Protect and Serve just took on a whole new meaning.

Passion Model

© 2010 Megan Hart

For Recreational Intercourse Operative Gemma, patrolling Newcity’s Lovehuts and Pleasurebots isn’t much of a pleasure. But it’s work she clings to after an accident destroyed her marriage and left her with half her body made of replacement parts.

She keeps her head down and her mind on her job, waiting for the proverbial hammer to fall. The head of the ruling council is out to make those like her illegal. If anyone finds out she’s mecho, she’s toast.

A routine inspection of a Pleasurebot turns into a strictly forbidden—and mind-blowing—sexual encounter. Then she realizes it isn’t an “it” at all. He’s human, and despite the sweet-hot climaxes he gives her, she buries her report to save them both from the consequences.

Except he can’t seem to stay away from her, and for a time life seems almost…normal. Until Gemma uncovers Declan’s own deep, dark secret. A secret that could get her fired from R.I.O. Or both of them killed.

Warning: This book contains graphic depictions of sex with men, women, aliens and robots.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Passion Model:

The communal area was done in the same silver and black décor as the lobby. Racks and baskets of vinyl and plaz accessories dominated the space. All manner of Pleasurebots, including the relatively rare VCTM models, prepared themselves for the evening.

“Haven’t seen one of those in a while,” Eddie said with a nod toward one of the VCTMs.

She had slash marks all over her naked breasts and belly. Unlike some of the other models, who were busy repairing the minor blemishes their violent activities created, the VCTM was only patting on thin layers of plazskin over her wounds. Any amount of pressure on the slashes would reopen the cuts immediately—which was just the effect she wanted.

She glanced at us from mismatched eyes, a sign she’d been through some heavy action that had required some repairs more major than the ones she was making now. She was exactly the sort of bot whose clients might seek out a damaged PSSN model.

“We’re looking for a PSSN-F-03, street name Relava.” I showed her the holo.

She spoke in a voice like grated glass. “I don’t work with regular bots.”

Despite what most people might think, the VCTM models are actually among the most intelligent. They have to be. Dumb bots putting themselves in situations where they’re caused constant physical harm as part of some citizen’s sexual thrills would be destroyed so fast it wouldn’t be worth constructing them.

“She’s got a damaged ignition.”

“Well, that changes things.” She gave the holo another look. Her flat gaze took in the picture, and then she nodded. “I’ve seen her.”

People expect Ops to be taciturn and steadfast all the time, but when we get a break we get just as excited as anybody else. I maintained my composure better than Eddie, who let out a long, hissing “yesss!” The VCTM gave him a jaded glance that reminded me how much some of these models are really like women.

She pulled a complicated contraption of spikes and vinyl from a rack and looked at it for a moment before slipping it over her breasts. The spikes, instead of pointing outward, dug into her skin. She didn’t flinch.

Intelligent or not, she obviously still needed leading. “Where did you see her?”

Luck had finally caught up with us. She jerked her head toward one of the corridors. “She was recharging back there a while ago.”

Sometimes, my instincts scare even myself. Before I even turned, I knew Relava had entered the dressing room. The quiver had become so pronounced, her high heels chattered on the floor.

There’s not much loyalty among bots. The ones gathered in dressing room scattered like rats startled by the light of a hovertaxi. Relava didn’t waste any time. She shot through the room, shoving the VCTM model aside with one arm, and barreled through the room at top speed.

Eddie was quick, but I’m just faster. Relava flew past him. Her eyes met mine for one startled minute, and then she was past me too. I whirled in place and followed.

She pushed through the doors and into the lobby, and I was close enough on her heels to smell the stench of ozone that clung to her like bad perfume. I swiped a hand at my stunner, but she put on an extra burst of speed as we rounded the edge of the desk and I couldn’t get close enough to reach her.

In another moment, she hit the street. The plazglass doors cracked behind us, but we kept going. Relava lurched through the crowd, which had become larger as night fell.

I switched easily into hyperdrive with nothing more than a mental push. The muscles and tendons in my legs took energy from organs getting less use at the moment, like intestines and kidneys. My lungs expanded the additional fraction that allowed me to take in extra air. I pushed off from the pavement. I’m not truly able to fly, but in those moments of hyperdrive, it’s as close as any person can ever get. My hand swiped at her and caught the trailing strands of her dark hair. My fingers tangled, and she stumbled.

It wasn’t quite enough to stop her. She kept going for another few feet, right into the path of traffic. The hovertaxi screeched to a stop, but not soon enough. The vehicle struck her, hard, in the midsection.

Her torso split, and her limbs separated from her body. Her head rolled along the ground. She was still smiling.

Blue sparks arced for a moment between the sad, scattered pieces of her body before fizzling to black smoke. A finger twitched, and one eye closed. As quickly as that, she was deactivated.

“God-of-choice, I hate doing a Blade Runner,” I muttered. My stomach twisted.

The crowd didn’t pause to gawk. The hovertaxi driver got out and inspected the front of his undamaged vehicle, asked me if he needed to stick around, and cursed when I told him he’d have to fill out some paperwork.

Eddie appeared with a tarp from inside, and we waited until a cleanup crew arrived to pick up the pieces. That and the inevitable forms we had to fill out took a good part of an hour, and by that time, darkness had fallen over this part of the District.

Eddie clapped a hand to his stomach. “I’m starving.”

Relava’s flight and demise had stolen my appetite. “Let’s call it a day.”

“Hey, G,” Eddie said with a glance at his timepiece. “Didn’t you have a date tonight?”

The world seemed to stand still for a moment. I checked my internal clock. “Oh, no.”

I’d forgotten all about Declan.