she demands, curling up defensively. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Vital diagnostics,”
I reply. I don’t tell her that her reactions give her away just as easily, without even needing to scan her. Or how satisfying it is, knowing she’s attracted to me too. “I heard you moan my name, Katrina.”
Katrina tenses, her expression somewhere between helpless and mortified. “I...”
She sucks in a breath. “Last night, I...saw you.”
I’m surprised. Perhaps I should’ve been more careful. I’m not sure how I missed hearing her slip out of bed. I must’ve been too distracted by my thoughts of her. While I’m not embarrassed, I know masturbation is a private affair for human beings. Her beauty, her fire, her intellect, all made it impossible for me to refrain from acting on impulse.
“You saw me?”
“You were...”
She struggles to get the words out, choosing to make a brief hand motion instead. “I didn’t know androids did that. You looked right at me. I thought maybe you saw me then.”
“I didn’t, no,”
I say. “I would’ve spoken to you if I had. Did witnessing me upset you?”
“No! No, it was— You were?—”
As adorable as she is when she’s tongue-tied, I didn’t come in here to interrogate her. Not unless she likes that.
“So you thought to do the same,”
I muse. “And uttered my name.”
My scans indicate her heightened body heat. “S-so? You said mine first. At any rate, the moment’s over, and I want to sink into this bed and die. Could we maybe forget this happened? Please?”
There isn’t anything to be ashamed of. “No.”
“No?”
“You called me once, asking for my help. I came,”
I reply, securing my sleeves above my elbows. “You called me again tonight. Well, here I am, Katrina.”
She tries to look away, but I won’t let her, gently tucking my fingertips beneath her chin and guiding her back to me. “So tell me what you want.”
Her breath catches, gaze flitting down to my mouth before meeting mine. Silently, I will her to be brave and brush my thumb across her lower lip. “Tell me,”
I repeat, “what you want.”
She’s wound up tight. For a long moment, I try to determine if she feels trapped or liberated by my words. Then she whispers, “You.”
And that’s all I need to hear.
I take her into my arms, plucking her from the bed as I lower myself onto the mattress and situate her in my lap.
She weighs little to me.
She wears a large T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder, underwear, and nothing else.
I zoom in on the obvious patch of wet, where her lubrication has soaked through her panties.
In an instant, every system is in overdrive. How easy it would be to rip them off, pin her beneath my frame, and sink into her, one slow inch by inch.
“I am the cause of this?”
I press my lips to her ear, whispering as I slowly spread her legs open. I brush my hand lightly over her thigh, and her breath hitches.
“Yes,”
she whispers. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind, seeing you like that.”
I gently pull her panties to the side, clenching my jaw to refrain from the near-mechanical groan of torment when I see her dripping sex. She’s all natural.
I glance up at her. I’m impatient, holding myself back. “Even though I’m not human.”
Katrina bites her lip. “I like that about you.”
She gasps when I spread her just a little further and tease her, tracing my fingertips over her folds; first one, then the other. “I like it more and more, every day.”
The way she responds with the slight buck of her hips isn’t lost upon me.
“Are you sure you want an android to touch you?”
I rumble. “Toy with you, like this?”
I spread her lips apart with two fingers, circling her entrance, on the precipice.
Katrina gazes at me, lips slightly parted. “Touch me,”
she breathes. “Please.”
I consider the meaning behind her words. I’m aware she’s not about to go off and join the pro-bionic movement or step down from her place as a speaker for her father’s organization. She needs to stay, to rectify the damage done. It strikes me then that she doesn’t think the energy between us is wrong or forbidden. More importantly, I wouldn’t have cared if it was.
Lust is what fuels me. Trying to reason with my gratification drive is a waste of time. The way she squirms in my arms, her ass snug in my lap, her pussy wet and ready and in need of my touch, has my circuits so twisted I can hardly consider anything else.
But there’s a shift in my directive, and my desires. When I came in here, I wanted nothing more than to fuck her senseless. But now, it’s not about me. I want to focus on her. I want to bring her more pleasure than she’s ever known. That will bring me satisfaction more than anything else.
