Three
REMUS
I can’t help the burst of laughter that explodes out of me as my sexy little companion bends over to stare at my dick, and the way she snarls at me is so fucking cute.
She’s like a curvy little wildcat, all spit and fire, and suddenly an image of her scratching up my back as I fuck her senseless fills my mind and hardens my cock.
This mission is turning out to be a weird one, but I am not complaining.
Not if it means getting to know this fascinating woman better.
Tucking my weapon back in its holster, I raise my hands in a placating gesture, but instead of diffusing the situation, she continues glaring at me.
“What’s your name?” she demands, straightening, her hands anchoring to her soft, wide hips. “How did you get in here?”
I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking the questions, but that tear in her shirt, the one begging me to hook my fingers through it and rip it wider, exposing her soft breasts to my eager mouth and wet tongue, is so damn distracting that I answer her without thinking.
“You can call me Remus,” I say, removing my cap and shoving it in my back pocket.
“Call you Remus?” The wildcat raises one brow at me and folds her arms over her ample chest. “Is that your real name?”
I’m trained to withstand interrogation, to keep intel to myself until death if need be, but this woman is so damn intriguing, and the situation so fucking weird, that I can’t stop having a little fun with her.
“It’s the only one you’re getting, sweetheart, so I suggest we move on to who you are, what that is, and what the hell you’re doing here dressed like… that.”
A sudden flicker of shame crosses her pretty face, and she drops her arms, tugs at the hem of her shirt, and pulls it lower. Then in an instant she’s spitting fire at me again, glaring at me. “You shouldn’t be here. No one is allowed to be here. Not today. And especially not you.”
I cock one brow. “Why not me?” I ask, inching ever closer to where she stands.
I need to go slow, make my movements as small as possible so I don’t spook her any further.
Keep her calm. Stop her from escaping. Not that it looks like she has anywhere to go, and certainly not dressed like that. “Why not today?”
“You’re a thief.” She spits the accusation at me.
“I’m not a th—”
“Your uniform doesn’t fit you, you’re wearing the wrong type of boots, and unless you’ve been blessed with two enormous dicks, that’s one of my prototypes in your pocket,” she snaps at me, then huffs and folds her arms again.
“And anyone who actually works here knows the last Friday of every quarter is my demonstration day with the board and has the good sense to stay the fuck out of my lab, else they get fired. Now,” she says, lifting her chin and flicking her gaze to the clock on the wall, “would you kindly take my dick out of your pants and leave?” Her eyes, clear and sharp, come back to mine. “I have work to do.”
What work could she possibly have to do in her underwear?
My gaze snags on the thing standing behind her. It looks like a man, but not exactly like a man. It’s too… perfect. Real men are anything but perfect.
Reaching into my pocket, I grab the mechanical cock and pull it free, look at it, look at the man, take in the glassy eyes and not quite natural facial expression.
“Is this his?” I ask, holding up the dick.
Her lips purse. She’s irritated. “One of them.”
She lunges forwards and tries to take the appendage from my hand, but I hold it over our heads.
She’s quick, I’ll give her that. But not quick enough.
She makes a growly sound at the back of her throat and I grin at her.
Fuck, she’s sexy. Small and curvy with sweetly bowed lips and intelligent eyes framed by impossibly long lashes.
My cock keeps twitching, distracting me, urging me to yank this woman into my arms, fist my hands in the mess of her blonde wavy hair and kiss her until her toes curl and we make use of the bed behind her.
But business first. There is something very strange going on here, and I need to know what it is.
I have work to do too.
When her gaze darts to the clock again, my grin fades. “What’s your name?”
Turning back to her overgrown toy, she says, “I don’t have time for this.”
Shoving the cock back in my pocket, I grab her shoulders and turn her around, force her to face me. “Make time.”
Teeth gritted together, she hisses out a breath. “Jenna. I’m Dr Jenna Johnson. I run this lab.”
I narrow my gaze as I take another, slower look at her. There was nothing in the files describing Dr Johnson, not even their sex, so it’s completely possible I’m looking for a woman. “Jenna spelled with a J?”
She snorts. “Obviously.”
Great. Dr J. Johnson. Jenna. The wildcat dressed in her underwear and spitting fire at me is the lead scientist on the bioweapons project.
Because of course she is.
I finally find a woman who’s cute, fiery, and sexy as fuck, and she’s in charge of the project I’m here to audit.
Fuck my life.
“Why do you keep looking at the clock?” I want her focus on me. “What are you waiting for?”
That shadow of shame flickers over her sweet face again before she lifts her chin and glares at me. “First tell me who you are and what you’re really doing here. Are you a competitor? A saboteur? What? And be quick, please. I’m on a schedule.”
