Venturo flicked a stylus.
"Thank you, kinsman. Shall I deliver the boy to his home address?"
"No need. His grandfather is coming to pick him up. Thank you for your assistance. You have been most helpful."
"My honor, kinsman."
The screen went dark.
So easy. It was so easy for him.
Venturo looked at her. "Feel better?"
"Yes."
"Rank Captain," he said.
"Everyone must have a rank of some sort." Claire desperately wanted to run away. The door was locked. She wouldn't get far in any case. Besides, she gave her word.
"I will initiate the mind link now," he said. "I'll do all of the work. All you have to is relax."
"Can I have a minute?" She began dismantling the shell from the inside.
"I'm afraid not." His mind enveloped hers, slicing through her surface thoughts.
Venturo's eyes widened. "What is this?"
She put more pressure on the shell.
"Open your mind, Claire."
"I'm trying. It takes time."
"I'm afraid I must insist."
His mind smashed into her shell. It cracked, caught between the pressure of their two minds. He pushed harder. The shell broke. Her mind soared free and she felt him surge through it, finding all of her secrets. He felt the raw grief of her team's death and the pain of the PPP. He saw the bionet, he saw the red cat, he saw himself as the beast on fire. He saw everything. She desperately tried to hide one tiny secret bit of self, the one filled with fantasies of him, with images of both of them, touching, kissing, making love, but he found it in a fraction of a second.
They sat across from each other, her mind glowing, completely revealed.
His jaw tightened. His mind was like a supernova, churning with anger and surprise.
Venturo rose from behind his desk and walked out.
Chapter Eight
Claire went home. There was nothing else left to do.
She walked into her apartment and sank on the couch. She felt exhausted, drained, as if nothing of her remained except for a thin shadow.
She should have felt relief. Finally Venturo knew. She wouldn't have to lie anymore. Her position as a client meant she would be safe from deportation. None of it mattered next to the look on his face. He looked betrayed.
She did betray him, his trust, all while she had fantasized about him. She felt small, shamed, and pathetic. She would cry, except she had no tears, so she curled into a ball hugging her knees.
A knock sounded through the door. Claire's mind soared, checking.
Venturo.
She pulled her knees tighter to her. No.
"Open the door, Claire."
No.
"Open the door."
She closed her eyes and willed him to go away.
An image blossomed in her mind: Venturo, nude, golden, his big body bracing hers. She was shameless and naked. His lips trailed the line of her neck.
Her whole body shivered in excitement, conjuring a physical response to the fantasy.
Claire tried to scrounge a mental shield.
In her mind Venturo flipped her, caressing her back, sliding his hands around her to cup her breasts, his fingers teasing her nipples, sending tiny electric shocks through her. A hungry yearning began to build inside her, a kind of emptiness that insisted to be filled. She felt the steel ridges of his stomach against her back and the thick length of his cock against her butt. Her head swam, as if she were drunk on pink wine.
His hard thigh nudged her legs open...
"Stop!"
"Why?" Venturo's thoughts rolled through her mind. "I'm only showing you what I found in your head."
"You were never meant to see it."
"Why not? I'm the object of your fantasies. I should be able to see them."
In her mind Venturo nuzzled her neck, stroking her breasts. The air turned too hot. Every nerve inside her hummed with pleasure. She felt the heat drain down, focusing between her legs, building into a thrilling ache. His right hand grasped her hip, his fingers hot on her skin. He pulled her closer and she felt him between her legs, stopping just short of thrusting into her.
"Stop..."
"You don't tell me you are a psycher. You meet me on the bionet and then you let me look for you for days like a complete idiot. You fantasize about me, but you don't let me know. You're terrible at sharing."
She had survived over eight hundred combat missions, yet she was terrified to open that door.
"Did you touch yourself while you thought of me, Claire?"
In her mind his hand slipped down, over her hip, tracing the sensitive curve of her stomach, down, lower, slipping between her lips. His fingers dipped into her, into the center of the ache, and came away slick with moisture. He flicked his fingertips against the sensitive bud of her clitoris.
Pleasure shot through her. She cried out.
"What's the matter? Am I not doing it right? Open the door and show me."
In her mind, the phantom Venturo leaned to her ear and said a single word. "Coward."
If she didn't let him in, she would regret it for the rest of her life. "Open," she said.
The door slid aside, and he came through, pulling off his shirt as he walked, revealing the bronze skin of his muscled chest. He kicked off his shoes. His pants followed. She just watched, unable to move.
He stepped toward her. His arms caught her, pulling her to him. She saw his green eyes, dark with need, and he kissed her. She tasted him — the slight saltiness and spice — and smelled the exhilarating scent of his sweat mixing with a hint of his cologne.
His tongue slid into her mouth and found hers. Desire swept through her, melting the last remnants of inhibitions. His tongue licked hers, and in her mind, she was picturing him thrusting inside her. Their thoughts tangled in a glowing whirlpool and she saw herself in hismind, golden and beautiful, moaning in pleasure.
"I want you," he said, his voice ragged. "Do you want me?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes," her mind sang, "Yes, yes, yes..."
He unzipped her dress, slipped it off her shoulders, and it fell down. His hands eased her out of her bra. Her panties followed. She wound her arms around him. Her fingers touched the hard muscle of his back. She had wanted this for so long. She caressed him, no longer caring about being ashamed. She slipped her hand lower, stroking the smooth skin of his shaft, squeezing, sliding, wanting.
He made a deep male noise and kissed her neck, turning her around. She put her hands against the wall.
He thrust into her, straight into the center of the aching pressure. She gasped, and he kept thrusting, each stroke sending quakes of pleasure through their bodies and their minds. He kept pumping, moving in a steady powerful rhythm. The happy quakes collided inside her, building stronger and stronger, until her muscles contracted and the ache inside her broke into intense shudders of pure bliss. She cried out and sagged against him, supported by his arm around her waist.
"Did you like that?" He grinned, masculine and possessive, and very happy with himself.
"Yes," she told him.
"Good. Now we reenact mine." He picked her up and carried her to the bed.
"That was a very elaborate dream you had," Claire murmured. She lay with her head on Ven's biceps, exhausted, spent, and euphoric.
"I have a creative subconscious."
She smiled.
"What was the deal with visit to the Carvannas?"
She sighed.
"Out with it," he said.