The silence was overwhelming, but I didn’t dare avert my eyes, and I refused to let go.
And neither did Naberoa.
Slowly, her grasp tightened, sudden and tenderly, her thumb brushing against the back of my hand. Her lips part and she takes a breath as her eyes seem to dilate. Subtly leaning, her midnight hair sways past her ears, her cute ears that now seemed flushed as her cheeks.
I saw my opening and took it.
Lunging out of my chair, against the soreness and pain, my lips found hers, and as I pressed she pressed, at first with equal pressure, and then with great strength. The taste and afterscent of copper and sweet pine were overwhelmed by something like açaí and lavender, that persistent, intoxicating, woody lavender. I couldn’t get enough.
Our lip play turned fierce, our tongues slipping, rubbing, rolling over each other, our saliva mixing to something sweet and minty. It was a push upon push, controlled and deliberate, and in that rhythm we moaned to, igniting us.
A single moment for breath was but a microsecond, a desperate plea from my body which Nabe refused to honor, catching my lips as I pulled away.
My hands danced first at the sides of her knees, pressing against her calves, snaking their way along her thighs with reserved speed, the friction of palms against a rough, oddly elastic fabric consistent. It was slow, slow enough to feel the warm flesh beneath.
Before I could cup her ass, there was a push, strong and hard that sent me reeling back into my chair that caused me to skid and almost tip over. I had half a mind to curse as my muscles flared, surprised by the strength. Those thoughts dissipated as Nabe followed, standing quickly, straddling my thighs as she kneeled on the seat, our lips meeting again, wet and inelegant.
The pressure in my pants grew fierce as I felt her lower self press against my legs, heat flaring as my core started throbbing. With surety, my arms wrapped around her waist, pulling us closer, tighter, her groin pushing in. Restraining myself seemed like a sin, but I wanted this to last.
Sending sparks through my nerves, I felt her hands start to snake up my slim shirt, fingers gliding across smooth skin, exploring my midriff to messaging my hips, then sliding along my spine to shoulders searching for something.
She barely pulled away as she murmured something under the pad’s notice, “[You do not wear a] gpsa?”
It took me a second to piece together what she meant. “[No.]”
We resumed our heated makeout, and in a smooth motion her hands found the hem. I pulled away so the shirt could be brought up and off, the mildly cold air pinpricking at bare skin and the areola of my now exposed endowment.
I felt the air shudder as my blue article was tossed aside. Nabe didn’t hesitate as she started pressing her lips to the underside of my jaw, traveling down my neck and collar, rounding the side of my breast. The tender nip to my nipple elicited a hiss, the tongue brushes forcing a series of sighs, a soft grope of her hand hitching my breath. All of it fed this addictive, hazy feeling.
At the rim of her top, my hands tugged down from under her arms, the feeling of a bra tickling my fingers. It was instinct that she shuffled her shoulders to accommodate, allowing me to force it past her own endowment, settling on her waist, then tackling the knot which held her bra in place.
But then she pulled away, and I growled in frustration. “Fuck… you tease.”
Still straddling me, she brushed her hair back, trying to regain some composure, the smeared lipstick and heavy breathing seeming to make that difficult. The pad translated when she spoke, “Wait.”
I gaze at her. “What’s wrong?”
Something in those golden-orange eyes betrayed a want, not dissimilar from the girls before, and they were deep in thought, a careful consideration.
It was seconds before she spoke, bringing her hand up to brush my lips, wiping away some of her lipstick. “We should wait until tonight. I have to attend to several matters.”
A low rumble from deep in my chest escaped me, and I moved to continue untying her bra, leaning into her neck. “[Make that wait,]” I growled in Vinlis.
Her arms gently nudged mine down, and my hands settled on her hips, just above the bundle of her top. She purred close to me, “[You can wait.]”
From the heat of my erection, from deep in my core, with hers so close, there was every intention to pick her up and toss her on my bed, to tear those clothes away, to feel every inch of her, to be consumed by her lavender scent, to taste her own cum, and to give her mine. I wanted to be inside her so badly, but not against her wishes, and it took another moment before I slowly nodded. “[Ok… tonight.]”
Leaning back, she stole a quick kiss, just as I brought my arm up to cup her chin, and as she pulled away I quickly dipped two of my fingers in her mouth, much to her surprise.