Jenna’s urgent tone and nervous gaze wouldn’t usually be enough to convince me to tell her who I really am, but the way she keeps looking at that damn clock is strange, and one of my objectives is to turn key staff members into informants if possible.
And it doesn’t get more key than the scientist in charge of the whole fucking project.
“All right. I’m a colonel in charge of a special division of the Department of Defence.
My team periodically investigates the defence contractors we work with and makes sure they’re following the letter of the law.
BioAID was red-flagged for suspicious activity in regard to a Project Pork Sword,” I tell her, barely refraining from rolling my eyes, “and your lab was at the centre of that activity.”
“What suspicious activity?”
“Illegal weapons. Specifically bioweapons.”
Jenna stares at me, her eyes wide and her mouth slack, then bursts out laughing. “Bioweapons,” she repeats, doubled over, wrapping her arms around her middle. “The only bioweapon around here is the one you shoved in your pocket.”
“What?”
“We don’t make weapons, Colonel,” she says, wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks. “We make sex-bots. High-end, luxury sex-bots. Or, as I call him,” she says, indicating the thing behind her, “B.O.B.”
The irony lifts one corner of my mouth in a sardonic grin. “Bob?”
Her laughter fades. “You know.” She groans, her cheeks pinkening with embarrassment. “Battery-Operated—”
“Yeah,” I say, holding my hand up to stop her explanation. “I know what it stands for.”
Jesus. I need to sit down. I have so many questions. But before I can ask any of them, Jenna’s mouth falls open and she stares at me intently, running her intelligent gaze over me from head to toe and back again.
“You’re with defence,” she says quietly, almost as if she’s talking to herself. Then she steps closer and fists her hands in my shirtfront, staring up at me, desperation written all over her face. “You can get me out of here. You can help me escape.”
Escape? Frowning, I settle my hands on her shoulders and push her back slightly so I can see her face, read her expression. “What do you mean? You’re being held against your will?”
“Yes!” She presses her body closer, and I smell the floral scent of her shampoo.
The proximity of her soft body and the feminine scent in her hair make my dick twitch.
Focus, arsehole. She needs your help. “The people running this place are insane,” she says.
“Perverted and insane.” She looks at the clock again, then back at me and chews on her bottom lip.
Dr Johnson is either a very good liar or she’s telling the truth. I don’t detect any deceit in her tone or body language. “Tell me what happened. How did you come to be here?”
Jenna nods, takes a breath, then talks fast. “Three years ago, my research into prosthetics was making waves in all the right ways, but I needed funding. BioAID stepped up. They said they would fund my research if I came to work for them, but their contracts were terrible. They wanted full ownership of all my patents, past, present, and future, so I turned them down. No way was I letting them take full control of my intellectual property. Next thing I know, there are masked men with guns in my house, telling me to pack a bag and come with them. What was I supposed to do?”
Her earlier nervousness and shame make sense to me now, and I want to wrap my arms around her and pull her body flush against mine, comfort her. It would be so easy to get lost in her soft curves and warm skin, but I don’t. I can’t. Instead, I tighten my hands on her shoulders and squeeze.
I reassure her. Like a good soldier. “You did the right thing, Jenna. You survived.”
“When I got here, the CEO, Mr Thorne, he told me he was going to use my inventions to change the world. He said he would fund my research into prosthetics as long as I allowed BioAID to use B.O.B. to dominate the sex-bot market. And at first he did, but the more money B.O.B. made, the more he restricted my research. Now the bots are the only thing I’m allowed to work on.
” She scoffs and shakes her head. “I used to be proud of what I did for a living. I made life-saving devices and gave people hope. Now I make walking vibrators and give bored, rich housewives orgasms.”
It doesn’t happen often, but I am at a loss for words. When I find my voice again, I say, “So, if I understand you correctly, Thorne had you kidnapped and held here at BioAID so he could use your invention to make high-end sex-bots, not bioweapons?”
Jenna scowls at my obvious bewilderment but nods. “It’s a very lucrative market.”
“And you’ve been here for three years?”
“Yes! And I want out of here.” She tightens her grip on my shirt before shooting another furtive glance at the clock. “Please. I just wanna go home.”
I shove my fingers through my hair, still unsure what to think about any of this. “First tell me about this demonstration you have to give. And what’s with the ticking clock?”
Brow furrowed in a look of concentration, Jenna lets go of my shirt and starts pressing her fingertips against my chest, feeling my abs, then pastes on an unnaturally broad smile. “Funny you should ask.”
Uh-oh.