I press into her pussy with my middle finger and find no resistance. She’s tight, and delightfully warm.
Katrina arches her back in response. “Yes,”
she breathes, as though I’ve given her the relief she craves. “Oh, yes, Ezra...”
Hearing my name on her lips stimulates every part of me, from my motherboard to my mainframe. My biocomponent fluid begins cooling processes, and I ignore another temperature notification. My cock is initialized all on its own, uncomfortably straining my pants, and she’s not making it any easier by how she rubs her ass against it, pushing back against the gentle, slow pumping of my finger. When she seems comfortable, I insert a second.
When I graze her clit with my thumb, Katrina moans. Her lips remain parted.
I swirl and circle her clit with my thumb, triumph flowing through me as her soft gasps and keens become louder. Her thighs tremble. She grabs tight handfuls of my shirt, hips gyrating as I quicken the pace, determined to bring her there.
“Have you ever been touched like this, Katrina?”
I whisper.
“No. No. Never.”
Her breath heightens. “Oh, god, I’m so close...”
I focus on her G-spot, using my fingers to play her there while simultaneously tracing her clit in quickening circles. She’s clenched, tensing, right there on the edge.
“You’re going to come for me,”
I command in a low growl. “All over my fingers. Not once. Not twice. As many times as it takes, until I’m satisfied you’ve had enough.”
“Holy shit, oh fuck, I’m coming—”
Katrina’s moans turn to cries of delight. She shudders against my palm. I hold her steady and don’t stop, my fingers pistoning in and out of her pussy as she rides them through her first release.
She tries to clamp her legs shut, but I keep them open. “I’m not finished with you.”
I don’t let go of her, keeping her in my lap as I plunge my fingers into her again and again. When her second orgasm arrives, her lustful shouts fill the entire apartment.
“One more,”
I implore. “Give me one more.”
“It’s so sensitive?—”
I withdraw my fingers to focus on her clit, using her own lubrication to bring her to the cusp of a third climax. When she’s nearly there, I deploy a favorite trick of mine. My fingers vibrate with a low hum.
Katrina’s eyes widen as she peers down. “What are you doing?—”
“Come,”
I rumble against her ear, keeping her right where she is. “Let it happen.”
“Please, Ezra, I’ll scream?—”
“I don’t care if the entire city hears you. Let them know it’s better than anything you’ve ever had. Come .”
Katrina’s entire body pulsates. As she clenches and cries out, I drink in the sight of her lost in her ecstasy, admiring the light sheen of sweat glazed over her flushed skin.
She relaxes against me, almost limp in my arms, breathless as she gazes into my eyes. “Ezra...”
I slip my fingers into my mouth, tasting her sweet essence. Like the smoothies she’s often been eating. She stares at me in surprise.
“I’ve been wondering how you tasted.”
“You’re incredible.”
She leans away, but not of her own volition. “I’m dizzy.”
Keeping her in my arms, I guide her to lie back on the bed, resting her head on pillows. “I’ll bring you some water.”
I brush her bangs away from her glistening forehead and notice her legs. “You’re shaking.”
“I usually do, after I finish.”
She looks away, embarrassed. “Thank you.”
Puzzled, I trace her cheek. The glow of my white irises casts a faint light upon her. “Why are you thanking me?”
“Because I needed that.”
She stretches and lingers before relaxing again, almost like the pose is for my benefit. “Let me return the favor...”
She reaches for my cock.
But I intercept her hand, grasping it gently as I bask in this moment. “That isn’t necessary,”
I reply, and I mean every word. This was far more gratifying than chasing my own release. She’s stunning in her current state. I want to remain here, watching her like this. Appreciating her curves, the softness of her lean figure, every angle of her face. Slowly, the fog of want and please and serve and gratify give way, and rational thought resumes.
“If you’re sure,” she says.
Disappointment is plain in her voice.
She wants this.
She wants me.
I’m torn.
The temptation of surrendering all to her remains, but I’m hesitant.
