors for them.
“I’m feeling a bit better,” she said.
Maxon’s head whipped around and he eyed her.
“Can we go to your workshop?” she asked. “I’ll take care of your cuts there.”
His gaze turned suspicious, but he led her up the stairs. Once they were in his workshop, she shoved him toward the couch.
“You aren’t feeling faint?” he asked.
She snorted. “I haven’t felt faint once in my life.”
His eyes narrowed. “Little liar.”
She yanked his shirt over his head. “I do whatever I need to do to get the job done. These need attention.”
Ow. Sympathy ran through her. Two of the cuts were really deep and had to hurt.
She strode over to the sink and rinsed out a cloth. Then she knelt beside him and started cleaning the blood away.
“The bleeding’s stopped,” she said.
“My cyborg systems can direct blood flow away from injured locations.”
“That is so amazing.”
Next, she grabbed the medical kit he’d used on her scraped finger. She pulled out the tube of med gel.
“One of the Earth women, Regan, enhanced the gel,” he said. “It works far more effectively now.”
“I didn’t get to meet her tonight.”
“She’s pregnant, and her gladiator mate, Thorin, is…overprotective.”
“You guys are all overprotective all the time.” She carefully smoothed the med gel onto his cuts.
“Here.” He took the tube and squeezed some onto his fingers. “There’s blood on your shoulder.”
She twisted and saw the rip in her shirt. “Those insect bots got me.”
He reached through the tear, rubbing the gel on the small cuts.
“It’s just a graze.” She went back to tending his lacerations.
Then she heard his breath catch.
Her fingers stilled and she looked up. They were both pressed close together, touching each other. Desire danced in his eyes, and she felt an echoing flood of reaction right between her legs.
She licked her lips. “Maxon.”
Maxon gripped Bellamy’s arms, his fingers sliding over the beautiful, colorful ink on her arms.
He remembered the glimpses of the tattoos on her belly, and he wanted to see them again, too.
She stroked his shoulders. “Do the cuts still hurt?”
“No. I can block the pain, but they are minor. Yours?”
“They barely sting.” She leaned against his leg. “Thanks for protecting me.”
He slid a hand down and cupped the back of her skull. “I don’t want to desire you.”
Her lips parted, the corners quirking. Her gaze dropped to the heavy bulge in his trousers. “Can’t you turn it off? Like the pain?”
“No,” he growled. “I tried.”
She ran her hand down his arm. “I understand. I don’t want to want you either. I never expected to get rescued and feel so damn drawn to someone.”
He pulled her closer. He was trying to fight the urge, but he needed to taste her. In his head, he kept seeing that drakking assassin lunging for her.
Their mouths crashed together. Maxon plunged his tongue into her mouth and she moaned. He took his time, drawing in the tart taste of her.
Then she pulled back. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“The cuts are already healing.”
Her hands stroked an unmarked part of his chest. “God, I love your skin, your muscles—”
He kissed her again. She undulated against his leg and then he pulled her onto the couch, and pushed her onto her back.
Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted.
She wanted him. She didn’t look at him with horror or disgust that he was a cyborg. Or worse, the curious, twisted lust he saw sometimes in men and women who wanted sex with cyborgs.
Bellamy’s body arched with pure, undiluted desire.
“God, I feel like I’m on fire. Touch me, Maxon.”
He wanted his hands on her more than anything he’d wanted before. He ran his fingers down her chest, between her high, firm breasts.
He wanted to see the markings on her skin. Roughly, he opened the fastenings on her shirt and shoved it aside. She was wearing no underwear beneath, and his gaze locked on the pink nipples that were hard little nubs. She had a toned stomach, and those gorgeous markings circling her navel and climbing up her body.
With a growl, he lowered his head to her breast. He licked her nipple and she purred. He took his time—sucking, nipping, tasting. Her hand sank into his hair.
“The other one too,” she murmured.
He obeyed, sucking the other sweet nipple into his mouth. She rocked against him and