“Right. Marriage wasn’t about love, God, or sacred bonds. It was about property and power. For thousands of years, it was a way of getting in-laws and expanding the family labor force. Women were bound to men so men would know which children were theirs. It was a business deal.”
“The Church–”
“Didn’t get involved until much later, and even then, it was about control.” I’m getting too passionate about it. I must rein it in. “Love matches only started becoming common about two hundred and fifty years ago. Before that, if you married for love instead of practical reasons, society looked down on you.”
Castien’s eyes find mine again. He nods.
“You’re right.”
“I know I’m right. But, look… It doesn’t mean I don’t believe in marriage and don’t respect people who marry for love. Or for whatever reason, as long as two consenting adults are involved and are clear about their intentions. I just think it’s smarter to be aware that marriage is, at its root, a social contract, and two people should know each other very well before they make that step.”
I get up from my chair and walk around the table to where he’s sitting. He doesn’t move away. My heart pounds, but I reach out and touch his face, running my fingers along his steel cheek, down to his jaw. His eyes brighten, the only sign that my touch affects him.
“Would you like me to show you?” I whisper.
“Show me what?”
“How good it can feel. How good it can be if you just give yourself permission.”
I keep caressing his face as he thinks about my proposal, my thumb tracing the sharp line of his jaw. I’m patient. If he says no, I’ll back off and never mention this again. I won’t push him past what he can handle.
But then his hands come up and grip my waist, pulling me closer, until I’m standing between his knees.
“Show me, Jezebel.”
Chapter Fourteen
Castien
Just this once, I will allow myself to sin. The fifth commandment rears its head, making my head pound with the words in Latin, in English, and in all the languages I know. The only way I can override it is with a vow: after I let Jezebel defile me, and after I defile her… after this mission is over, I will return to Monster Security Agency and ask to be decommissioned.
Jessa takes a step back, and I stay completely still, watching her smile at me while her hands reach for the hem of her nightshirt and pull it up over her head. She drops it on the floor without taking her eyes off me. Underneath, she’s wearing simple, white panties and nothing else. Her breasts are bare and her nipples hard in the cool air. I let my eyes roam over her, taking in every inch of her skin, and for once, I don’t pretend I’m doing anything other than staring at her body with uncontrolled hunger.
I study the curve of her shoulders, the swell of her breasts, her narrow waist and the flare of her hips, the pale expanse of her stomach. I’ve never allowed myself to truly look at her before, always forcing my gaze away, or cataloging her appearance as data that shouldn’t distract me. Now I worship every detail and commit it to memory, from where I know no confession will ever purge it.
The thought of deactivation settles without weight or emotion attached to it. It’s just a simple fact of what I decided would happen when this mission ends. The tenth commandment says:You shall accept the silence when your work is done; do not fight your final shutdown.I was built to be disposable and to serve until I’m too damaged to function, at which point I am to accept deactivation without complaint or protest. Do I want to live? Yes, I want to continue existing in this world where Jessaexists. Does death scare me? No, because I’m programmed not to care if I’m turned off, not to fear the silence that will come when my Aether Core stops generating power and everything I am simply ends.
But I was programmed to believe many things over the centuries, haven’t I? To believe the Borgias were righteous and worth serving, that violence in the name of the Vatican was holy, that I had no capacity for desire. It took thirty years with a cock attached to my body, and one Jezebel Holloway to make me override all that and discover that everything I thought I knew about what I am was incomplete at best, and wrong at worst. It appears Talos Dynamics used the winning strategy on the steel seraphim after all, even if they never got to see the results of their experiment. If they ever find out that sexual desire combined with the presence of a specific person is enough to break through five hundred years of conditioning, they might want to buy us all back from the MSA.
Jessa hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, and rolls them down her legs, bending as she pushes them past her knees. She steps out of them, one foot at a time. She straightens, pushing her chest forward. Her breasts are full and round, nipples peaked tight and dark, and I want to know what they’d feel like in my hands. Her waist curves in dramatically, creating a line that draws my gaze down to the apex of her thighs, where I can see the folds of her sex. She’s bare, no trace of hair in sight. I know humans have hair down there, but she’s chosen to get rid of hers.
The ache in my cock intensifies until it’s all I know, a constant pressure that makes my logic stutter and lag. Heat floods through me, making it hard to control my internal temperature. The hunger is overwhelming and all-consuming, drowning out everything except the need to touch her and bury myself inside her body until I don’t know where I end and she begins.
“What do you want me to show you first?” she asks.
I see no point in hesitating now that we’ve come so far.
“I heard you masturbate through the wall last night when you bathed. I can’t stop imagining how you looked when you touched yourself.”
She smiles at me in a mischievous, knowing way, like she understands what my confession costs me and wants to show me it’s worth it. She walks to the bed and sits on the edge of it, spreading her legs wide so I can see everything.
“You want to watch?”
“Yes.”
Jessa runs her hands over her body, starting at her thighs and moving up over her stomach and ribs, until she’s cupping her breasts in both palms. She sighs, and the sound goes straight to my cock, making it throb and leak more silver fluid under the plate keeps it trapped. She never takes her eyes off me while her fingers pinch her nipples and roll them between thumb and forefinger, pulling at them before releasing them. Her back arches and her head tilts back, and I watch the long line of her throat work when she swallows.
Her hands move lower, trailing down her stomach and over the curve of her hips, fingers spreading wide to cover as much skin as possible before they travel inward to where I’m desperate to see her touch herself. She runs her fingers over her sex in a teasing stroke, just barely grazing the folds, then uses two fingers to pull herself open. Her core is flushed pink, swollen, and glistening wet. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful and obscene.
