Braden

Braden

Allyson James

Book Six, Tales of the Shareem

A level-three Shareem, created
solely to give sexual pleasure through dominance, Braden is also on a mission.
A mission to help get all Shareem off Bor Narga. The highborn women who rule
the desert planet enforce cruel restrictions on the Shareem, deeming them less
than human. Creatures incapable of feeling.

But Braden feels—especially for
Elisa, the librarian who aided him while researching his mission. Elisa is a
celibate; Braden can be terminated for merely touching her. And touch her, he
does. Teaching Elisa what it means to feel, to want, to revel in pleasures of
the flesh.

When their forbidden trysts result
in new restrictions, Braden realizes he’s put his fellow Shareem, his mission
and, most importantly, Elisa in danger. To save her, he must leave her; only
pain and hardship come from loving a Shareem. But his precious librarian has
other ideas…

Chapter One

A Shareem walks into a library…

Braden’s friends had called him crazy when he volunteered to
go to the Serestine Quarter library for the information. Libraries had only
recently started allowing Shareem in, because seven-foot-tall men who radiated
sexuality were way too dangerous to be around normal people.

“Be careful in there,” Ky had growled. “All those dead
subjects will shrivel your cock. And a Shareem without a cock isn’t good for
shit.”

Shareem were genetically enhanced males, tall and
hard-muscled, built for sex and sensual pleasure. They could scent a woman’s
pheromones and know when a woman wanted them, like the cute one Braden saw
behind the desk at the end of the walkway.

Braden followed the path through the three-story atrium with
galleries of terminals, a trickling waterfall, a peaceful hush. The librarian
pretended not to notice him, but her awareness screamed itself to Braden’s
finely tuned senses. He saw her eyes flicker though she kept them on the screen
before her, felt the slight rise in her body temperature. She’d noticed him all
right.

She looked so efficient tapping on her terminal with
slender, sure fingers, her veil looped to reveal a smooth face and wide brown
eyes. Her nose was a little crooked, and she hadn’t had it fixed, which meant
she wasn’t self-conscious. Probably didn’t even know she was lovely. Robes that
announced her as single and celibate clung to a body that made Braden long to
teach her celibacy wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Ky was an idiot. The library wasn’t shriveling Braden’s
cock—it was making it grow.

Braden reached the counter and stretched his arms along its
edge. The librarian’s gaze shot to the black chain on his biceps before she
made herself look into his eyes.

“May I help you?”

Oh, you may darling, you may.

Do me a favor, Braden,
Rees had said to him.
Be
subtle.

Hey, I got this.

Rees had rolled his eyes.
Just get them to let you use
the terminal.

Braden answered the librarian’s question with a smile.
“Depends.”

“I mean, what do you need?”

Her soft and whispery voice made his hard-on grow.
You,
sweet darling.
“I want to look up singing spheres.”

“Ah.”

Did she look disappointed? Braden hoped she looked
disappointed. He could take her out to the heat-shielded garden behind the
library and help her shimmy off those celibate’s robes. He’d get terminated for
it, but damn, wouldn’t they have fun before the end?

“A friend of mine makes singing spheres,” Braden said. “I
thought I’d look them up.”

Her brown eyes had flecks of green in them. He’d bet she had
an off-planet ancestor somewhere in her makeup. All pure Bor Nargan women’s
eyes were brown.

“Why not ask your friend about them?” she asked.

Logical. Why’d she have to be so logical? She was supposed
to shiver and smile and let Braden do anything he wanted.

“Because Shareem have never been allowed into libraries before,”
he said, trying to sound offhand. “Looking up singing spheres is a good
excuse.”

She smelled fine too. Braden inhaled a mixture of soap and
female, no perfume, thank the gods. Nothing to get in the way of her.

His skin tingled with the pheromones she gave off. Her robes
were thick, but he imagined her nipples pearling behind them. All he had to do
was corner her and cup his hand over her breast, and he’d find her nice and
firm, nipples hard as little pebbles.

The librarian cleared her throat and Braden popped his eyes
open, realizing he’d drifted to fantasy land.

“Any of the terminals on this floor will tell you about
singing spheres.”

Her voice was prim, but the dusky tone of it already had him
hard. If Braden were kind, he’d go to the terminal, look up his stuff and leave
her alone.

