Freaks Under Fire by Maree Anderson

prejudices and life experiences of the young human male she desired to be “ready” for.
    A frustrated sigh hissed from her lips. When you were a cyborg who happened to be evolving—also known as “struggling to understand and cope with the human emotions that smacked you upside the head at the most inconvenient moments”—was it too much to ask that your boyfriend clue you in to exactly what “ready” entailed when it came to matters of intimacy? She was rapidly drawing the conclusion that her vast intellectual knowledge of human sexuality was useless in this situation, and if Tyler believed she wasn’t “ready” then there would be little she could do to convince him otherwise.
    Well, other than ripping off his clothing, tossing him on the bed, and taking the matter in hand. Which might not be advisable considering her inexperience with the mechanics of such matters. She might scare him off. Or worse, accidentally injure certain important male parts.
    No. Best to leave it up to him and hope that he correctly interpreted her responses. But… what if Tyler truly didn’t understand what she wanted right now? What if she had completely misinterpreted his expressions and tone of voice, his actions and body language, and removing her clothing had merely been the most efficient way to reassure himself she was healing adequately?
    She needed to tell him exactly what she wanted and—
    She didn’t know the right words to use in a situation like this, and her clumsy attempts to encourage him might ruin the mood.
    She shook her head. Make a decision Jay!
    Right. She needed to
show
him. But how best to do that?
    She could kiss him, of course. But they’d kissed many times, and not progressed to intercourse. So….
    So, she would obviously need to kiss him differently, in a way that would leave him in no doubt that
now
was the perfect time to take the next step.
    Now
, if only she could figure out how to do that.
    Before she could access information about the different methods of kissing, Tyler turned her to face him. “Jay?” He cupped her chin, coaxing her to meet his gaze. “Are you okay?”
    She opened her mouth to inform him exactly how she was feeling, and then shut it again with a snap. She snatched one breath. Two… and endeavored to sort her emotions into something that could be explained with mere words.
    Her breath whooshed out in a rush. “Epic fail,” she muttered.
    “Huh?”
    She reached up with a fingertip to smooth the crinkle between his brows. “Right now I am incapable of thinking logically. All I can think about is you, and what you’re doing to me—what
I
want you to do to me. I don’t know how else to express this Tyler, but I’m
ready
. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
    Before he could respond, she rushed on, the words tumbling from her lips. “Please say you understand. And please don’t tell me I’m not ready. I don’t think I could bear for you to tell me that right now.”
    The pupils of his eyes dilated. A flush of crimson stained his cheekbones. The muscles in his jaw clenched and then relaxed as he swallowed.
    If his throat was as dry as his swallowing indicated, Jay hoped it was for the right reasons—overwhelming desire, for example—and not because he was about to tell her something she didn’t want to hear. Such as she wasn’t “ready”.
    Damn, but she was beginning to loathe that word. In fact, she was sorely tempted to make it her mission to have it excised from the English lang—
    His mouth captured hers, lips punishingly hard, tongue demanding entrance.
    Warmth bloomed in the pit of her belly, expanded, filling the cold spaces that had lodged in her heart since the moment Sixer had ripped her from Tyler’s side. She parted her lips and kissed him back, pouring all her illogical, terrible,
wonderful
want and need and yearning into the kiss.
    His fingers speared into her hair, grabbed handfuls and tightened, holding her still as he took what he