TurnKey Lovers Read online

  "Are you crazy? I can't do this.” She looked over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of another couple in the throes of their passion.

  "They can't see you. This is our space. We're known here as a popular people—more notorious than some of our clientele living among us. We have the indulgence of seeing things others can't see, but our caves and corners are protected.” He tilted his head in their direction. “They see nothing more than a black glass."

  She walked over to the misty-covered reflection he referred to as a one-way mirror. She almost ran directly through it because she only caught her reflection upon close approach.

  She waved at the couple on the other side, and for a minute, just a split second really, she thought the woman with her back against the wall intended to wave, too, only her hand went to the man's shoulder in an attempt to bring him closer. Her eyes closed as he fucked her. She didn't see them, and Paisley imagined if she did, she wouldn't care. Her screams were continual and bliss. God, were they heavenly music to her ears. The way the man's hips continually found a true purpose of slow, purposeful grinds, the more she craved the act of sexual contact and the man who knew how to give her some of the same.

  * * * *

  Phillip stood behind her a few minutes later. His cock positioned right at the crack of her ass. The vibrator under her pussy buzzed with electric energy. His foot went to her ankles in an effort to spread her open more, and he pushed her up against the glass. Her breasts pushed into the cold surface and stimulated her nipples and much more. She needed to fuck him. Really, she felt the realms of desperation in a woman's call for sex—she was truly wet for it.

  As the toy found a hot spot to land, his finger trailed down the crack of her ass. His lips were at her ear, and she expected him to talk to her but he didn't. She heard his labored breathing, only his hot breath on her ear, and his cock at her ass. Damn him. Damn Brogan. Brogan? Where did he go? When did he leave? How did they lose him? Did she even care? Hell no.

  The sound of something similar, like the crinkling of foil, broke the silence. “Lubricant.” He told her as he fisted his cock with one hand. He removed the toy, the one which offered her nothing earlier in the form of an orgasm, but still, she missed it immediately. A void filled her then, and she moaned—or did she whine?

  He allowed the instrument to hang at her side. Bend over. She heard his voice in her head or perhaps he told her, but either way, he wouldn't ask twice. His palms held her over. When did they grip her flesh? She couldn't be sure. No, certainty didn't have a place here—not with them.

  Her hips arched. Her palms settled on the glass in front of them, and she watched the couple fucking against the far wall. Holy hell. What a carnal pleasure, a sinful treasure to own, even maintain with another. She watched; he watched. They watched together as the man in front of them screwed his woman without mercy. The whole time Phillip's cock testing and teasing. Pleading and pleasing. Ah the temptation.

  "Don't make me wait.” She begged then. A woman has the right when she's damp with desire.

  "You'll wait.” He whispered as his mouth covered her ear. “And you'll enjoy."

  "Oh! Oh! Oh! Damn, baby! Babeeeeeee! Damn!” The woman on the other side of the glass called out in a slow, southern drawl. Her gaze fixated now on something, anything, the black surface she may have realized encased an audience. Her eyes rolled under her lids as she caught his flesh with scraping nails. A wracked body fell against her as she shook with pleasure.

  Through the sealed glass she heard them. Paisley rolled her head back against Phillip's chest. “I need you to fuck me."

  He didn't. Not right then. Instead, he watched. She could see him in the reflection. He seemed fascinated by the human display. “Miss Tennessee—three years ago.” Phillip chuckled. “And her body is completely flawed next to yours.” He sucked her earlobe.

  Ah and flattery would get him everywhere. She arched more then, and he teased with the vibrator again. He turned up the speed and swept it over her clit as he reached under her with it. Before time elapsed into a noticeable blemish of misused increments, he slid it into her pussy. She purred. Oh, yes, she did—because this time—this very minute, the dildo reacted with measure. Maybe the speed adjustment helped or maybe he positioned it better or maybe—hell no—there really didn't need to be a maybe to it. His cock fell into a ripe stimulated place beside it, and the strokes he began made everything more pleasurable.

