Lucyna Kushinada | Cyberpunk Edgerunners

The neon glow of Night City bled through the grimy window of their cramped apartment, painting fleeting strokes of crimson and sapphire across Lucy’s impossibly smooth skin. She sat on the edge of the worn-out mattress, the hum of the city a constant, low thrum beneath the beating of her own heart. Her short, choppy hair, the color of a midnight sky, framed a face etched with a weariness that the flickering lights could never quite erase. But tonight, there was a different kind of exhaustion settling in, a deep, bone-aching tiredness that had nothing to do with data shards or chrome-plated assassins. It was the quiet anticipation of something more, something her carefully constructed walls had been trying to ignore for weeks.

Across the room, David slumbered, his breathing deep and even, the faint whir of his cybernetics a soft counterpoint to the city’s cacophony. Lucy watched him, her gaze lingering on the strong line of his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell. A warmth, unfamiliar and potent, bloomed in her core. He was so earnest, so fiercely loyal, so utterly *real* in a world that often felt like a cheap imitation. And he saw *her*, not just the netrunner, the ghost in the machine, but Lucy. The thought sent a shiver down her spine, a delicious tremor that made her acutely aware of the thin fabric of her clothes, the sensitive skin beneath.

Her fingers, nimble and precise from years of navigating the Matrix, traced the delicate lace trim of her panties. They were a soft, pale blue, a stark contrast to the dark, often brutal, reality of their lives. She’d bought them on a rare impulse, a small act of rebellion against the monochrome existence she’d been forced into. Now, they felt like a secret confession, a silent acknowledgment of desires she’d long suppressed. The thought of David’s eyes on them, the innocent flutter of her heart as she imagined his hands… it was a dangerous, intoxicating notion.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she slid off the bed, her bare feet making no sound on the cold floor. She padded towards him, drawn by an invisible tether. The air crackled with unspoken longing. She reached out, her fingertips brushing against the stubble on his cheek. His brow furrowed in sleep, and a faint smile touched his lips. He mumbled something unintelligible, and Lucy’s breath hitched. Was he dreaming of her? The idea sent another wave of heat through her, pooling low in her belly.

She leaned closer, her short hair tickling his ear. The scent of him, a mix of sweat, ozone, and that distinct, youthful male aroma, filled her senses. It was intoxicating. Her gaze dropped to his sleeping form, the way his t-shirt was pulled taut across his chest. She imagined it gone, the smooth, warm expanse of his skin beneath her touch. And then, her eyes drifted lower, to the faint outline of his erection beneath the worn fabric of his boxers. A blush, deep and undeniable, flooded her cheeks. This was more than just attraction; it was a primal, urgent need that had been simmering for too long.

With a silent resolve, she reached for the hem of his t-shirt, her movements slow and deliberate. The cotton was soft against her fingertips, familiar yet now charged with a new significance. She pulled it upwards, inch by agonizing inch, revealing the lean muscle of his abdomen, the faint dusting of hair that led downwards. Her breath hitched again as she exposed his boxers, the material stretched taut. The sheer, undeniable presence of his arousal was a palpable force, a testament to the unspoken desires that pulsed between them.

She knelt beside the bed, her eyes never leaving him. The city lights continued their relentless dance on the walls, casting shadows that seemed to writhe with the same unspoken energy that thrummed within her. Her hand, trembling slightly, reached out again. This time, it wasn’t a tentative brush but a bold caress, her fingertips tracing the outline of his hardened cock through the fabric of his boxers. A soft groan escaped his lips, a sound that was half sleep, half awakening. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, they were unfocused, lost in the hazy boundaries of slumber. Then, they cleared, locking onto her face, and a spark of recognition, then something else entirely, ignited in their depths.

“Lucy?” he whispered, his voice rough with sleep and something else. He pushed himself up, his movements still sluggish, his gaze never leaving hers. The air in the room thickened, charged with an electric current that made Lucy’s skin prickle. The romantic tension, so carefully cultivated in her mind, was now a tangible force, a sweet, aching pressure that demanded release.

She offered him a small, shy smile, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. “You were sleeping,” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. But her eyes, her expression, conveyed everything her words could not. They spoke of longing, of desire, of a yearning that had finally found its voice. She watched as his gaze, still drowsy but now filled with a dawning awareness, swept over her. His eyes lingered on the curve of her legs, the delicate lace of her panties peeking out from beneath the hem of her nightgown. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face, a smile that sent a dizzying rush of heat through her. He understood. He saw her desire, and he returned it, with an intensity that made her knees weak.

He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb gently stroking her skin. “I was dreaming of you,” he confessed, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. And then, he leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was both tentative and deeply passionate. It was a kiss that spoke of months of suppressed longing, of shared dangers and quiet moments stolen from the chaos of their lives. Her lips parted beneath his, and the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more demanding. Her hands found their way to his hair, tangling in the soft strands as their bodies pressed closer, seeking an impossible closeness.