Before she could say something, I pulled them out, a string of saliva following and glistening in the light as I brought them to my own mouth, savoring the sweet taste of (not?) açaí. “Don’t keep me waiting long.”
Something shifted in her expression, and she repeated in a low growl. “[You will wait.]”
Holy fuck, I thought as heat pulsed through me.
Naberoa
The gates of Zaepiar’s Rise parted at a sonified glide that subtly vibrated alloy, and with them no more than a foot apart I strided past to the sound of my high heels tapping on paved cobble.
Taenya and Kharis, my hand-picked guards, one a child of Thelamein, offered some acknowledgement as I passed, the red head glancing longer than typical, possibly at the smudge of lipstick and my somewhat ruffled clothes. A quick stare at her direction ended her judgement, and she found a nearby building more interesting.
Even some of the onlookers, a group of 3 not of Green Rook’s residency, I recognize–only visitors, young enough to either be on break from academic obligation or for a prolific visit–started sparing glances, hushing to themselves in an excited jitter. I knew then they would be the source of inconsequential gossip for the next week (maybe 2), and possibly stir inquiries from the local assembly, perhaps from the Lady Delegate herself.
A nonissue at best, a chore at worst. Eventually, they would find out, and it was a debate if I should blow the whistle first.
Along my usual route, following winding roads of the housing district, were the usual buildings of swirling architecture and the gardens of Erris trees and Blue Sycadia bushes. There were several four-wheeled autas (delivering essentials from a nearby distribution center) that were passed as I entered into the wider avenue of the shopping and pleasure districts, their buildings taller and aesthetically shaped as Neo Geometry would have. The streets bustled with the usual pedestrians, more so for a rural, agricultural settlement–women with their daughters running errands, adolescents playing with age-appropriate gadgets and toys, the occasional young adult with her new wardrobe or set of instruments (for either a trade or hobby), and a daughter of Mishthriea performing with her musical instrument (a tret in this instance).
Were this during an hour of respite, had I not a special night in mind, I would have found seclusion in one of the many cafes or caffeine shops worthwhile, sitting under their pavilions or beside one of the many wide and retracted windows, simply observing with a steaming cup of milk and green chai. I almost allowed myself that one luxury.
Almost.
What soured that idea was the sight of Lythra’s white dress and wide brim hat, her blue hair standing out as an eye sore in an otherwise quaint establishment. The psychotic bitch still wore that careful expression over her persistent somberness, her and Thelamein’s innocent child of 3 sitting across from her preoccupied with a doll of red hair and burgundy robes, a depiction of one of Kymairis’s many procreate daughters. It was because of her that I intended to stride by, losing my appetite.
But she had taken notice of me, her casual glance morphing to a pleading stare which couldn’t be ignored, and so I stopped, casting my own ‘casual’ glance, purposefully whipping away the smudge of lipstick, slow and deliberate. Her eyes narrowed, the expression turning spiteful, and she was spared not another moment.
I continued on to one of the last and few buildings of Wynid Street, passing a pair of four-legged and one bipedal auta, their handler a child of Pheadian. The complex rose almost as high as the Zaepiar retreat, a government node with trace hints of Classic Colonialism, the architecture of near-linear, diamond arches built between the gaps of tri-star pillars with reddish-white concrete, designed in line with the borough’s organic preference. Before it is a plaza where the cobble street circles a parklet (roughly 5.85 meters in radius) with the same native fauna, except for one at its center: a blooming cherry tree, a piece of Erda and her colonies, genetically modified to suit Kessithi’s Mediterranean regions; a reminder of the beauty that was left behind. The park was a decent enough place, I suppose, one where I could leave the confines of air conditioned offices and artificial lights to find some quiet, ‘pure’ contemplation.
Brisking through a sparse lobby, up a lift to the top floor, down a hall of glass and embalmed wood paneling, passing a group of minor associates and 1 resident delegate, and through a reinforced glass entrance, I came to a large server chamber of what most have whispered as not unlike a tech hive, where two rows of zero celsius encased, CM-rated servers gave more than enough accommodation in a room of white concrete, grey plating, and dark tiles. It was more than enough room even with Feris, the building’s CM, and her routines.