  * * * *

  He moved his cock into her ass and watched her jerk as he slid into the tightest space a man could occupy. Only he had to be honest with himself, her ass wasn't any tighter than her pussy.

  Damn, what a find.

  Paisley's ass clenched as he moved with her. She moaned, no, not just a whimper then but a throaty grunt of pleasure with warped, mixed really, emotional pain. She bucked at him. Her grip was snug against his shaft, and he resisted the urge to strip her with the weight of any man. Even thrusts would've been so tempting. Ah hell, why not? Why withhold himself?

  He parted his knees only by moving his feet some, and he gained another stance, one that helped him give her all of it. Every ripple he felt, he wanted to share with her.

  "Damn you, Phillip!"

  She cursed him openly. He didn't care. He wanted her to feel him. Feel the circle of empowerment he managed to slip over her neck when she wasn't looking. Ah yeah, she needed to be controlled even if his brand only existed in his mind. He needed to hold jurisdiction over her, and she would allow it one hour at a time, and never even know she gave it to him.

  One hand covered her right one, and the other one brought her left into a firm grasp beside her thigh. And he fucked. God, did he ever screw her. He pushed and squirmed his way into a space meant for gentler men but claimed by one with self serving goals in mind.

  "Easy, sweetheart. Easy, darling.” He didn't want her to deny him. The vibrator added sensations to his cock as much as the pussy he wanted to claim with his own regulations and reinforcements. He kept her still against him until she became rough and unmanageable. He felt her orgasm lingering first. Her sweet juices covered his cock, making any other lubricant unnecessary.

  "Phillip!” Her nails clawed at nothing because the glass didn't scrape or scar from them. “Harder! Please! Please, Phillip.” Her hips moved away from him, and he released his hold on her hands and held tight to her wrists until he had no choices but to free them. He had to fuck her ass, and in order to twist into her, he had to hold her steady and still.

  He clasped her hips and grind he did. He fucked her sweet ass like a man who declared the rights and held her title. Oh yeah, he did. She'd die in his arms if she knew how he felt, but his intentions were written in stone. He planned to possess her, own her.

  Her releases against the vibrator and his cock only gave him ammunition for multiple sessions. He fucked into one orgasm, and it only took a minute of relaxation against her back before her pulsating pussy encouraged another.

  When he was hard again, he heard her cry out for more. He expected denial, the word ‘no', or something to stop him, but instead, he watched her hands go to her nipples, and in the glass he stared at her—all of her. The beauty of a woman, the sexiness of sensuality—Paisley. “You are as spectacular as your name.” He said it with affection and stroked her with more of it. He gave her what a woman deserved, and his endowment continually rewarded them both.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Eleven

  Sated didn't describe the way she felt. Insatiable was more appropriate. He drew her to him and bathed her like a pet, taking the time to lick her clean. Everywhere he swiped, she wanted him to revisit, but he would not. They had business to discuss and an awaiting crowd.

  "We have to make an appearance, and the community waits,” he said.

  "What do you mean? There's a crowd waiting?” She glared at him for a second as she watched him squirm.

  "These people are your people. These colonies are your colonies, but there a
re few governing policies here only a strong voice lingering from the grave."

  Her hand weaved through his tangled locks. His mane seemed to appeal to her more than anything else. No, actually his cock ranked superior.

  "My father's death was unexpected, but mother's was unnecessary."

  "Your mother was a selfish woman,” he told her.

  "What do you know about my mother?” She locked eyes with him, and he kissed her belly before he rose to face her.

  "I know she didn't want you to have a man in your life or in your bed, so because of her, you decided to practice abstinence, and it served no real purpose.” With an afterthought, he added, “I should thank her.” He kissed her mouth then, something he rarely did during lovemaking because during sex, his lips found better usage.

  "That's not my mother's fault. It was my own.” Denial. It worked sometimes.