But Braden wasn’t kind, and he’d been sent here on a
mission. Rees’ instructions had been very specific.

Braden slid his hands farther apart on the desk, leaning
down to her eye level. “Those terminals will tell me a little. But I want to
know
everything
. Details on mining, geology, the artists, impact on the
planet’s economy, stuff like that.”

The librarian blinked, surprised. She’d probably been told
Shareem couldn’t understand complex concepts like geology and economic impact,
let alone
spell
“economic impact”. To most, Shareem were little better
than animals, considered nonhuman. Walking hormones bred for a lady’s pleasure.

At least, pleasure had been the original intent of the
Shareem program. These days Shareem were taboo, barely tolerated in a society
that had decided sex was bad for physical and mental health.

The information Rees needed wasn’t entirely restricted, but
the terminal Braden would need to use to get it was. The library’s public
terminals accessed information from every
public
source on this planet
plus from nearby planets and space stations. But Braden needed to look into the
databases of Bor Narga’s own ministries, which were not open to the public.
Much trickier.

The librarian cleared her throat. “Let me check something.”

“You take your time, sweetheart.”

Her fingers skimmed rapidly over her screens and her
keyboard, her touch featherlight. Braden imagined those fingers doing their
dance over his body, and he shifted, his cock rock-hard in his leggings.
Everything she did was a turn-on.

The librarian apparently found nothing on her screens that
said Shareem couldn’t use the restricted terminal. Braden knew she wouldn’t,
because Rees had already checked.

The new regulations let Shareem use libraries and library
materials without limitation, provided they were supervised by a high-ranking
librarian. This lady was head of the reference department. Her holopic and
name—Elisa n’Arell—were listed on the library’s information site and posted by
the front door as well.

The fact that Braden wanted to peel back those robes and
lick her body while he lay on top of her was just a bonus.

The librarian clicked off her terminal with a decided touch.
“Very well. Please come with me.”

Her robes floated as she came around the desk, showing a
flash of slender ankles and sensible shoes.
Sensible shoes. Be still my
beating heart.

But unfortunately she was a celibate, from one of those Way
of the…Whatever…orders. She’d already taken the robes and declared herself.
Completely off limits to all males, not to mention Shareem.

“Sit here,” she said.

Braden plopped into the chair, enjoying the sensation of a
sweetheart commanding him instead of the other way around. Braden was a level
three, which meant the lady did what
he
said, obeyed his every word.

The cubicle with the terminal had sound-muffling—perfect.

“What’s your name, love?” Braden asked.

“Shh.”

“OK, that’s unusual, but I can go with it.”

She frowned. “Be quiet.”

Braden pointed to the wavy glass. “There’s sound-muffling.”

“Which is not the same as soundproofing. We mustn’t disturb
the others.”

Mustn’t
. Damn, Braden had met a woman who used
mustn’t
in casual conversation.

Did she say other sexy words, like
shan’t
? How about
something big, like
wherewithal
?

Braden, I
shan’t
resist your commands, and I have
the
wherewithal
to ride your cock all night.

And Ky thought libraries were boring?

The librarian leaned forward, silk robes carrying her
womanly musk, and pulled a small touchpad toward him. “We keep a record of who
uses this terminal,” she said. “I need your thumbprint.”

Braden held up his thumb and smiled. “Mine’s too big.”

True. Braden’s hands were large, the touchpad designed for
slim female hands. Bor Narga discriminated like that, which, today, worked to
Braden’s advantage.

Rees had looked this up too. A thumbprint was needed to
access the terminal, but the thumbprint of the authorizing librarian was just
as good. Better, even.

It’s perfectly fine for a librarian to look at what I
need you to find,
Rees had said.
No suspicions raised.

The librarian’s impatient breath huffed warmth on Braden’s
skin. Her breath was minty, and her mouth would taste good.

She pressed her thumbprint to the pad only after a moment’s
hesitation and started typing on the keyboard.

Braden felt a twinge of guilt as he smiled his thanks. This
little sweetheart deserved to be kissed, stroked, pleasured, teased…not used
for her Ministry clearance.

The librarian touched the screen and a picture of a
multicolored crystal floated out of it. “There you are. A singing sphere.”

“Beautiful,” Braden said, looking at her.