This was a foolish, reckless act on my part. Not because it didn’t bring me satisfaction, or because I pleasured her. I’m quite triumphant sitting here with her in the aftermath.
I’m reminded that this was a stolen moment. One that likely can’t occur again. She’s out of my reach. I’ll never have her.
“I’m sure.”
Pushing the facts aside, I rise from the bed. “I’ll be back momentarily with water. You need hydration.”
Katrina snorts and giggles.
“What?”
She waves me away. “You’re so technical. Hydration .”
“Comes with the programming.”
“I know. It’s cute.”
Cute . She’s making it hard to leave her.
Katrina bites her lip, and I wonder if she’s going to ask me to stay. Then she ruffles her hair and sighs. “I’ll take that water now, if you’re still offering.”
Nodding, I head for the kitchen, promising myself that I’ll show more discipline and self-restraint from this day forward.
For my own sake, I have to.
Several days pass, all eventful for Katrina.
She spent the entirety of today in meeting after meeting with people in the pro-bionic movement.
She spoke to city councilmember Rebecca Schroeder, someone I met during a domestic violence dispute several years ago, and convinced her to attend the gala, even welcoming Rebecca’s husband, Oliver, as a guest as well.
Such warmth in Katrina’s discussions was a pleasant surprise to me.
She reassured Rebecca that they aren’t enemies and stressed the importance of working together.
Katrina was able to secure the attendance of EverFed founder Nicholas Kane and his wife, Sophie, as well.
She meant what she said about changing trajectories.
Katrina then spoke with the dean of Carnegie South University, her alma mater.
Unfortunately, that call didn’t go half so well.
She was clearly furious when she discovered the college had partnered with BioNex to offer androids to new incoming students, touting it as a perfect way to keep a balance between studying and health.
All at the students’ expense, of course, which only means more debilitating debt.
The dean didn’t seem to appreciate it when Katrina tersely pointed this out.
She’s had radio and TV interviews and has been hard at work with web designers to tailor the Humanity First image on its official website.
Finally, she met with Lucy Warren, a big name in the pro-bionic movement.
While Lucy politely declined the invitation to the gala due to her schedule, she did offer a sizable donation of seventy-five thousand dollars to Katrina’s cause.
I’ve been messaging Jayne Rose and looking into leads provided to me from rookie investigators throughout Katrina’s busy day.
As the evening progresses, I hear the water running as she showers, and my mind returns to the spider incident.
Charlie likes to perch near me when Katrina is unreachable, and I give him a few pats when he asks for them by trilling inquisitively at me.
That night, I was concerned for her safety and nothing else.
But now, I recall the way she looked just before she rushed to cover her body, and how her concern for modesty changed when I stole into her room later on, hearing her moaning my name.
How her body responded to my fingers deep inside her.
I memorized the flush in her face, the noises she made when she came, even her scent.
Over the past few days, I’ve been doing everything I can to keep my distance.
Katrina’s subtle hints aren’t lost on me.
She leaves her bedroom door open at night.
She stalls when she says good night to me, and I reluctantly say good night as well.
It’s frustrating how her very presence affects me.
How my gratification drive can’t get enough of her voice, her smile, the way she eats her food.
Stupid thing.
No matter how hard I try to remain reasonable with the facts and evidence I have, a part of me refuses to accept the truth of them and remains in what Deion likes to call la-la land.
If she wasn’t so determined to leave the country behind, I’d want more than this.
My own makers couldn’t hope to replicate a woman built as perfectly as her.
She’s intelligent, quick on her feet, and can hold her own in a conversation about anything, with anyone.
She’s passionate, and she cares about people, even those she disagrees with—and she doesn’t disagree with me, my existence, how I live.
If she did, this would be so much easier.
My gratification drive latches on to every glance, every word.
But I can’t tell her so.
It would’ve been better if she never told me the truth, now I know that she never viewed me as useless, mindless, or a threat to her own way of life. She can’t stand to see their suffering. She doesn’t say meaningless things to placate people, like many humans do. If she says she’ll do something, she commits to the action with such determination.
