She was going to be another statistic for the People First movement.
Here we have Ophelia Sinclair, addicted to her pleasure unit after one quickie. She spurns all human men, crippling our birth rate, all so she can ride this robot into the sunset!
A laugh bubbled out of her, and she clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle it as Sam glanced back at her.
He arched a dark brow, looking at her hand pointedly.
What?
He straightened, holding her gaze as he dragged his shirt up over his head.
Oh.
Her knees felt wobbly again as she watched all those muscles flex. He grinned knowingly at her as he undid the fly on his pants, dragging them down his long legs with performative slowness. When he stood up, he was completely naked, all drastic planes of golden muscles dusted with dark hair and freckles she desperately wanted to explore.
“Come here,” he murmured, stepping closer to her.
She gazed up at him, amazed and afraid of the enormity of what she was feeling for this man who wasn’t even really a man. An android—a defective one, probably, if his complete disregard for the moral core of his AI was any indication. Eventually, he was going to get caught out, and they would wipe his memory and start over with his code. As he dragged her dress up over her head, she realized she would merrily bash anyone who tried upside the head with something terribly, lethally heavy.
He dipped down to kiss her briefly, and she followed him up onto her toes to make it last just a little longer, rewarded by an approving smile. When he knelt to untangle her from her torn stockings and twisted-up panties, she braced her hands against his shoulders. He pressed another kiss over her bare hip, and her breath hitched in anticipation, but he only tossed the clothes aside and rose.
With her hand in his, he led her into the shower. She’d thought at the start that it was a pretense to keep seducing her, but all he did was wash her ever so tenderly. There was something soft in his eyes, something she would have said wasn’t possible only a day ago. But if Sam was somehow breaking every other protocol of being artificially intelligent, then maybe…
Ophelia closed her eyes, losing herself in the sensation of him dragging a soapy washcloth over her shoulder. She wouldn’t read into it. That was too much to hope for, and even if she did… what the hell would it mean for them? And what did it say about her that she’d been over her relationship for all of a couple of hours and she was already thinking about moving on?
She looked down at Sam, who was balancing her foot on one knee as he gently washed her sole. Her toes curled as the touch tickled her, and he grinned before repeating the same feather-light brush of the cloth, forcing her to squirm for relief. Their eyes met, and her heart skipped a beat.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she’d been over her relationship for a lot longer than she’d ever been willing to admit. He stood and took her hands, tenderly washing the shallow scrapes free of dirt and debris.
“You were brave tonight,” he murmured, meeting her gaze.
“I was?”
“Very.”
She bit her bottom lip, watching his thumbs trace over the veins in her wrists.
“What are you feeling?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Lost, maybe.”
Losing her nerve, her eyes danced away from his. His hands left hers, smoothing up her arms to wind around her shoulders. He pressed her close beneath the warm spray, resting his chin on her head.
“You did well.” One of his thumbs swept a soothing pattern over the nape of her neck. “Do you have regrets?”
Was she projecting the vulnerability in his question?
“I… I don’t. Not about us.”
It surprised her to hear herself say the words, but they were true. She had a litany of regrets when it came to the two years she’d wasted on Logan, but what they’d done in the alley… she couldn’t bring herself to regret that.
He pressed her closer with a satisfied sound.
She looped her arms around his waist, fascinated by his flexing muscles and the warmth of his skin. He felt so human that if she hadn’t seen him open up his arm with her own eyes, she would be convinced he was a man masquerading as a machine.
“What happens now?” she asked so softly that she was sure the rush of water would carry the whispers away, but Sam heard her.
“Whatever you want, Ophelia.”
