J. Robb - Rapture in Death

It wasn't a gentle pop this time. The orgasm came in one hard, fast wave that swamped her, drowned her, then tossed her helplessly over the next crest.

She moaned out his name. It was always his name. But when she reached for him, he cuffed her wrists, drew her arms over her head. "No." His own breathing was uneven and thick as he stared down at her. "Just take it. Take me."

He slipped inside her slowly, inch by inch, watching her eyes go blind and dark as he moved. Clamping down on the urge to ravish, to answer the sudden wild pistoning of her hips, he let her drive herself over the next edge.

And when she was limp and her breathing in tatters, he shifted to long, steady strokes. "Take more," he murmured, swallowing her groans, holding her captive, hands, mouth, loins. "And more."

Her system was overloaded, scrambled like her pulse. Her body was under siege, her sex so sensitized the wild pleasure was akin to pain. And still he moved slowly, lazily. "I can't," she managed, and her head whipsawed even as her hips arched for more. "It's too much."

"Let go, Eve." He was holding onto control by his fingernails. "Once more."

He didn't let himself fall until she did.

Her head was still spinning when she managed to push herself up on her elbows. Amazingly, they were both still half dressed and on top of the spread. From the corner of the bed, Galahad sat watching her with feline disgust. Or maybe it was envy.

Roarke had rolled over on his back and had what could only be interpreted as a smug smile on his lips.

"I guess that flexed your testosterone."

His smile spread wider. She jabbed a finger into his ribs.

"If that was to punish me, you missed the target."

Now he opened his eyes and they were filled with warm amusement. "Darling Eve, did you really think I'd consider your little adventure some sort of virtual adultery?"

She pouted a little. However ridiculous it was, she was miffed that he wasn't at all jealous. "Maybe."

With a long sigh, he sat up, set his hands on her shoulders. "You can indulge in fantasy professionally or personally. I'm not your keeper."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Not in the least." He gave her a friendly kiss, then caught her chin firmly in his hand. "Try it in the flesh, even once, and I'll have to kill you."

Her pupils widened, and foolishly her heart gave a pleased little leap. "Oh, well, that's fair."

"That's fact," he said simply. "Now that we have that straightened out, you should get some sleep."

"I'm not tired anymore." She tugged her slacks back over her hips and made him sigh again.

"I suppose that means you want to work."

"If I could use your system, just for a couple of hours, I could get a jump on my legwork tomorrow."

Resigned, he pulled on his own slacks. "Let's go then."

"Thanks." She tucked her hand in his companionably as they walked toward the private elevator. "Roarke, you wouldn't really kill me, would you?"

"Oh yes, I would." Smiling easily, he nudged her into the car. "But, given our relationship, I would trouble to do so quickly, and with as little pain as possible."

She shot him a glance. "Then I'll have to say same goes."

"Naturally. East wing, third level," he ordered, and gave her hand a companionable squeeze. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

For the next few days, Eve beat her head against the wall of every dead end. When she needed a change of pace to clear her mind, she beat Peabody's head against the wall. She hounded Feeney to eke out whatever free time he could to find her something. Anything.

She gritted her teeth when other cases landed on her desk, and she worked overtime.

When the lab boys dragged their feet, she hopped on their backs and rode them mercilessly. It got to the point that the lab began to dodge her communications. To combat that, she hauled Peabody down to the lab for a little face-to-face persuasion.

"Don't try to sell me that SOS about backup, Dickie."

Dickie Berenski, privately known as Dickhead, looked pained. As chief lab tech, he should have been able to delegate a half dozen drones to ward off a personal confrontation with an irate detective, but every one of them had deserted him.

Heads would roll, he thought, and sighed. "What do you mean SOS?"

"Same old shit, Dickie. It's always SOS with you."

He scowled but decided to make the acronym his own. "Listen, Dallas, I got you the breakdown on all the over the counters, didn't I? Flagged them personally as a favor."

"Favor, my ass, I bribed you with box seats for the Arena Ball play-offs."

His face went prim. "I assumed that was a gift."

"And I'm not bribing you again." She jabbed a finger into his puny chest. "What's the deal with the VR goggles? Why haven't I got your report?"

"Because I haven't found anything to report. It's a hot program, Dallas – " His eyebrows did a little suggestive dance. "But it was clean. No defects. So are all the other options on that unit – clean and up to code. Better than," he added, his voice whining faintly. "We should have so good. I had Sheila take the whole unit apart and put it back together. Damn fine equipment, top of the line – higher than top. The technology's off the scale. But that's to be expected. It's a Roarke product."

"It's a – " She broke off, struggling not to show her surprise or distress at this new tidbit of information. "Which plant manufactures it?"

"Hell, Sheila's got that data. Off planet, I'm pretty sure. Cheaper labor. And that baby was right off the ship. Hasn't been on the open market more than a month."

Her stomach had clutched and tightened further. "But it's not defective?"

"Nope. It's a real honey. I've already put in for one of my own." He wiggled his brows hopefully. "Of course, you could probably get me a unit at cost."

"You get me the report, now, every single detail, and release the unit to me, and I'll think about it."

"It's Sheila's flex day," he whined, his mouth stretching down in a search for pity. "She'll have the report finished up and on your desk by noon tomorrow."

"Now, Dickie." A good cop knew her quarry's weaknesses. "And I'll see about making you a gift of your own unit."

"Well, in that case… hang for ten." Cheery now, he hurried over to a computer bank tucked in one of the cubbyholes in the lab's beehive.

"Dallas, one of those units probably goes for two thousand, base." Peabody stared after Dickie in disgust. "You over-bribed him."

"I want that report." Eve imagined that Roarke had a case of the units somewhere for promotional giveaways. Giveaways, she thought with a sick roll in her stomach, to politicians, employees, prominent citizens. "I'm down to three days. And nothing. I won't be able to waltz Whitney toward an extension." She looked back over as Dickie pushed out of the cubicle.

"Sheila had it almost nailed down." He offered a sealed disc and a hard copy. "Look at this. This is a compu-graft of the VR pattern for the last program. Sheila's highlighted a couple of blips."

"What do you mean, blips?" Eve snatched the page and studied what appeared to be a series of lightning bolts and swirls.

"Can't say for certain. Probably the subliminal relaxation, or in this case, substimulation option. Some of the newer units are offering several extended subliminal packages. You can see these shadow the program, slide in every few seconds."

"Suggestions?" She felt her energy surge. "You mean the program was fitted with subliminal suggestions to the user?"

"Common enough practice. It's been used for habit breaking, sexual enhancement, mind expanding, and so on for decades. My old man quit tobacco on subliminals fifty years ago."

"What about planting urges… such as self-termination?"