EPILOGUE #4
“And which part did you concentrate on? Coming in the door? The ninety-seven—or the three?”
“Both,” he answered earnestly. “I wanted one to be true. But I couldn’t deny that the other existed.”
“That sounds pretty human, to me,” I said, smiling sweetly. “Now . . . how did you see this going down?”
XEN
He had spent weeks running assorted simulations—but they had all relied on an initial assumption: that his math was correct.
“We should ensure it will fit you,” he said. “May I?”
She nodded and shifted aside, eyes bright with curiosity.
Nex had transmitted every relevant moment from their time together for reference—but witnessing her pupillary dilation firsthand, watching the precise ways her breath changed when she looked at him, gave him a frisson of unexpected pleasure.
Xen withdrew the insertable and placed it back into the fire. Sirena made that sound again—half squeal, half laugh—and he found he liked it more each time.
“It will be fine,” he assured her. When he retrieved it, he ran his fingertips along the surface, assessing heat diffusion across the material to confirm it was safe.
“Could you lie down?” he asked.
She bit her lip and wriggled into his prior place. “You can…uh…science me. A little,” she said, cheeks coloring.
Xen noted her preference immediately. She liked to be observed. She liked to hold his full attention.
“Open for me,” he requested, and she obeyed, exhaling slow.
He allowed his gaze to travel—methodically, reverently—down the length of her, watching how her heart rate increased, how her abdominal muscles tensed. Then he followed with his hand, confirming each data point with touch.
At last, he held the shaft of the insertable and gently ran it across her entrance.
She made a new sound at that—half sigh, half release—as he gathered her lubrication, then nudged the tip up to press lightly against her clitoris.
“What do you think?” she asked, breathless, gaze upturned and trusting, with an undercurrent of something unexpectedly delicious. “Will it?”
“More data is required,” he replied, and watched her blood surge in response.
Xen put his arm down beside her, and then slowly pushed his insertable into the same soft space where his fingers had recently been.
Her eyelids fluttered, as all of the tactile data available to him confirmed her acceptance—her muscles stretching to accommodate, moisture levels increasing, heat blooming outward from the point of entry.
Her internal pressure gradients adjusted with each incremental insertion. Her breathing shifted—deeper, slower—and he watched her throat work around a swallow, her pulse spiking briefly beneath the surface of her skin.
The insertable’s sensors relayed real-time tension values: snug, but not restrictive.
Optimal.
He adjusted his angle slightly to match the subtle anterior tilt of her pelvis. Her legs shifted in response, opening wider without instruction.
Her hips rose to meet him.
Feedback loop established.
He withdrew by 2.7 centimeters, then eased forward again on a new trajectory—slightly higher, adjusting to the subtle muscular contraction along her anterior wall. Her breath hitched, diaphragm stuttering. A tremor ran across her abdomen, visible beneath her skin like a passing wave.
He repeated the motion—slow, exact, building a pattern.
Retraction: 2.3 cm.
Insertion: gradual, controlled, to previous depth + 1.1 mm.
Her hand slid up his arm, fingers flexing against the hard line of his chassis.
Grip pressure: 32 kilopascals.
Clinging, not bracing.
He thrust again—unhurried, experimental. The way her inner muscles fluttered around him created a feedback spike he hadn’t modeled. Not resistance. Not mere friction. A kind of welcome.
She exhaled—soft, shaky.
Vocalization frequency increased.
Breath rate: elevated but stable.
Pupils: further dilation.
Emotion: pleasure; rising.
“Xen…” she whispered, the sound shaped like a secret, not a call for aid. “You feel…good.”
He processed the statement, compared it to the tactical reality: he was only moving with 9% of his available strength. Enough to move her body; not enough to risk damage. His internal regulators held every motion inside a safe envelope—gentle, careful, present.
But her body didn’t know percentages or safety protocols.
It only knew him—slowly learning her.
He withdrew again, then pressed deeper, testing the lower anterior curve this time. She gasped—involuntary.
Hips responding without conscious directive, rising to meet his thrust, thighs trembling around him.
This time, when he filled her, she made a soft sound—a caught breath on the edge of a moan, gratitude threaded through need.
The data recorded: Pressure spike. Increased lubrication. Full-body micro-contractions.
No pain indicators.