The kiss broke, and they were left breathless, their gazes locked. “Lucy,” he breathed, his eyes filled with a raw, vulnerable desire. “I want you.” The words, so simple, so direct, were like a jolt to her system. She responded not with words, but with a bolder gesture, her hand sliding from his face, down his chest, and then, with a trembling resolve, to the waistband of his boxers. She pushed them down, slowly, deliberately, revealing the full, magnificent length of his arousal. He gasped, a sharp, audible intake of breath, his eyes widening with surprise and a fierce, possessive hunger. She met his gaze, her own filled with a mirrored intensity. This was it. This was what she had been waiting for.

Her fingers, no longer hesitant, traced the slick, engorged length of his cock. It was warm, firm, and impossibly arousing. She heard his ragged breaths, felt the tremor that ran through his body. Her touch was a caress, a worship, a promise. She moved her fingers slowly, sensually, eliciting soft moans from him, each sound a testament to the power she now held. She watched as his erection hardened further under her touch, the veins becoming more prominent, the tip glistening with precum. Her own desire flared, a burning inferno that threatened to consume her. She wanted more. She wanted to feel him inside her, to be one with him.

She looked up at him, her eyes pleading. “David,” she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears and raw emotion. “I want you to…” She didn’t need to finish the sentence. He understood. He reached for her, his movements quickening now, shedding the last vestiges of sleep. He pulled her closer, his hands tracing the curves of her body, his touch possessive and tender. He helped her slide her nightgown over her head, revealing her naked form to his adoring gaze. Her breasts, firm and full, were bathed in the neon glow, her nipples hardening into tight buds. Her hips, her small waist, her long, shapely legs – he took it all in, his eyes burning with an almost overwhelming desire.

Then, his gaze dropped to her panties, the delicate blue lace a stark contrast against the dark patch of hair between her legs. He hesitated for just a moment, his eyes meeting hers, a silent question. She gave a slow, deliberate nod. He knelt before her, his lips brushing against the lace, a reverence in his touch that made her sigh with pleasure. He gently slid his fingers beneath the elastic, teasing her, his touch sending shivers of anticipation through her. Then, with a sigh, he pulled them down, revealing her wet, ready core. Her butthole, a tight, inviting bud, was nestled beneath. He looked at her, his eyes dark with unspoken need, and a faint blush crept up her neck. This was the ultimate intimacy, the deepest vulnerability, and she offered it to him freely.

His gaze lingered on her, a mixture of awe and raw lust. He leaned in, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh, then moving higher, tracing the delicate skin of her labia. She gasped, her hips arching instinctively. His tongue, warm and wet, found her clitoris, and she cried out, her fingers digging into his shoulders. He teased her, licked her, worshipped her, driving her to the brink of ecstasy. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body thrumming with pleasure. She felt the build-up, the delicious tension, the overwhelming urge to release. Her legs trembled, and she felt herself on the verge of climax. He continued his ministrations, his tongue working its magic, until she cried out his name, her body arching and convulsing, a torrent of pure pleasure washing over her.

After her release, he gently kissed her, his lips lingering. Then, with a deep, satisfied breath, he rose, his own arousal now a throbbing, insistent force. He guided her back onto the mattress, his eyes never leaving hers. He positioned himself between her legs, his cock brushing against her clitoris, sending a fresh wave of sensation through her. She moaned, her hips tilting upwards in anticipation. “Ready?” he whispered, his voice husky. She nodded, her eyes shining with a mixture of desire and absolute trust. He entered her slowly, his cock sliding into her wet core with a satisfying friction. She gasped, her body stretching to accommodate him. He was filling her, a perfect fit, a sensation that was both overwhelming and deeply comforting. He began to move, his thrusts deep and powerful. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, their bodies slick with sweat. The sounds of their lovemaking filled the small apartment – their ragged breaths, their moans, the rhythmic thud of their bodies meeting. He gritted his teeth, his thrusts becoming more frantic, more intense. She met his every thrust with a fervent urgency, her hands gripping his back, her nails digging into his skin. She felt the friction, the heat, the sheer, unadulterated pleasure of being completely consumed by him. Her mind, usually so sharp and analytical, was reduced to pure sensation, to the primal rhythm of their lovemaking. She saw his face, contorted with pleasure, his eyes glazed over. He was pushing towards his own climax, and she knew she was close behind.

He groaned, his thrusts becoming deeper, more guttural. He buried his face in her neck, whispering her name. She felt the final surge of his climax, his body tensing as he poured his seed deep within her. She cried out, her own orgasm, a final, lingering wave, washing over her. They collapsed together on the mattress, their bodies entwined, their breathing heavy and uneven. The neon lights of Night City continued their silent vigil outside, but within their small apartment, there was a profound stillness, a quiet contentment that had nothing to do with the city’s relentless chaos. Lucy nestled against David’s chest, her ear to his heartbeat, the steady rhythm a comforting anchor. She felt a profound sense of peace, a warmth that spread through her entire being, a warmth that went far beyond the physical. He kissed the top of her head, and she sighed, a sound of pure, unadulterated happiness. In this moment, with him, she was finally home.