Page 24

“Oh wow,” I stammer, suddenly breathless. I’ve spent so much time annoyed with his presence that I never considered this additional benefit. Did he say attachable parts? That little suitcase stored at the bottom of his charging pod has attachable parts? I shiver as I start to envision them.

If I’m being honest with myself, apart from when he broke my door down, my hatred for Abe has faded. He’s become a fixture in my daily routines. I used to grind my teeth at the sight of him. Now my jaw relaxes. “Does that mean you’d want to…”

He leans down and presses his forehead to mine, his reptilian eyes falling closed in a pained, needy expression. “I’d give anything to make you feel good. Anything.”

As soon as I give him a nod, my feet are off the ground, and Abe is carrying me into the guestroom where his charging pod is set up. Part of me wants to insist we go upstairs to my bedroom. That’s where my lube is, along with my lingerie drawer. The lighting is soft, and my deep gold bedding looks incredible against my skin. It’s where I feel most comfortable. Maybe I’m nervous. An entire year has passed since I last hooked up with anyone, so yeah, I want this to go well. I want to feel hot and for him to think I am too. I also want my body to cooperate by getting wet on its own and not getting stiff while my joints constantly crack.

The joys of being a woman in her forties.

Abe drops me on the edge of the bed and kneels between my open thighs. We’re eye to eye like this, and I take the opportunity to admire the strange beauty of his gold-and-purple orbs, the softness of his synthetic skin. I’m surprised to discover he has pores. The attention to detail on his design is crazy. He leans into my touch as I run my fingertips along the purple line of his cheekbone, then along his jaw.

“What does this feel like?” I ask as he presses a kiss to my thumb. He sucks on the tip, grazing it with the edge of his teeth, and my whole body comes alive.

His voice is quiet when he says, “Feels like something I’ve never had before but always wanted.”

“As long as you’ve been awake, you mean?”

“No,” he replies, his gaze somber as it reaches mine. “Somehow longer. Maybe since the first piece of me was fused with another. I longed for it then as I do now.”

My heart breaks at his words, the loneliness in them, but Abe doesn’t give me time to linger in it. He kisses me again, this time with pure tenderness. His tongue delves deep into my mouth as my hands get lost in his hair.

When his hands graze the underside of my breasts, I let out a ragged sound. My nipples are more sensitive than ever as they scrape against the hard planes of his chest. “Yes,” I whimper, moving his hand up to knead my breast fully. The ache is overwhelming, only eased when he squeezes and pinches my nipple between his fingers.

He breaks the kiss to look down at my breasts, lifting his other hand so he’s cupping both, testing the weight, and when he flicks both nipples through my shirt, I throw my head back with a moan. He guides me onto my back as he wraps his lips around my nipple and sucks hard. Even through the fabric, the sensation sends a jolt of electricity straight to my clit.

His lips leave a wet trail along the length of my throat. “I want to see you,” he whispers as he sucks on my earlobe.

Slowly, I tug my tank top over my head, and along with it, the wireless bralette I wear most weekends. It’s white and not the least bit sexy, but Abe doesn’t seem to care. He’s not even looking at it when I toss it across the room. His eyes are smoldering as they remain glued to my nipples. He runs a hand through his hair as his mouth hangs open. He looks as if he’s witnessing a miracle. “My…” he trails off, and I take it as a compliment.

I fall back on my elbows as I look him up and down. “Time to show me yours.”

His lips curl up into a boyish grin as he tugs on the zipper of his jumpsuit. It starts on the side of his neck and runs down his ribcage, all the way to his feet. But once the zipper reaches his hip, he stops.

“Boo,” I say with a pout. But then he pulls the jumpsuit down enough to expose his deliciously cut V-line, and I suck in a breath. Abe is built like a god but looks a lot like a human man. Apart from the glowing purple lines that start about two inches above his nipples and disappear behind the bottom half of his suit, his synthetic skin is peachy pink like your average white man, with the carved torso of a Hollywood actor prepped for shirtless screentime.

I wonder if Henrik designs any of these bots to have more fat on their bones? Maybe even a belly? Even if Abe wasn’t built like a superhero, I’d still want to run my tongue along the wide expanse of his chest. He’s all kinds of scrumptious.

“Can I?” I ask as I reach for him.

He climbs on top of me until his knees are straddling my hips. Then he plants each hand next to my head, leaning down to press a quick plucking kiss to my lips. “Please do.”

I take my time exploring him, entranced by the subtle warmth coming from his torso lights and the rigidity of his chest and abs as I trace a finger over them. His torso is immovable, very machine-like, but I’m not turned off by it. He’s so much bigger and wider than I am, I can’t wait for the feel of him on top of me, fucking me into the bed. The crush of his giant frame, caging me in, blocking the rest of the world out. I want it so badly my hips start rolling of their own accord.

Our lips find each other, a mess of tongues and gnashing teeth. His hands feel like they’re everywhere, gripping with a force I’ve always wanted but have been too afraid to ask for. But this is Abe. He was designed for me. If I want something, I should ask for it, right?

“Pull my hair,” I beg as I run my tongue over his Adam’s apple.

His hand, now glove-free, as pale as the rest of him, and ending in beautifully thick fingers, reaches into my curls. He pulls back to watch my face as it gives it a sharp tug, giving him better access to the right side of my neck. “Like that?” he asks against my skin.

“Yes.” I’m panting now and rubbing myself against him like a cat in heat. “More. I need you.”

His free hand slips beneath the waistband of my silk pajama pants and high-waisted underwear, his fingers running through my springy curls before he traces my slit and groans deeply against my neck. “I want you to fuck my hand. Will you do that for me, Madam Mayor?”

“Shit,” I moan at his words. No one has used my formal title on me in bed before, and it turns out I really fucking like it. “Yes.”

He starts with one finger, easing into me one inch at a time. Then he pulls back out. I’m flooded with panic as he raises his hand between us, but Abe is the picture of calm.

“My lube is upstairs,” I mutter as I try to push him off to go get it. This is part of aging I haven’t been able to embrace with any shred of fondness. When I’m turned on and in the middle of a hookup, the last thing I want is to be dry down there.