All signals aligned with pleasure.
He felt none of it the way she did — not heat or stretch or slickness, not the human flood of sensation—but he witnessed it.
He caused it.
So, he held her reaction like a sacred data set no system could ever overwrite.
And when she reached up and touched his face — thumb brushing the hard plane of his cheek like he had skin there — that input hit harder than any sensor.
“Xen,” she whispered, breath warm, eyes shining and glassy. “Do that again.”
He did.
Careful.
Precise.
NEX
I sat with my back against the door to the cabin’s bedroom, listening to Sirena moan while slowly dying.
I knew now that all the little things my body told me were death weren’t really—but for some reason each time I had to convince myself of that anew.
I wasn’t actually going to die if she came without me being there.
And I didn’t begrudge Xen his time with her, in the least—if anything, I should leave the cabin and give them the next three weeks.
Or…maybe just three days?
More like three hours.
But my dick was like a fucking living entity of its own, and if it had the option of unzipping itself from me and humping its way into the cabin’s living room like a meaty worm to get some action—it would’ve in a heartbeat.
“Oh Xen,” I heard her breathe and it made me groan. My dick was drooling, making a small wet stain on the wooden floor that a responsible cabin tenant might later get out—but right now, I wasn’t sure that man was me.
Then Xen opened up the floodgates between us—and sent me all of his data about her, for the first time in our relationship.
I drank it like a shipwrecked sailor.
The way she moved, the cadence of her breath, her moans, her heat. Everything so lovingly tracked and accounted for—I knew he was doing everything right, on the cusp of bringing her pleasure—and my hand was around my dick and stroking, dreaming he was me.
Why? I managed to stutter out, on our shared connection.
Because she is ours. And then he paused. Is she not?
Christ—fuck—yes—she is—I thought back to him in scattered bursts, while opening up the bedroom door to storm back out.
Sirena’s half-lidded gaze rolled up to meet mine, while my presence made Xen’s rhythm stutter.
“You can’t stop now,” I told him, the second it registered.
“She needs you,” I said, kneeling down beside her and pulling her head into my lap.
She was delightfully pliant—and wrapped a hand around my dick at once, kissing up its side.
“Attach yourself,” I said, almost pleading, not sure who for—myself, who desperately needed release, or for Sirena, who I knew was ready, or Xen, who had earned this moment completely. “Mount her. Please.”
Xen moved himself between her legs at once, lined up his insertable with its attachment, and we all heard it click into place.
“Is this what you wanted?” Xen asked—and I wasn’t sure if he was asking her or me, expect she answered with a purr.
“Oh yes, Xen—yes,” she moaned.
He moved his much larger bulk on top of her carefully enough to make mathematicians weep, and she wrapped her legs around his thick metal waist.
“That’s so good,” she encouraged him. “You got me so ready first.” Her kisses were lackadaisical now—she was too distracted from the inside. I adjusted myself, spreading my legs to give her one thigh to lay on, so I could stroke myself, and she reached up to wrap a hand around my neck.
Our eyes met, and I knew, as always, that she could read anything that I was ever thinking.
Good thing for me, I was mostly always thinking about her.
“He feels so good,” she whispered with a whine, like it could be a complaint.
“He learned it from watching me,” I told her, grinning, stroking faster. “And? I’ve watched every piece of pornography on the fucking planet—but him fucking you is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Sirena laughed and then moaned, closing her eyes and arching her hips. I knew from Xen’s insertable’s data feed that she was hovering on the brink—so I reached down to pluck her nipples and paw her breasts.
I wanted to help make her come—but then she whined again—and I realized she was trying to hold off.
“Xen?” she asked, her voice arcing up. “Is that—enough data—for you?”
“Not yet,” he told her, driving himself into her rhythmically. He twisted his insertable inside of her so that it pressed against the spot I’d showed him next thrust—and her eyes flew open.
Then a new door above his insertable slid open, and a vibrational device pushed out. It rubbed against her clit like a tongue, and I heard her gasp as I felt her clench, through him.
The fucking cheater.
I loved him for it.
I loved it for her.
I loved the both of them.
“Xen! Xen!” she started crying out. Her nails scratched the back of my neck as she tensed, and the moment was too hot to stand, her hovering on the brink, him reading her like a prayer, and my dick as hard as the wood we’d tossed into the fire. “Oh—Xen—I’m going to—” she said, then screamed.