  He agreed. “Yes, you were afraid you'd kill the man you loved if he ever brought you to anger—like your mother killed your father."

  "My father had a harem of women wherever he went. He knew my mother had the power to kill him, but still he took one woman and then another and then another to his bed. He always made sure more women waited. She had her reasons for wanting him dead but found it necessary to keep him alive.” She snapped out the words, bitterness tapering off each syllable.

  "About the harem.... “He stopped himself and quickly realized a man can't explain the unexplainable.

  "You don't have a harem, and if you do, you won't now. I know because I feel your every desire, your every need, your heartbeat and your.... heat.” She added the last part for effect and then slid her hand down the slacks he'd only just pulled back over his hips.

  "That's the only thing I hate about mating with our kind; it sucks when you have to share everything with your lover—thoughts, emotions, sensations."

  "Yes, but I imagine you like what I'll be forced to share with you."

  "So you're willing."

  "I'm able."

  "That you are.” He slapped her ass and quickly pushed her up against the same brick wall they'd disappeared behind earlier.

  When they reappeared on the other side of the compound, Brogan waited with two satellite devices in hand.

  * * * *

  Brogan slid a device into her palm and then tossed Phillip his. “You're on in fifteen.” He pointed to a podium that appeared completely set up with microphones, wiring, and cameras.

  "Inform her of everything.” Phillip slid a quick kiss on her cheek and then touched it with his palm before turning toward the crowd. “I'll go shake hands with the rich."

  Brogan agreed. “Good idea. While you're over there rubbing shoulders with arrogance, let them know you and Paisley just added a lot of zeros to your net worth.” Brogan may have been a clone, but Paisley quickly decided he was indeed cloned for sexual purposes more than any other reason. Many of the men who snubbed them weren't observant enough or smart enough to realize their wives liked it in Brogan's bed or another masculine body similar to Brogan—women and couples alike enjoyed it enough to pay him for all sorts of entertainment and he entertained well.

  Brogan began to explain everything to her. “You're going to be introduced as Phillip's fiancée and then you'll be required to make a statement. Something about how you plan to govern here will be sufficient. Once you and Phillip have some time alone, you'll have time to discuss this more."

  He pulled the device from her hand. Even though he'd just placed it there, he realized she might not understand how it worked. “Do you know how to use this?"

  "I think so.” She studied him for a little while longer. “Brogan, can I ask you something?” She looked over toward the awaiting crowd. Everyone visiting The Zahur seemed to be in the colony center.

  "Yes.” It was a programmed response. One lacking enthusiasm or emotion.

  "Were you one of my mother's men?"

  "Never. That's sick."

  "Good.” She said with an added smile.

  "I know a lot of the escorts here on the colonies,” He paused before he continued. “From what I know, your mother was loyal to your father. I'm told she suffered a great deal over your father's ways. It must've killed her to see him flaunt women around the galaxies here."

  "Well, I suppose, ‘it killed him’ in the end, and perhaps it was a death he came to expect."

  "In any event,” Brogan continued, “no one has anything wild and interesting to tell about your mother, and outside of business circles, she must've led a very dull life."

  "Except that she was driven to madness, and because of it, she killed my father."

  "Well, I've never been one for small details.” He winked and then added, “Unless of course, those tiny details are sinfully delicious and involve the sounds of a woman's undeniable pleasure."

  "Stop!” She backhanded him in the gut, and her demeanor changed suddenly. “This was arranged."

  "Yes ma'am.” He looked straight ahead.

  "For how long?"

  Brogan took her hand. “Come on. We'll talk on the way. It's time."

  "How long?” She persisted.

  "He saw you when you were eighteen years old and begged his father and yours to allow it. Neither of them would agree. You were too young and inexperienced, and according to Phillip's father, he still needed training from more challenging women."

  "Great."

