Wired For Sex: A.D.A.M. Read online

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  New Concepts Publishing

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Raven Willow-Wood

  First published in 2007, 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Wired for Sex:

  A.D.A.M.

  By

  Raven Willow-Wood

  & Kimberly Zant

  © copyright September 2007 by Raven Willow-Wood & Kimberly Zant

  Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, © copyright September 2007

  New Concepts Publishing

  Lake Park, GA 31636

  www.newconceptspublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author's imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

  Chapter One

  "How's our new ... head of security working out?” CEO Cal Johnson asked his VP of marketing.

  Phil Whitmore grinned. “Smooth. He infiltrated without a hitch. I've been carefully monitoring the chit-chat around the office, and so far nobody has a clue of what he is. The military is going to be impressed. I think we can safely jack the price per unit up by a hundred percent."

  Cal Johnson frowned. Leaning back in his seat, he toyed with the pen in his hand, idly twirling it between his fingers, ‘walking’ it down finger to finger and back again, over and over until Phil was grinding his teeth.

  The mannerism had always irritated the shit out of Phil since he had a suspicion there was nothing either idle or unconscious about it. It was just one more way for Cal to show off his superior dexterity. “It's early days, yet,” Cal said finally. “He's only been on the job a few months, and he doesn't actually have that much interaction with the other employees. I don't want to jump the gun on this. He's state of the art—but there's a lot of his makeup that's of a highly experimental nature. We could be in deep shit if we start shipping the new units out and they malfunction—particularly considering their capabilities."

  Phil managed an off-handed shrug, although inside he was simmering. He wondered, if he'd suggested months more of testing on the android, if Johnson would've vetoed that idea, too. It seemed to him that, no matter what he recommended, Johnson always went in the opposite direction. “His interaction with the employees has been fairly minimal, true, but the other security guards are already showing signs of deferring to him when it comes to security matters, and the women in the office want to fuck him so bad they can taste it. They've been pretty vocal about it—I'm not counting the ones that just stare at him when he walks by like he's a juicy piece of steak."

  Instead of looking pleased by information, Johnson's frown deepened. “Any of them made passes?"

  Phil shrugged again. “As far as I know, none of them have propositioned it outright, but they're giving out signals right and left. Obviously, they haven't figured out it's a droid or they wouldn't be creaming in their panties every time it walks by."

  Johnson's lips thinned. “And exactly how many has it fucked so far?"

  Phil reddened. “None that I know of, sir. I imagine I would've heard about it on the office grapevine if it had nailed someone—or several someones. It wasn't programmed for that, after all."

  "Not specifically, but the information damned well ought to be in its data banks. And it was programmed to interact—just like its human counterparts would—It is equipped for sex, and I'd say any man would've taken at least one or two of them up on their offer in this time, wouldn't you?"

  Phil was disconcerted. “You think I should tell them to take it down tonight and program that in?"

  Johnson looked disgusted. “That would defeat the purpose of this little exercise, wouldn't it? If it fails to perform as an ordinary man would in any given situation, then the programming is faulty, wouldn't you say?"

  "So.... Where do we go from here?"

  Johnson went back to toying with his pen. “Maybe it's still learning,” he said finally. “There are just too many variables in human relationships to program that sort of thing in—every relationship is going to be a little different depending on personality factors. Let's give it a few more weeks and see if it begins to interact more naturally, adopts ‘personality’ traits of its own. I've looked at the reports myself. The other security guards are deferring to it, but the general consensus is that ‘he has a poker up his ass'. They might admire its skills, but it has to be able to blend with the general population or it isn't going to be useful for infiltrations work. I'm not sure but what it wouldn't be better to make it a little more ‘average’ looking for that matter if all the women are panting after it."

  And exactly whom, Phil wondered, turning to study their ‘head of security', was going to be the judge of ‘average'?

  They'd designed him to be perfectly average. At five foot eleven inches, the android was average height, and he was of medium build, neither overly muscular nor underweight. He was Caucasian, so he had blue eyes. They'd decided on ash blond hair, because it went with the eye coloring and wasn't striking enough to call attention to him. His features were very regular, but then they hadn't wanted him to be ugly or scary looking. People would certainly remember that, and anything irregular like a large nose, prominent or receding chin, close set or deep set eyes would've been physical details people were more likely to remember.

  He was damned if he could figure out why the women in the office were all atwitter about the android.

  Unless they'd heard he was above average in the tool department?

  It wasn't as if they'd made him unusually large, but they'd figured that wasn't an area they wanted him to be average, and certainly not below average. They'd wanted him to have self-confidence, after all.

  "Adam,” Johnson said abruptly.

  The Autonomous Dynamic Android Mercenary, or A.D.A.M. for short, seemed to go even more rigid, although he'd stood at ‘attention’ throughout the discussion. “Yes, father?"

  A dull red crept under Johnson's skin. Phil did his best to pretend he didn't notice, but he couldn't help but be amused at the fact that Adam persisted in referring to his ‘creator’ and the primary gene donor of his biological makeup as father.

