Project Sapphire: The World’s first AI. A top-secret project exposed to a select group of scientists. Lei Heaton, a man desperate to save his daughter, is at the top of the bionics empire. He not only hired the team to repair his daughter’s damaged body, he plans to reanimate her dead mind using the Sapphire AI.
A dangerous man—a killer that is no regular human…
Maxwell Landon—codename: Deimos—is the Adelphi Organization’s top agent. His M.O is simple: Never fail. He's used to annihilating anyone that gets in his way. But this time, he's being called to protect and deliver. Deimos is aware that this mission won't be like any other. Then he lays eyes on the resurrected Ms. Heaton, and instantly he knows:
That is not Magdalena Heaton.
And he will never be the same again.
Control, his most prized possession, is ripped from him with a single glance...
The violent attraction he feels for the girl complicates matters immediately. But what Deimos doesn't know is that things are about to get much worse. Sapphire isn't just a completely different person than the dead Ms. Heaton—she's the AI miracle of the century. An advancement that many would kill to own.
Including himself, no matter how hard he fights against it.
A girl determined to protect her creator. A man determined to protect her...
Despite the fact that she is not Magdalena, Sapphire is bent on taking her place as Mr. Heaton's daughter in order to keep her creator safe. Deimos knows that he has to honor her wish. But the thing inside him is demanding more. More than a touch. A lot more than a taste. It responds to everything about her...every stuttered breath that lets him know she wants him as much as he wants her.
How does he walk away when he knows that no matter how far he is from her, she’ll always be in danger and he'll always hunger for her?
Genre Erotica/ Sci Fi
Publication Date May 1st 2014
As well-known as the plant is, it’s only known for its processing of MSW. The perfect cover. No one suspects that a lab is situated three levels below ground.
Or that a body was brought back to life with a computer program down there.
It bothers me. It's rare that anything bothers me when it comes to a mission. Or life in general. But this one is pricking at me. Curiosity rides me.
Gage leans into the car to speak to his team right as one of the back doors of the facility opens.
Several Japanese men and women in lab coats exit first. They stop, forming a semi-circle around the entrance and talking amongst themselves. Another black haired man in a lab coat, one that is not Japanese, exits last.
I know who he is based on his file. That is Dr. Gordon Allen, the creator of the Sapphire AI.
Brilliant, thirty-four years old, and almost no one knows that he’s recently defied God.
Whatever the hell it is.
He turns back to the door. For a few seconds, all I see is his back. Then, he shifts, enough for me to catch a glimpse of the smaller figure exiting the facility.
My feet start moving the moment I do. The fuck if I know why. I’m supposed to wait by the vehicles along with the rest of my team until they lead the “cargo” to us.
Gage calls out my name in a low tone. He’s clearly as surprised as I fucking am. I don’t do impulsive moves. Don’t do total loss of body control.
I’m doing both right now.
My feet eat up the distance in a matter of seconds. The Japanese doctors tense as I storm closer, but none of them try to stop me. For some damn reason, the only thing that matters at the moment is getting close enough to truly see the resurrected Ms. Heaton.
I am man on a fucking mission.
“When did you do this?” Dr. Allen asks her in a hushed, strained tone. He’s pointing at her long, dark brown hair. The ends were dyed a deep, navy blue. “How did you get the dye?”
“I asked for it.”
Her voice hits me. God, does it hit me. And I’m sure my reaction is due to the fact that I am ninety-nine percent sure who is talking, and my mind is too fixated on the oddness, the novelty of the situation.
I stop right behind Dr. Allen. There’s a pounding rush of adrenaline coursing through me as my pulse fills my ears.
“This… this…” Dr. Allen pauses in his stuttering, the movement of his head telling me he’s looking up and down at her. “You should have worn the other outfit.”
“I… liked this one better,” she says in a small voice that mounts me, takes over, and reawakens a series of emotions that spring to life like rusty gears.
I am not an unfeeling man. Not completely. Fuck no. But the emotions going through me make me feel like I’ve been in an emotional coma the majority of my life.