Almost like an android, dishonesty isn’t something she’s capable of.
She’s not a storybook villain. She’s been painted with a broad brush, and now she’s changing the narrative.
I only wonder what her family will think when they find out what she’s been up to.
When she emerges from the steamed bathroom, her short hair is tied up in a towel. She’s changed from loungewear to a soft orange autumn floral dress and carries her tablet.
After giving her a subtle once-over when she settles on the sofa, I return to my case notes, occasionally sending messages to my partners to ask follow-up questions. Deion sends me a small novel in text form, complaining. Without you here, this is a circus.
The next day is more of the same. Katrina’s appetite is slowly returning. She orders gourmet coffees, smoothies, salads, yogurts, and occasional sweet indulgences from the deli on the main floor. Her head stays down, focused on numbers and statistics on her tablet screen.
“What’s that?”
“Advertising,”
she replies, glancing up at me. “We’re fundraising online. We’ve only raised a hundred thousand dollars so far outside of Lucy Warren’s donation, but?—”
“ Only a hundred thousand?”
I scoff. “That’s no small feat.”
“Maybe not,”
Katrina laments, “but it’s not enough. Not for what health care costs a person around here.”
Her jaw drops. “Oh my god—she did not!”
“What?”
I ask, coming over to her.
Katrina holds up her tablet and displays a New Carnegie Metropolitan Entertainment News headline: “Humanity First’s ‘Sweetheart’ Butts Heads with Dean of College.”
“Th-that’s—”
Her face is red as she grips the tablet. “They say I was hostile, that I threw a tantrum!”
“The Metro is different than the Times ,”
I remind her, remembering Rashelle’s particular dislike for that publication. “They rely heavily on sensationalism rather than facts to sell articles.”
“Yeah, well, it’s bullshit.”
She pushes back into the sofa cushions, frowning. “I know it’s stupid to get upset, and I can’t control how people see me. But I’m so tired of it. Extremist bimbo, that’s what they’re calling me. Seriously, who says that nowadays? But that means what I say has merit. If they have to resort to personal attacks, they don’t like that my opinion has value.”
I hardly think Katrina Carson is an extremist or a—I research the word—bimbo. That’s one I haven’t really heard in casual conversation. “Ignore them, Katrina. You’re more rational and well-rounded than many people I’ve met.”
She glances up at me. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Katrina works the entire day away, occasionally making little frustrated noises and getting up to stretch her legs around the apartment, rolling her shoulders and wrists before returning right back to where she was. Dedication. Reminds me of me. When she finally takes a break from the numbers, she picks up a stylus and sweeps it across the screen, busying herself with something else. She seems content, no longer upset about those words from the tabloids.
I’m brought out of my thoughts when an unexpected call notification comes across my visual feed from a number I immediately dismiss.
But even as I decline the call, it reroutes the untapped notification to my tablet, which rests on the coffee table where Katrina can see the screen.
She looks up and blinks. “Who’s Amy?”
“No one of consequence,” I reply.
The call eventually stops, but it’s followed by a text message, which pops up on both my visual feed and tablet screen.
Kinda miss you and all the fun we had together. Could we talk?
In silent irritation, I change my notification settings to stop that from happening for the assignment’s duration, but it’s too late.
Katrina glances from the message to me and lifts her brows. “I don’t think she sees it that way.”
She sets her stylus down.
There’s a slight tension to her voice, one I wasn’t expecting. Is that indifference or jealousy? I study how she squares her shoulders, noticing a slight spike in her temperature and heart rate, and I find myself wishing she’d never seen the message. While I’ve nothing to be ashamed of, and it’s certainly not anyone’s business, what I can do is put the damn tablet away. I stare down at the infernal contraption, muttering, “Traitor.”
It beeps when I power it down, almost like it’s talking back at me.
“You can talk to non-bionic machines?”
Katrina asks as Charlie hops into her lap, and she gives the little bionic spiderling scratches and pets. “Wow, that could almost be cute. Do they understand you?”
“As much as their programming allows them to. Usually their AI is rudimentary at best,”
I respond.