Page 32

N aomi

When I woke the next morning, I laid there for a long while.

I didn’t know what to do with myself. Back home, my whole life had revolved around work. Every morning, I got up, went to work, came home, went to bed, and did it all over again the next day. Every. Single. Day.

That life wasn’t here. This was a whole different world.

I’d seen a little bit of Pacifica from the airplane.

We’d driven here in the dark, but I’d been able to see big houses along the road, much bigger than the more economical ones in New Englandia.

When we’d reached Ryker’s home, he’d shuttled me inside too quickly for me to see anything more than a glimpse.

His hurry had frustrated me at first, but he had more than made up for it with several hard orgasms over the back of his couch.

Ryker had put me to bed in the guest room and I was a bit disappointed that he hadn’t joined me.

Pushing myself up out of bed with a sigh, I peeked out my bedroom door, and, neither seeing nor hearing anyone, padded naked into the bathroom where I found a whole slew of new, wrapped toiletries.

After freshening up and returning to the bedroom, I opened the closet door to find it, of course, empty.

Unsure what I expected to see there and mildly chagrined at the force of habit that led me to hope for something else, I chewed my lip and looked down disdainfully at the dirty clothes that had been tossed to the floor when Ryker stripped me bare the night before.

A knock on the doorframe startled me. I looked over my shoulder to find Ryker leaning against it. Another habit had me covering my breasts with my hands, and he raised an eyebrow at my modesty. Glancing down to distract from my embarrassment, I noticed that he had a pile of clothing in his arms.

“My sister is about your size. I thought you might appreciate some clean clothes, but we can go buy you something different if you don’t like them,” he flashed that trademark grin that made my insides wiggle.

“Thank you so much, and thanks to your sister, too! You shouldn’t have gone to such trouble.

I’m sure these will be just fine,” I replied, more than a bit bashfully.

He handed them to me and waited expectantly.

Even though he’d seen me not just nude, but naked, helpless, squirming, moaning, and sporting a crimson backside a fair number of times now, it still somehow felt just as shameful as the first time. Would I ever get used to this, to him?

I rushed to pull the pair of panties up my legs, blushing furiously as Ryker watched my every move.

The bra was too small, so I pulled the soft purple t-shirt over my head and went without it even though it felt scandalous to do so.

The neckline dipped low enough to reveal a bit of cleavage, which was more than I was used to showing.

The pants weren’t slacks or jeans, but stretchy, clingy leggings that showed off my every curve and detail.

I felt a bit uncomfortable displaying my body like this, but when his eyes made a slow, languorous journey from my toes to my face and back again, and his lips curved up in that mischievous way of his, I could tell he liked what he saw.

Finally dressed, he grabbed my hand and pulled me down the hallway.

“Come now. Let me show you my home,” he enthused.

His face was painted with excitement and my mood was instantly lifted.

I let him lead me down the hallway feeling my pulse kick up with anticipation.

To either side of us were various portraits of men and women.

They were all smiling, some of them in groups, a few individual portraits, and a few that bore a striking resemblance to Ryker.

One woman looked like she had his eyes, that exact shade of slate blue.

Could they be his family?

I’d never seen anything that even remotely qualified as family resemblance before.

Since New Englandia had developed the artificial womb, there was no such thing as family, nor familial resemblance.

They could engineer whatever hair or eye color they wanted.

Cheekbone structure or a particular jawline could be designed prior to fertilization by the selection of very specific sperm or egg choices.

As a result, resemblance to one another had pretty much disappeared under a sea of perfection.

Fascinated by the thought of such a thing existing in the real world, it was soon pushed from further consideration once he pulled me out the front door. My focus was instantly drawn to the breathtaking landscape that surrounded his home.

We were high up on top of a cliff with a view to infinity.

Down below and out as far as the eye could see was the ocean, something I’d longed for, but never been able to witness before.

The rolling waves crashed against the red rock, powerful, daunting, and so beautiful that all I could do was just stare.

My throat closed with emotion awakening from a place inside me that had apparently been hibernating or atrophied, never having been inspired like this before.

“Do you know what body of water this is?” he asked, pulling me against him, his chest to my back.

“The Pacific Ocean,” I breathed. I’d seen it on maps and in faded pictures in old books, but actually seeing it in person took my breath away.

“Welcome to my home,” he whispered. Affection and pride warmed the tone of his voice, but I wasn’t sure if it was for me, for Pacifica, or both.

His lips pressed against my cheek in a soft kiss.

His arms wrapped around my waist, holding me tight.

He seemed so sure of himself, and of us, but I wasn’t.

I knew his world was going to be different, but already I was feeling almost overwhelmed by how different it was in every way from the only home I’d ever known.

I didn’t know if I belonged here. At least, not yet.

We stood together for a long while, my back to his front, his arms wrapped around me, entranced by the view of sea and sky, the cool breeze blowing in our faces.

“It’s incredible, Ryker. More beautiful than I’d ever imagined. What do you have to show me next?” My voice was quiet with a sense of reverence and maybe a bit of intimidation.

“Everything,” he answered. I could feel the strength of presence behind me as I looked out at the endless waves.

He cleared his throat, catching my attention.

I turned within the circle of his arms and looked up at him.

His gaze bore into mine with a dark possessiveness that made my pussy clench tight.

I swallowed anxiously, but then the quiet rumble of his voice, and his next words, rendered me speechless.

“First, though, I’m going to make you my bride.”

He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.

My heart skipped a beat and I stopped breathing, the air seemingly stuck inside my lungs. I opened and closed my mouth, trying to come up with something to say. Anything, really. Nothing came. It was like my body and brain short-circuited, and I was suddenly incapable of coherent speech.

In all the old-world romance stories I’d come across, it was typically the man who asked the woman for her hand in marriage.

He would get down on one knee and ask her to marry him, with a glittering diamond ring as the most common token of his love.

She’d say yes (or occasionally, no), and a wedding may ensue, but this was nothing like those stories

He wasn’t asking me.

He was telling me.

He was claiming me as his.

Hearing it spoken out loud like that made me look around in alarm again.

All my life, I’d been taught that marriage was this forbidden terrible thing, never to be mentioned or talked about for fear of the consequences.

He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world and that made my deepest parts twist with desire, both for him and for what he was offering.

He wanted me as his bride.

“I can’t poss—” I began, but his hand snaked into the hair at the back of my head.

He closed it in a tight fist, and I cried out, deliciously cruel pain blossoming instantly across my scalp.

It scalded white hot for several seconds, but then it simmered down into something wonderfully intoxicating.

The warmth snaked downward, straight to my core, and my clit pulsed with need.

His fingers tightened a bit more, holding me captive without saying a word. My lips parted and he pulled me tight against him. His other hand wound around my throat, angling my face up toward his. At once, his gaze burned down into mine, hot and heavy and entirely too addictive.

I tried to protest once more in a feeble, sputtered gasp, but his lips captured mine in a brutally possessive kiss that stole my breath away. It was cruel. It was vicious. It was absolutely everything I could ever want in a single kiss.

I knew I should be fighting him, but we both knew that I didn’t really want to.

He didn’t need to ask me to be his; I already belonged to him.

I liked it when he took what he wanted. He ignited a primal sense of satisfaction deep inside me when he demonstrated his power over me, especially when he used his hand or his belt to remind me of my proper place.

I wanted to be his, even if that meant he was going to claim me as his bride.

I blushed as he kissed me, knowing that even if he had asked in that old-fashioned way, my answer would have been yes anyway.

The image of me kneeling before his feet flashed before my eyes.

Of his ring on my finger.

Of his child growing in my belly.

Something inside me either caught fire or melted, possibly both.