She’s wearing a black button-down sweater, a navy blue school-girl skirt, black-and-white striped knee-highs, and light-brown commando boots that start right below her knee. She’s hugging a messenger bag to her chest, one with a pink-teddy bear on the front and the phrases Reality is a Prison and Sucker Punch beneath it.
“This is all too different.”
She doesn’t respond to Dr. Allen’s worried statement—she’s staring into my eyes.
Looking right at me.
That rush—that god damn rush hits me again, and I’m almost dizzy. Years of training are the only thing keeping me somewhat steady.Those big, duo-colored, gold-tinted eyes are wide, curious, and they’ve stolen every bit of processing power within my mind.
Her pale skin turns pink and her lips fall open with a shuddering inhale.
I can’t blink. I don’t move.
Am I even fucking breathing?
Her soft whisper makes my hand flex on the door. “I can see that,” is all I say, and I can’t help it. The corners of my lips stretch into a smile at her obvious statement.
Her face flares red. Bright, worrisome red. I can see it even in the darkness of the car.
She stares up at me, blinking, like she’s never seen me before. I feel like a misshapen, recently landed UFO. And when I say misshapen, I’m talking tentacles.
She somehow turns redder—I’m starting to worry about her health—and her head flies around to stare at the front of the car. She nervously tucks her hair behind her ear and fidgets.
The moment her incisor comes done and she bites on the corner of her plump lip, I catch it. I so fucking catch it.
Flares go off inside me, a primal nerve reaction that rushes through every muscle. I’m not tentacle-infested UFO anymore. No. I’m a seventeen-foot tall God of Virility, standing on top of that mountain at the peak of my prime.
Attraction. I saw it. My body recognizes it on all levels. That reaction speeds ups, until my head is spinning from battling back every urge howling to life within me. I jerk back from the shock.
The sound of my head hitting the roof makes her gasp.
“Oh my God. Are you okay?”
The tone of her voice. It does things to me, man. “I’m fine.”
She shot across the seat and is now in front of me, staring up at me with eyes full of worry. For me?
“Are you sure?” Her hair moves over her shoulders as she tilts her head, accessing me.
“Yeah. I’m fine. I—” Have no idea what else I’m going to say. All I can do is take her in, getting sucked further into something I don’t understand. At all.
Why is this happening? It can’t be about the sex. As hot as this little thing is, I don’t understand why my body is acting so… so… deprived.
It’s not like I’m not getting any. I had sex yesterday morning, in fact.
The reminder that there is someone else should dampen things a bit. Right?
I already told you, I don’t do relationships. It’s only sex, and I made that very clear from day one. Noemi knows the deal. But we work together. She’s part of the Organization. Starting something else without ending it first wouldn’t just be fucked up. It’d be straight up inconsiderate. Considering we work together, that wouldn’t be a smart move.
You can’t start anything anyway, you fucking genius. Cargo. Mission. Deliver.Pull out your phone and Google that shit if you forgot.
“Are we leaving? We have fifteen minutes before departure. And we can’t take the direct route to the plane, as planned. They closed that route.”
I fly out of that car, this time managing to spare my head any damage. “What do you mean they closed the direct route? Why?”
“Don’t know. No time to find out. We gotta go.” Gage stares pointedly at the car.
Alright, alright. I get it. Stop delaying the mission with your bullshit, Deimos.
When I lean into the car, the girl’s in the process of putting her things back in her bag. She slips on a dark hoodie next and lifts the hood. A black pair of Ray-Ban glasses is donned last.
I have the same exact pair.
I see her hesitate, and it’s all the excuse I need to lean back in.
Frigging hell, I’m magnetized.
“Is everything alright?” I don’t like the tone of my voice. It’s suspiciously close to sounding worried. Too intimate.
The girl shakes her head and stares up at me. “Yeah. I’m just a little out of it.”
Understandable. She’d died. Then she was brought back to life after countless surgeries. She’s bionic now. Part human, part machine.
I know from experience how much of a mind-fuck it is to wake up to that.
So why does her behavior make me suspicious? There’s this niggling doubt whispering like a devil in my ear.