  Truthfully, despite the fact that the android had been ‘born’ in the labs of Robotics Inc., Adam was more of an enhanced human than a biologically enhanced android, but that wasn't something anyone wanted bandied about. The government had strict regulations about playing around with genetics where human beings were concerned. If it ever got out....

  Johnson's lips thinned, but instead of correcting Adam as he generally did, he apparently decided to ignore the title. “You can leave the surveillance tapes. I'll go over them later and pass them along to research and development."

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  As hard as she was trying to focus on maintaining a façade of cool professionalism, Evelyn felt her heart flutter uncomfortably as the door to her boss’ office opened. In her peripheral vision, she could see that the CEO, Cal Johnson, and the VP of marketing, Phil Whitmore, were standing in the door. Between the low pitch of their voices and the blood pounding against her ear drums, she couldn't hear what either man was saying, but she wasn't particularly interested anyway—not at the moment.

  She was far more interested in the fact that the head of security, Adam Mercury, was in her boss’ office.
>
  She didn't know what it was about the man that gave her heart palpitations, but whatever it was she was certainly not alone. As Cal Johnson's personal secretary, she didn't get the chance for a lot of interaction with the general secretarial pool any more, but she had eyes and ears. Since most of the staff behaved as if she was invisible, it wasn't hard to overhear that he was the hot topic and had been since he'd been hired a few months earlier. They discussed his assets. They speculated on his prowess in the bedroom, and they voiced their private fantasies about the guy—and then giggled among themselves like a bunch of teenagers.

  Even if not for that, she would've known she wasn't by any means the only female at Robotics, Inc. that lusted over the man.

  Whenever the guy strode through the room, he set off the ‘hunk alert', and there was almost a charged air of excitement as every woman in the room tensed, pretending to be busy while they surreptitiously checked him out. And when he left the floor, there was an almost collective sigh.

  She'd been fascinated with him before the night he'd rescued her from a would be mugger. Since then—well, she couldn't help it. She had a serious case of hero worship for the guy on top of the lust that had already been churning in her heart—and other places—for the man.

  Unbidden, the memory replayed through her mind.

  She had worked late, as she did at least as often as she pulled her regular shift, and she'd been distracted. She should've been paying more attention, but she'd never felt like there was any danger in the parking garage. Robotics Inc. was deadly serious about their security.

  Instead of having her key card to deactivate her transport's locks in her hand like she should've, she'd stopped by the vehicle in the dim light to fumble around in her purse for it. The would be mugger had grabbed her from behind and stuck a knife to her throat. To this day she couldn't remember what he'd said to her—something to the effect that he was going to carve her up like sushi if she made a sound—not that she'd been capable of it. She'd been too terrified.

  She hadn't been so deeply in shock not to realize what he had mind, though. As soon as he'd started dragging her deeper into the shadows it had registered in her mind that he was after more than her purse and/or her transport.

  Her sense of self-preservation had finally kicked in when he'd removed the knife from her throat. She'd tried to break his hold on her and run. He'd decked her with his fist to her jaw, knocked her senseless. He'd been straddling her, tearing at her clothes when Adam had appeared out of no where—like a ghost—without a sound. One moment he wasn't there. The next he was standing beside the man.

  He'd punched the man in the face so hard, so fast, she hadn't even seen the blow. She didn't think the mugger had either. He hadn't ducked or even thrown up an arm to defend himself, but she knew Adam had hit him. It had lifted the man clean off her and into the air. He'd flown several feet before he hit the garage floor, skidded a few feet, and then lay so perfectly still she'd wondered if he was dead.

  As gratifying as that had been—just having Adam appear and knock the man cold—he'd turned to her the moment he dispatched her attacker and crouched down to examine her for hurt. She could still remember the look on his face—part avenging fury, part concern—as he'd touched her with gentle hands, helped her to sit up. She'd thought for several moments after he'd examined her bruised face that he was going to get up again and pound the man to a pulp. He'd looked that furious.

  Instead, when she'd started crying, he'd pulled her against his chest and just held her, stroking her back, murmuring soothingly to her, although she couldn't remember anything he'd said. There'd been an awkwardness to his caress that told her it wasn't something he was used to doing, which had only made it all the sweeter that he was willing to comfort her even though she could tell it made him uncomfortable. And he'd held her until she'd felt calm enough to pull away. He hadn't just patted her awkwardly and told her she was alright and shoved her away. He'd allowed her to stay within his protective, comforting embrace until she felt safe again.

  She thought it was that more than anything that had helped her to overcome her terror, kept her from having nightmares about the incident. He'd given her such a strong sense of security that that part of the incident had stuck in mind much more vividly than the attack that had prompted it.

  He always smiled at her whenever she saw him since then, almost as if to say he was looking out for her and she didn't have to worry. She was safe. He was there to make sure she was safe.

  And, god, she wanted to wrap herself up in the man so badly she could taste it!