Singing spheres, made from crystals mined in the desert
mountains, radiated exquisite music when touched. The spheres were rare, prized
and hideously expensive. A Shareem Braden knew, Rylan, lived out in the middle
of nowhere with Maia his lifemate, and crafted them.

“I’ve always wanted one,” the librarian said, her voice
wistful. She was looking at the screen, eyes soft.

Braden suddenly pictured himself giving her a singing sphere
as a gift. He envisioned her surprise and delight, her warm smile, the light in
her eyes. He’d kiss her as she cooed her thanks, tasting her mouth, her lips
hot and slick.

Braden sensed a liveliness in her that living behind veils
and celibacy hadn’t dampened. This lady was not a wilting flower of highborn
womanhood, and Braden wanted to find out how
un
-wilting she really was.

Hell
.

The librarian’s scent brushed him as she touched labels on
the screen. “This is the economic database, and this one is the export
database.”

“Thank you, love. I appreciate it.”

Braden couldn’t technically touch her without permission,
but he managed to “accidentally” slide his fingers down the backs of hers.

Her eyes darkened, pupils widening. Lovely, lovely eyes. Her
eyelashes were black as night, and Braden wanted to kiss them. Better still,
have them fluttering on his cock.

Her eyes had a darker brown ring around the irises, another
indication of an off-world ancestor. Braden could study her eyes for hours.

He’d like it best in his bed, her arching to his thrusts.
He’d ride her slowly, then faster, fists planted on either side of her body,
watching those eyes as he took her to climax.

The librarian blushed, pulled her hand away and said
quickly, “I’ll leave you to it.”

Braden could tell that she tried not to touch him as she
left him, but the silk of her robes brushed his bare calf. The whisper of
fabric licked erotic currents through his body and made his unruly cock stiffer
than ever.

Braden sat still for a long time after she left, trying to
convince his cock, balls and imagination to behave. He wanted sex, and he
wanted to fuck his librarian in all ways invented, and then he wanted to invent
some more just for her. But it wasn’t meant to be.

Braden drew a long breath.
She’s celibate, and I’m here
to do a job.

Fuck, fuck, fucking hell.

Braden pressed his palms to the table and closed his eyes,
drawing deep breaths. Fighting his genetic programming was a serious bitch, but
he had to do it. He had to get the info for Rees.

It took a while for the white-hot pressure to go down, but
at last Braden opened his eyes and made himself get on with it. He sat with his
back to a wall, the terminal cubical opaque for privacy. All to the good.

As soon as he could see straight, Braden ditched the singing
spheres, brought up cargo shipping schedules and started tapping information
into the handheld that he’d hidden in his pocket.

* * * * *

“There.” Braden tossed the handheld across the table to
Rees. “Hope it’s helpful.”

Rees, a tall Shareem with blond hair and a stern look that
could dissolve quickly into a grin, especially when he was around his lady,
took up the handheld.

“What’s wrong with
you
?” he asked Braden.

Braden shrugged and planted himself on a stool. “Nothing’s
wrong. I got the info you wanted. It was all there, just like you said.”

Flight information on every cargo ship on and off Bor Narga
for the last six months. Routes, lines, scheduled and unscheduled, official or
unofficial.

“The librarian’s thumbprint, not yours?” Rees asked.

“Yeah, yeah. And she doesn’t know my name.”

“You futzed the time stamp?”

“Just like you showed me. There’ll be no record of Shareem
on that terminal, and records of that search will make it look like it happened
before I showed up.”

Rees was good at figuring out shit like that. While Braden
was level three, Rees was no level anyone understood. Rees had been an
experiment, a Shareem made of all three levels combined. His creators at DNAmo
never should have made him, had gone one step too far—or so said the stuck-up
bitches who ran the planet of Bor Narga.

The scientists had fucked themselves when they’d created
Rees. Rees had been so good, so smart and so resourceful that he’d escaped, and
that escape had been the catalyst that brought down DNAmo. The Shareem had
found themselves free of the labs, free of being sold to the highest bidder.
Free, period.

The Bor Nargan government had then wanted to hunt down and
slaughter all Shareem. That decision had been voted down as a bit too cruel.
Barely. So Shareem were as restricted as hell and not considered human, with
few rights. But allowed to live.

Rees didn’t officially exist. No Shareem called Rees
appeared on any records and in any databases. Even patrollers seemed to not
notice him when they got hot to check the ident card of every Shareem who
passed. He was that good.