I’m an idiot. I should’ve spent the time she was sleeping looking into that USB. Instead, I spent the time staring at her.
I’m aware of how stupid all of this is. These thoughts are going through my head and I hear them loud and clear. I am busy berating myself for being the most monolithic fool in history.
And I still hold out my hand to help her out.
She doesn’t grab it and that hesitation is back. I’m about to pull it back and move out of her way when she finally reaches for it.
Thick leather separates her flesh from mine, but the moment of contact reverberates everywhere.
I forget about the mission, about everyone waiting for us outside, about Noemi, and the million other reasons why I need to stay away.
I'm not the only one that feels it. Her glasses slipped down the bridge of her nose, so I see her eyes. I watch as those long lashes rise, and her stare moves from my hand to my face.
Fucked. So fucked. This thing is alive, palpitating back and forth between us.
I can't have her.
In a single, blazing instant my body decides otherwise. It doesn't care about anything. As a last ditch resort, I remind myself that the girl is almost a decade younger than me. Surely, if nothing else matters, at least that should.
“Hold on, I have some antibacterial wipes in my bag.”
I stop her with a hand around her wrist. She tsksand moves my hand off her, making sure I lay it flat on my abs, next to my other one. “Don’t bend your fingers.”
I ignore her soft scolding. As soon as she heals me, and the adrenaline starts to ebb, there will be a crash. Whether it’s a bad one, or an epically fucked-up one that lands her in a hospital, all depends on me calming her down a little now.
So I grab her wrist again, ignore her protest once more, and bring her closer.
She stumbles off her knees, catching herself by slapping a hand on my chest. Not quite landing on me, but so damned close. Her hair fans over her shoulders and over my chest, the dark blue ends caressing my neck. Her heat surrounds me. It’s like being drugged. My lids grow heavier and my internal scan beeps, alerting me to my rising heartbeat.
This was not what I had in mind when I pulled her closer.
Sapphire moves her hair away from her face. The scent of it reaches me, and I inhale, hungry to take more of it in. Remaining half-bent over me, she looks up at me from under her lashes.
My eyes drop to that fleshy bottom lip of hers. I want it in my mouth so I can suck on it.
I shouldn’t even be able to want such things right now.
Sapphire’s breath leaves her on a shaky exhale. She blinks, her lashes hiding those eyes from me for a moment. When she opens them, I see them land on my mouth. They’re darker, hungry, reflecting every damn thing I want.
I could get lost in this. I could lay here, and let her do whatever she wants to me.
My cock thickens in my jeans, throbbing against the material at the thought of being at her mercy like that.
She’s hyper-feeling and needs an outlet. She must be so fucking overwhelmed, and I know from experience that sex is a great way to burn it off.
But it can’t happen. I refuse to take advantage of her like that. What if I’m misreading the whole thing because of what I want? “Sapphire…”
She leans closer, her chest brushing mine. Her eyes are fixated on my lips. I react to that stare, my entire body revving up like it hadn’t been close to shutting down.
Integration at 30%. Cellular regrowth at 25%. Platelet reproduction at 48%.
My BCI’s way of saying that I should not be this excited right now.
I have no choice. No control over it. Sapphire is too close now, her breath teasing my lips.
She wants a taste.
I want my fucking tongue deep in her mouth. Want to trace it across the plump curve of her lips. Want to do things to her thatshe’s too innocent to deal with.
“Sapphire, we shouldn’t—uhn,” I break off on a moan at the feel of her lips, a soft caress that was more a tease than an actual kiss.
Sapphire echoes my moan with a small one of her own.
She’s shaking; I’m trembling beneath her, the muscles in my chest bulging as I struggle to hold myself back. My hands clench and unclench in the air at her sides, the thin, newly sealed skin stretching uncomfortably.
Her lips are shaking above my mouth, echoing the movements of her body. Her lashes lay on her cheeks; the space between her brow is furrowed.
It’s unquenchable, this God damned hunger. That tease of her lips has proved it. I’m screaming at myself to stop this even as my blood roars in my veins, the pressure so intense that it sets off my internal scan again.