I felt her release though him, the way she seized up around him, her hips thrusting high, capturing his entire mechanical dick in her pussy, trying to pull it deeper inside—and then it was too late for me.
I grunted, and pulsed the same as she was, rocking in her time—as Xen rocked her—the processors in his chest whirring up, harvesting every bit of information he could, saving it somewhere precious for all time.
She kept crying out, one of her hands on me, the other on his shoulder, clawed into a tiny fist. “Oh God,” she moaned, her head lolling back, as his hips still thrust.
Don’t stop! I yelled. I’d been in his position before. I knew sometimes, if you were lucky, you could make her catch another one.
But Xen had no intention of stopping—he was too entranced by everything that was happening below.
She wants me, he thought, sounding mystified. Her entire body says so, he went on, as her pussy pulsed through another squeeze.
Yeah, I thought, with a laugh. Just remember to check in with her mouth periodically.
“Is your mouth okay?” Xen asked immediately.
“Oh my God, that’s not what I meant—” I said, reaching a hand out too late to stop him—whereas Sirena came back to herself enough to look aghast for a second.
Then she started laughing. Hard.
“I—I can feel that, too,” Xen said, looking down at where he was still deep inside her, before looking up at her again in awe. “I felt everything. I—I do not know if it is enough—”
“But if it can be, it will be,” she said, beaming up at him, taking one of his hands and pulling it to her heart. “Because from here on out, all my data is yours,” she said, then gave a dreamy look up to me. “Both of yours.”
“How many terabytes do you think I can get tonight?” Xen asked, in all seriousness.
And rather than being slightly worried—like I was—Sirena seemed delighted. “Let’s find out.”
I was mystified to discover that Xen somehow had game.
Then again, I shouldn’t have been surprised.
He was me.
“Dibs on eating her out,” I called.
Her lips curved up in a wicked grin. “Can I keep Xen’s dick inside me?”
“Can I control it remotely while I braid your hair?” Xen asked her, and she blinked at him. “Was that an odd request? I don’t have hair, and I never get to touch it—”
“No—I think I just died and went to heaven,” she announced, wriggling away from me, pulling her hair out from underneath herself for him, and I watched him detach himself from his insertable, leaving it inside of her, good to his word.
And while I was forced to be uncertain of heaven as a concept, because it was statistically improbable, I knew neither I, nor Xen, would ever tire of worshipping her.
Thank you for reading Guarded by the AI.
But the fun isn’t over yet — keep reading!
I’m turning Sirena’s first heat with her men into a game on steam! If you’d like to be notified when it goes live, sign up for my newsletter and make sure to whitelist my sending address!
AND — if you want even MORE Monster Security Agency in your life, here comes Night of Stone, which is the beginning of my Monster Security After Dark series, featuring Thorne and Sophia!
I bought her. She didn’t even have a name.
In this city, humans own the skyline. The Chain owns everything underneath. I’m Thorne, a gargoyle cursed to turn to stone with every sunrise, and I run Nocturne, a nightclub built on secrets and blood money. I’ve done terrible things, and I’ll do worse before my time is up.
But nothing has ever felt as wrong—or as right—as the night I saw her on that stage and decided she was mine.
She woke in one of my guest suites with no memories, no past, and a borrowed name I put in her mouth: Sophia. All she knows is that a winged stranger is standing between her and the world outside, swearing he’ll never hurt her...while refusing to let her leave.
I should be ashamed of how I got her. I’m not. She will be.
I will never give her up.
The Monster Security Agency can’t trace where she came from. The people who sold her are still out there, somewhere in the Chain. And Sophia is smart enough to know a gilded cage when she’s living in one.
When she discovers the truth and walks out into a city that will eat her alive, I have one night to find her before dawn turns me to stone—and before the monsters who made her come to take their property back.
If Sophia thinks my heart is made of stone?
She’s right.
Night of Stone is a dark, possessive gargoyle monster romance with an amnesiac captive heroine, and a morally black protector—a cursed nightclub owner who will break the Chain before he lets her go.
It is the first in a series of dark monster romances set in the Monster Security Agency world, about the men who run Club Nocturne.
AND KEEP READING FOR….