  Trying not to be too obvious, she lifted her head and smiled politely in Phil Whitmore's general direction as he strode across the reception room and went out. He didn't acknowledge her, but then he always had behaved as if she was a piece of the furniture.

  Ordinarily, that would've upset her, even though she was far more focused on impressing the big boss—that was her goal, anyway, to impress the big boss, and, hopefully, if she worked her ass off, get promoted to the big league—but she barely registered the snub as she glanced oh so casually at Adam ... and discovered he was staring straight at her—studying in her a way that made her go all hot and liquid inside.

  To say she was disconcerted would've been an understatement. The discovery froze her—every brain cell, every molecule in her body. She wasn't certain how long her brain functions were shut down, but she was certain what flipped her ‘switch’ again.

  He smiled—slowly. His beautifully formed lips spread, curled upwards at the corners and then parted to show a double row of perfect white teeth and then his smile widened until soft laugh lines formed in his cheeks, the corners of his eyes crinkled, and light danced in his eyes. It lit up his entire face and was the sweetest and at the same time, the sexiest smile she'd ever seen.

  She was entranced. The smile jump started her heart from a flat line to Indian war drums. Her lungs expanded, feeding desperately needed oxygen to her brain so that it began to function on at least a basic level. Smile, it commanded herself. Smile back. Flirt stupid! She felt quick thaw set into her face, felt her lips begin to curl.

  "Ms Carlson!"

  She jumped so violently she dropped the file she'd been holding in her hand. It hit the floor, scattering her paperwork in every direction. Dismay filled her. Blood poured into her cheeks, making them pulse like a flashing neon sign, the heat rising from her neck and ending in her hairline. “Yes, Mr. Johnson?"

  "I need you to take a few memos."

  She quietly cleared her throat, her mouth having gone suddenly dry, trying to regain some composure. “Yes, Sir! Coming!"

  She dropped to her knees, grabbing frantically at the papers and trying to cram them into the folder. A pair of large feet shod in military style boots entered her vision as she crawled along the floor. She stopped. She didn't really want to see his expression, but she couldn't resist the urge to look.

  He dropped to a crouch in front of her just as she tipped her head up.

  She tried not to look at his crotch. She really did, but it was right there, practically in her face, and the position he'd assumed pulled his pants taut over his muscular thighs, molding the fabric around the most perfectly lovely piece of man meat she'd seen in a very long time.

  Or maybe never.

  Her throat constricted as her sex sucked up every drop of moisture in her body and formed a pool of molten want low in her belly. She'd never really been ‘in’ to oral sex—certainly not with a complete stranger—but the sight of his thick cock instantly conjured a mental image of her grabbing it and stuffing it in her mouth.

  She tore her gaze from it with an effort and discovered he was holding out one of her papers. The smile that curled her lips was the automatic ‘polite but not overly friendly', but even that froze as her gaze continued upwards and connected with his.

  This close, she was surprised she didn't spontaneously combust.

  He was smiling again, faintly this time, looking a little puzzled,
she thought.

  "My name's Adam. When didn't introduce ourselves ... before."

  She almost came at the sound of his voice. “I know,” she said in a throaty whisper she hardly recognized.

  His brows twitched together in a faint frown. Seeing the ‘god's’ displeasure, she searched her mind a little frantically for the cause of it. “Oh! Evelyn. My name's Evelyn."

  The frown cleared. The smile reached his eyes. “You have your hand on my knee, Evelyn."

  She snatched her hand back as if she'd put it in fire. “I was ... uh ... reaching for the paper,” she explained hurriedly, looking away as she felt the blood pulse in her face again and trying to focus on picking up the rest of the papers. He helped her, gathering a small stack and straightening them. Her hand brushed his as she took them. She tried to ignore the way her belly tightened and her heart stuttered. “Thank you for helping me ... uh ... Mr. Mercury."

  "Adam."

  She shot him a quick glance, evading his eyes. “Thank you, Adam."

  "Ms. Carlson!"

  "Yes, Mr. Johnson. Coming!” she responded, trying not to let any of the mixed emotions Adam was creating in her into her voice. She dropped the folder on her desk and darted toward his office door.

  Chapter Two

  Puzzlement dominated Adam's thought processes as he watched Evelyn scurry into his father's office. For long moments after the door had closed, he stood staring at the door, sorting his impressions and trying to make order of them so that he could understand what had just happened.

  Or rather, not happened.

  Frowning, he backtracked to the point where they had exited his father's office and he had seen her at her desk. She'd seemed busy, completely focused on what she was doing, but he had noticed a tension in her lithe form that didn't seem appropriate for her task.

  She had smiled politely at Phil Whitmore.

  He liked that about her. It was the first thing he'd noticed about Evie, as he thought of her, the thing that had caught his attention the first time he'd seen her right after he'd begun his field test. She always smiled, at everyone, and it was a pleasant smile. It made her appealingly symmetrical face even more appealing—somehow. He wasn't exactly certain how or why. He was a little surprised to realize he'd never analyzed that, that he'd merely accepted that it made him feel—good—made him want to smile back at her without even having to consider the proper counter response.