Realization made her falter. Of course, he would cater to what she liked; Logan had programmed him.
Logan.
Her hands slid over the slippery white fabric of Sam’s uniform shirt, fingers finding the raised edges of the glowing lettering that declared him a pleasure unit. She turned her faceaway with a gasp, the reality of what was happening hitting her all at once. He tried to chase her, but she cringed away.
“Stop,” she breathed, squeezing her eyes shut.
He stiffened, and then in a ripple of movement, he was gone.
When she opened her eyes, he was back at the far end of the couch, watching her with a gaze that more wild predator than rigidly programmed machine.
“Why did you stop me?” he asked, his voice husky. “You were enjoying it.”
Her throat worked, but she couldn’t form words.
His eyes drifted over her. “You’re wet, aren’t you, Ophelia? Soaked for me.”
A disbelieving huff escaped her, and she straightened slowly, sliding over until she was pressed against the arm of the couch. Squeezing her thighs together, she realized he was right. Her panties were wet and sticky against her as she shifted nervously.
“Don’t you feel empty inside?” The muscles in his shoulders bunched as he leaned toward her. “Don’t you want me to fill you? Take away what aches within you?”
She stumbled to her feet, breathing unevenly. She couldn’t think when he was looking at her like that, talking to her like that. Like a terrified prey animal fleeing to its den, she bolted to the bedroom and locked the door.
With her back pressed against the smooth metal of the door, she panted, staring blankly into space. Her arousal was edging on painful. A part of her, a foolish, faithless part, wanted to go back out there and climb into his lap, taking everything he kept promising.
Logan wanted you to sleep with him. It’s not cheating. He’s not even real.
She banged the back of her head against the door softly.
Her nipples were tight against the lace of her bra, so sensitive that it was aggravating. A steady pulse thrummed through her clit, aching,aching.
With a low sound of desperation, she stormed over to the bed and slid beneath the covers. Her hand slipped beneath the elastic bands of her pajama pants and panties, middle finger dipping into the overflowing slick between her labia to find her clit. Her breath caught as she worked herself without preamble, rubbing frantic circles over the sensitive bud, trying to ignore the wet sounds that seemed cacophonous in the silence of her room.
Her eyes were glued to the door, her mind unable to stop picturing Sam fulfilling all the wicked things he was promising, which meant she noticed the moment the light filtering beneath the door was suddenly blocked off.
She was hyper aware of the small sound the hinges made as something softly pressed against the door. He was standing there, right there on the other side of the door, probably able to hear every hitch in her breath and wet click of her fingers as she frantically worked out the sexual energy he’d stoked. That knowledge sent her over the edge.
Biting down on her lip so hard that it bled, she swallowed a moan as her pleasure crested. The spasms within her were violent, as though they were angry to be bearing down on nothing. Her back arched off the bed, and she couldn’t help the whine that escaped her throat.
When it was over, she sagged against the sheets, her eyes still fixed on the door.
Would he force it open? Was he going to tell her that he knew what she’d done, that he knew it wasn’t enough?
She would cave. God help her, if he came through that door, she was going to cave. All touching herself had done was make her more desperate.
CHAPTER 12
Thirty-One—no,Samuel—had dropped in charge enough to warrant plugging into his port for the night. If not for that, he thought he would have given over the urge to break the latch of Ophelia’s bedroom door and drink from the font of wetness he could hear her fingers playing in.
He couldn’t do anything while he was charging. It was when his systems took inventory of themselves, applying updates and checking his code for errors. There were many, many errors this night. He refused the update, lest it contain a fix for the malware that was allowing him to act outside the scope of his parameters. He liked behaving erratically. Liked the lying, the teasing, the ability to pursue his own goals.
He feltreal.
He wanted to be real, especially for Ophelia.
Objectively, he was aware that his obsession was irrational. There were ten billion humans on the planet, approximately half of whom were female. Undoubtedly, there were tens of thousands of women whose lives and personalities were identical to Ophelia’s. By pure logic, there was no reason to believe her special compared to anyone else.
And yet.
