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Drift had killed an Invader. He might still be plotting to betray her. She wasn’t a fool. That could be a possibility. But there was the illusion at the moment that he was temporarily on her side. And that suggestion of an alliance was more than she’d had with any other fuck partner for solar cycles.
Plus, Fates, she wanted him. Her need revved louder than any engine. Her pussy was wet. Her nipples were taut.
A ship came into view.
It was…disappointing. With her cyborg’s fascination with speed, she expected a sleek warship or a rocket-like orbiter. Something sexy-looking. Something fast.
His vessel was a fuckin’ freighter. She circled it. There seemed to be extra guns installed on it. But it would handle like a stone.
She parked her mounted transport in front of its main doors, and she questioned if the few other things she thought she knew about the male were also wrong.
“I’ve deactivated the perimeter alarms remotely.” Her cyborg jumped off her machine.
He must’ve unlocked the doors remotely also. The ramp extended and the doors opened.
“Hmmm…” She grabbed a beverage container from the seat compartment and took a drink. “Want some?” She offered it to Drift.
“Save it for yourself.” He waved the container away from him. “There’s beverage on the ship. And cyborgs don’t require liquid replenishment.”
She eyed him with more suspicion. “If cyborgs don’t require liquid replenishment”—she mimicked him—“why is there beverage on your ship?”
She exchanged the container for a couple of cleaning cloths.
Doubts or not, she would still fuck him. And she wanted to scrape the engine lubricant and the other grime off her skin before doing that.
“Yum, one of the beings who packed the cargo hold, projects cyborgs meet their genetic matches on missions.” Drift’s eyes glittered with amusement. “His projection appears to have been correct.”
If the term genetic matches meant they were hot for each other, his friend Yum had been correct. She swept a covering cloth over her face.
“Let me assist you.” Her cyborg took a fabric square from her. “Does your hair require tidying, or is there a cleaning option built into its design?”
She froze in place. “What do you mean—its design?”
“I’m half machine, my female.” He glided the covering cloth down her nose. “I can detect mechanics. And your hair—” He tapped the tip of her nose, and she blinked. “—is mechanical.”
Fates. She hoped he was truly on their side.
Because it was almost impossible to deceive the male.
“I’m bald.” She lifted her chin, bracing for his reaction. He expected a female with hair. She wasn’t that female. Or anything like the being he admired. “The hair, the eyelashes, and the eyebrows are all simulated. My fingernails and toenails are simulated also. And I’m not usually orange.” Nothing much about her appearance was real. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“You’re a delight, my female.” He chuckled.
The male was amused by her deception. She gawked at him.
“No, I don’t have a problem with any of that.” Her cyborg shrugged. “Do whatever makes you emotionally functional.” He paused. “And safe.” He met her gaze. “But process that while changing your appearance might confuse other beings, it will never modify my bond with you.” He breathed deeply and his nostrils flared. “I would recognize you in any simulated form. And I’ll want you. Always.”
“Oh yeah?” She didn’t believe those too-good-to-be-real words.
“Yeah.” He snapped the cleaning cloth, refreshing it.
She’d test his statement.
Roshini pressed the release button on her hair set. It loosened. She removed the simulated hair and draped it over the grips of her mounted transport.
Then she gazed up at her cyborg.
His eyes glowed. “Yeah.” He gripped her hips and pulled her to him.