It was not a lie that I had tasks to finish: a series of assignments for auta and their handlers of Green Rook’s large agricultural operations, logistics mapping for the more independent machines, contract negotiations and futures trading in conjunction with the borough’s merchants, and other economical items, not to mention uploading and cataloguing Thelamein’s (or ‘Taylor’s’) neural readings. It was not a lie, but it was an excuse.
As soon as I stepped inside, the brush of cool air spurred on that persistent arousal, with some herbac scent permeating from somewhere reminding me of her taste. As much as I wanted to hold on to the feeling, that indulgence had to be set aside.
The desk adjusted to a standing configuration as I walked in, a simple neural command prompt which activated silent motors, raising two large monitors and the necessary peripherals to my height. Setting my suitcase on another surface, I retrieved the Touch pad from it, swiftly setting it near the computer so that its data could be shared.
“Miss Naberoa?”
I didn’t spare Selphie immediate attention, the young woman having approached from behind, no doubt from her office. “Has something occurred?”
“Several priority messages came through, one with the ‘MH’ initials. I didn’t want them to slip your mind.”
Mother. Part of my old mind held a certain fondness for her, the part that had not been muted.
“Thank you, Selphie.”
From the corner of my vision, I saw the orange hair girl bow in acknowledgement. Compared to past secretaries, she was the most accepting, if not tolerant, of my mannerisms and condition. It more than made me fond of her, even if some missing aptitudes were to be desired.
“Did anything happen?” Selphie asked.
Again, I did not immediately respond, taken by what was on one of the monitors. “We kissed.”
“Oh, how exciting! Does that mean…?”
I felt my heart flutter at the suggestion. “Yes, it does… How much time can you spare this afternoon?”
Her cheeks seemed to turn a shade of red as she grew silent.
“I’m afraid it’s just me,” I answered the unasked question.
“Ah… I see now.”
“I can ask.”
“… I’ll think about it, if it’s with you.”
“Not with your friends?”
“Two had left to visit family, Bellas is already off for Lake Side. It’s just me, for the moment.”
Another flurry of tabs opened and closed in deciseconds, appearing as strobing lights for anyone else in a way that would induce seizures without the right augments. “Then I shall ask, but that wasn’t my question.”
“What was?”
I mentally disapproved of her shortsightedness. “Time, specifically with dressing and cosmetics, and a second opinion, preferably within my chamber.”
“I can do that! What time?”
“After work.”
“Do you want to borrow some of mine?”
In a swift motion, I beckoned her close, planting a swift kiss on her lips, which she took in stride. “You’re too kind. Now, please, back to your station.”
“Yes miss!”
Her exit was sounded by glass doors parting and shutting, sealing the cool air within.
A half-hour of tasks had somehow grown stale, the anticipation more distracting than motivating. Mother’s message had not helped as others continued to pile in my inbox and through my spam filters, and I used hers as an excuse to read the others:
Sender: MH.RUH
Topic: CONT:Update
Message:
“Naberoa,
Adresin has at last made herself useful, and I suspect she will reach out soon enough.
There will be a message from Associate Delegates and the Delegate of Commerce of Denyuan with further details. I sense that Green Rook and its sister boroughs will be seeing greater attention.
It has been too long since your last visit. Do see about visiting Veaspire when our work allows for it. It can be only us.
With warm affection,
Mother <3”
A rare feeling of warmth was from the fact that Mother usually avoided direct invitation, a rarity in the last several years since leaving home, perhaps knowing that it would leash me, just as how many other mothers would leash their daughters. I was her favorite, and it was for that reason she avoided asking.
Before an appropriate response could be made, an alert flashed on the right monitor, its subtle chime and red icon demanding attention on something concerning.
After reading its contents, I removed myself away from the desk, striding toward the end of the server chamber where panoramic windows of smart glass increased in transparency, allowing a clearer view beyond the settlement’s walls and in the distant landscape. North-east of Green Rook’s vast acreage was a noticeable column of smoke rising thick and black with a reddish-brown hue, a sign of heavy carbon and nitrogen burning, a sign that an agri-tractor was involved.
An emergency response qutol took to the view, along with its armored variant, and 23 smaller RE-variant combat drones, all flying toward possible danger. Part of me wished this was a foreign site, and knew I better than to think that the culprits were anything but inhuman. All that could be expected was that their provocation be discouraged, and it was hoped there would be no delay.