  "Yes, actually, it is. Since he's bed plenty of them, I don't suspect he'll find interest in them now. His father knew your father. They were friends in the armed services, and you might say, they went into business together—watch your step there—” he led her up to the platform area, but they stayed back away from the audience.

  He continued. “Anyway, he believed you and Phillip would one day be together, but he didn't want his son to have a relationship like he'd watched your parents have. He told your father his son would be held at bay until you reached the age of twenty-one.” His lips turned up in mockery. “Also known as the ‘webbed’ age of your people."

  She smiled, too. She always thought their particular lineage strange and peculiar. Clones should be amused if they lived their lives through the spokes of human and spider confusion. “Where is Phillip's father now?"

  "Why, he's on your payroll actually.” Brogan grinned.

  "Great. Let me guess. Future Developments?"

  "You got it.” Brogan winked.

  "Phillip Phillips."

  "In the flesh.” Phillip walked up at the same time she put two and two together.

  "Creative. You had your father work for me, and this whole time I've had a mole in my company."

  "My father did that himself. He was your quiet guardian just interested in looking out for our best interests."

  "You're assumptive, aren't you?"

  "More like accurate.” A familiar voice rose from behind them, and she turned to greet Frank Phillips.

  "Frank.” Brogan greeted him with a handshake.

  Frank turned and brought his son in for a tight hug before he gave him a friendly slap on the back.

  "Paisley, everything you want to know is documented and recorded, and you'll find that we've all worked together for several years to make this happen..."

  "Frank, I don't need you to tell me...."

  "Actually,” he cut her off, “you do.” He turned to his son and motioned for him to start the show using the features of the planetarium. “The reason your father and mother could build here in the first place is because of a joint venture. We're nothing without you, and you're nothing without us. Phillip will explain. In fact, he's going to do that now."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Twelve

  Paisley seethed. She'd been strong armed and manipulated, and yes, the sad part really hit her square in the face. Her father's words came back to haunt her because, with the sudden truth facing her, no—kicking her ass, she knew her father had spoken nothing but the truth all those years ago.

  She thought back
to a particular summer celebration, but she couldn't remember the reason for the gathering. She remembered the lawn was covered with tents and people. A true cause to party. Her mother hated events. It left her feeling vulnerable, if not exposed. It wasn't until she was older that she realized why. She had an easier time transforming into her shape if she located a dark corner somewhere—if the need arose. It seldom did, but she often used it for an excuse. Her mother had felt insecure in crowds.

  Paisley remembered playing hide and seek with some of the other children when she spotted her father. Just so she could be near him, she'd decided to hide under one of the large banquet tables. Grabbing a finger-sandwich just to be sure she had something to do while she sat under the table staring at the white linen trimmed in lace, she ducked under the table.

  As soon as her bottom hit the cold ground beneath the make-shift buffet, she crossed her legs in an Indian-style position. She opened her triangular sandwich and licked the pimento cheese from one side and then ate the light bread by itself. She started to repeat the process, but when voices closed in around her, she folded the other half over and stuffed it in her mouth. Chewing on the pimento cheese bread, she nearly choked when she heard the conversation already in progress.

  Laughter filled the tent, and her father's voice drew closer and another one, too. Whose? It only took her a second to remember. It had been Phillip's father.

  Frank Phillips had been there with her father. The other men, two or three of them as she recalled, didn't matter. They were all in a jovial mood and then one of them made a comment about his wife and money. The man seemed agitated—a doctor—complaining about the amount of money his wife spent on their children. Paisley didn't remember what he said or what he meant when he said it. It didn't matter. What mattered was her father's reply because now it seemed worthy of remembering.

  "Frank, tell them what we talked about." He'd said with a chuckle in between pitches and words.

  "I'm afraid the Mrs. wouldn't appreciate it." He'd paused and then continued with laughter in his voice, “You go ahead. You tell them." He'd slurred, and it was typical. Frank drank a lot. He was a great business man, but when he socialized with others, he drank enough to forget he'd celebrated any occasion at all.