I need to regain some control first then I’ll focus on the rest. Right now, the urge to flip her over and give her the relief she needs is fighting to take over.
She’d be so hungry underneath me, so responsive. I can tell.
Sapphire lets her eyes open halfway, enough to pierce me with her gold-and-green irises. “Deimos.”
I grind my teeth, but there’s no ignoring how she said my name. No denying what's in her tone and the next urge that blossoms, the one demanding that I make her say my real name.
Why do I care? I am Deimos. I’ve never needed anyone to acknowledge me as the man I was born as. It usually annoys me when people say my real name.
It wouldn’t annoy me with her. For some reason, I have this insane idea that hearing her say my real name would make me come so freaking hard.
You’re fucking crazy, and she’s going to regret this once she’s calmer.
So true, and the last thing I want to do is have her look at me with regret because I took something I had no business taking.
I cup the sides of her face in my trembling hands. Her lips part, and she shifts, her chest pressing against my own. Oh, God, her breasts on me. The way she feels sets my imagination racing.
Why the hell am I so attracted to this girl?
She blinks, eyes tracing the lines of my face, and her pupils dilate again. There’s a sense of wonder in her stare, a reminder that this is all new to her, and the angles of her face are pure perfection.
Made for sex, yet so freaking innocent.
My sick, starving cock pulsates, the moist head sliding across my jeans.
Pre-cum. Already. Fuck.
She’s made to attract any male, and on top of that, there’s no denying the lure of being her first. Not sure if Magdalena ever had sex, but Sapphire hasn’t. That much I can tell. And one day, some lucky sonofabitch is going to get to have her.
I want to be that sonofabitch. Real, real bad. Thinking about anybody having that honor makes my inner killer itch for death. The most bloody, messy, violent kind of death possible.
“Deimos.” Her tongue peeks out as she wets her bottom lip. “How are you feeling?”
Her question catches me by surprise, and a small laugh leaves me. She smiles down at me, and I just want to fist her hair and bring that mouth back to mine. “Not dying, if that’s what you’re asking.” Liar, my BCI seems to say as another beep sounds out inside me.
“Okay. That’s good.” She stares into my eyes, a stare so direct that I’m awkward before her. “Your eyes. They’re so blue.” Her eyes flicker back toward my lips. My turn to wet them, and the way her eyes get darker when I do thrills me. It shouldn’t, but it does. “Any chance you won’t mind me doing that again?”
She’s already heading for my mouth, so close now that if I lick my lips, I’ll taste her.
God, how can I be this hard right now? Seriously, how?
“Sapphire, we shouldn’t—” Once again, I’m stopped by her lips, and there’s no tease about it this time. She lays them fully over mine, and lust shoots right through my common sense. I growl under my breath as she shivers on top of me. She moves her lips a tiny bit and the wet sensation of them on my own snaps the last of my rationale.
Moaning, I slide one hand down the graceful curve of her back, stopping right before her ass. My other hand is still cupping her face, and I hold her still, tilting my head. Hot, panting breaths leave her as I rub our lips together, mixing with my own.
My tongue flicks out and tastes her parted lips.
Sapphire whimpers on top of me, her hands falling to the pillow next to my head and fisting the material.
I lose it.
About the Author
N. Isabelle Blanco was born in Queens, NY (USA). At the age of three, due to an odd fascination with studying her mother’s handwriting, she began to read and write. By the time she’d reached kindergarten, she had an extensive vocabulary and her obsession with words began to bleed into every aspect of her life.
An avid reader in her teens, her fascination with Japanese anime eventually led her to the universe of fan fiction, which became her on-again, off-again hobby for the next ten years. During that time she amassed a following of fans that, by her own admission, she would never be able to live without. It was those fans who encouraged her to step beyond the fan fiction realm and try her talent in the publishing world.
N. Isabelle Blanco spends her days working as an author, web programmer, marketer, and graphic designer. That is when she isn’t handling her “spawn”, as she calls her son, and brainstorming with him about his future career as a comic book illustrator.
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