Orchid Island (A NANOWRIMO NOVEL!!)
Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science Fiction, Adventure, Romance, Erotica
| Author: | Xavier Cecil | ISBN: | 9781466186491 |
| Publisher: | Xavier Cecil | Publication: | November 30, 2011 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords | Language: | English |
| Author: | Xavier Cecil |
| ISBN: | 9781466186491 |
| Publisher: | Xavier Cecil |
| Publication: | November 30, 2011 |
| Imprint: | Smashwords |
| Language: | English |
(Edited 12/8/2011)
Juergen thought about killing her. No doubt some jaded lush with a heart as blackened as the sable metal of his sniper rifle. The kind of harlot that would no doubt deceive, and betray more men if allowed to live. Except that – yes... there were two of them. In some quirk of fate; both the Jones whore and her latest gynoid clone had been on the yacht together. If he couldn't tell them apart, then he'd have to kill both of them to ensure she died. And the Dolls were innocent. They didn't ask to be built, and have no control over what pudgy tycoon commissions their construction. The Doll. She didn't deserve to die anymore than Siobhan did. Siobhan... he narrowed his eyes and tried not to wallow.
And... damn, the whore was... ohhh... one of them had found a supply crate salvaged from the ship, and was sorting through a selection of bathing suits; she'd been nude before. Completely nude. He hadn't seen all of it; but there was little doubt that she had made love with the man behind all of this madness. If such a fallen woman as her was even capable of love.
Unable to stop himself, he swept the scope's zooming perspective up the sculpted tone of her shapely legs. If an observer stopped there, he could almost believe her physique was that of a swimmer. When she moved, there was considerable strength, agility there. More than one would guess at first glance. He watched paralyzed as an orange island-butterfly alighted atop the sweeping rise of her pronounced buttocks as though she were a flower in botanical fact, and not simply one of womanhood. Callimastian curves written in caramel-colored calligraphy. She might be Hispanic, but it was difficult to be certain, what with cosmetic gengineering of hair, eyes, and complexion widely available these days. She reminded him of a red-streaked velvet ant he'd seen on a forest floor. Streak of crimson pronounced against the dark backdrop. Stark warning of danger.
His teeth bared in a hot surge of the basest lusts as he beheld her selecting some flimsy covering. In truth, she was awe-inspiring...
(Edited 12/8/2011)
Juergen thought about killing her. No doubt some jaded lush with a heart as blackened as the sable metal of his sniper rifle. The kind of harlot that would no doubt deceive, and betray more men if allowed to live. Except that – yes... there were two of them. In some quirk of fate; both the Jones whore and her latest gynoid clone had been on the yacht together. If he couldn't tell them apart, then he'd have to kill both of them to ensure she died. And the Dolls were innocent. They didn't ask to be built, and have no control over what pudgy tycoon commissions their construction. The Doll. She didn't deserve to die anymore than Siobhan did. Siobhan... he narrowed his eyes and tried not to wallow.
And... damn, the whore was... ohhh... one of them had found a supply crate salvaged from the ship, and was sorting through a selection of bathing suits; she'd been nude before. Completely nude. He hadn't seen all of it; but there was little doubt that she had made love with the man behind all of this madness. If such a fallen woman as her was even capable of love.
Unable to stop himself, he swept the scope's zooming perspective up the sculpted tone of her shapely legs. If an observer stopped there, he could almost believe her physique was that of a swimmer. When she moved, there was considerable strength, agility there. More than one would guess at first glance. He watched paralyzed as an orange island-butterfly alighted atop the sweeping rise of her pronounced buttocks as though she were a flower in botanical fact, and not simply one of womanhood. Callimastian curves written in caramel-colored calligraphy. She might be Hispanic, but it was difficult to be certain, what with cosmetic gengineering of hair, eyes, and complexion widely available these days. She reminded him of a red-streaked velvet ant he'd seen on a forest floor. Streak of crimson pronounced against the dark backdrop. Stark warning of danger.
His teeth bared in a hot surge of the basest lusts as he beheld her selecting some flimsy covering. In truth, she was awe-inspiring...
