Page 7

“Good, Kit,” Eros murmurs in my ear, sweet and encouraging. One of his hands flattens against my belly, warm and firm, his fingertips reaching just beneath the waistband of my jeans.

And then another pair of hands is on my body, rougher, palming my thigh as if to hold me steady.

Ian. I’m grateful for the anchor. I feel like I’m about to fly apart at the seams. Ian’s other hand drifts upward from my waist and under my sweater, thumb caressing delicate circles against the skin of my ribs.

I gasp when he teases at my nipple, the barest hint of pressure against sensitive skin.

Then Ian kisses me, swallowing my gasp. The sensations are almost enough to make me combust: Eros’s mouth on my neck, his fingers under my waistband, inching lower. Ian’s thumb pressing, teasing at my heaving breast.

I buck my hips into Eros’s hand, whining against Ian’s mouth, aching for more touch, more pressure.

“Shh, be patient,” Eros says, biting my earlobe.

It’s the most beautiful earlobe bite I’ve ever experienced.

It’s like he knows exactly where to access the most pleasurable nerve endings.

My eyes still closed, I feel him flick open the button of my jeans, lowering the zipper.

“We’ll get you there.” His voice is deep, sensual, devoted, and it drips over me like honey.

The rain picks up and thrums against the window. I let them do what they want to me, following their hedonistic lead.

Eros’s fingers find their way beneath my panties. Ian pushes up my sweater with practiced ease, Eros ceasing his kisses just long enough to let Ian pull the sweater up and over my head. I’m not wearing a bra. Ian’s mouth finds my bare breasts. His tongue finds my nipples.

In a wanting, desperate haze, I feel Eros depart from my side. I miss him, wanting that mouth, those hands — until Ian picks me up and carries me into the living area, setting me down in front of the sofa. Eros is sitting there already, naked and waiting.

In a second I’m naked too, Ian’s hands making quick work of my jeans and underwear. And then Ian is encouraging me, caressing me, ordering me with hot words in my ear to sit on Eros’s cock.

Eros’s stomach muscles ripple as he lifts his hips to invite me to him; his erect cock so human, so thick and taut, it makes my mouth water. There’s even a pearl of precum glistening at the tip.

A Pleasurebot can’t possibly be so perfect. But there he is, watching me with an indecent gaze, his golden hair mussed and hanging in his eyes.

“Kit,” Eros croons. “Come here.”

I climb willingly into his lap. He takes my waist in his large hands and kisses me.

I thought Ian’s kiss was good, but Eros’s mouth is otherworldly.

He was built for this. Programmed just for this.

No, not for this — for me . Every touch is a spark of code, an electric communication from me to him: This is how to touch me, this is how to kiss me, this is how I like it.

Eros drags me closer to him, my cunt leaving a wet trail along the side of his erection. My breasts press against his firm chest, and I groan. He feels so human. His body, his movements, everything he does is flawless.

“Kit,” Eros says, nuzzling my neck, his chest rising and falling against mine. “Bite down on my shoulder.”

“Why?” I whine, rolling my hips involuntarily, already aching, dying to come. All he’s done is kiss me; all he’s done is sit me against the length of his hard, waiting cock, and I’m already begging for it. All I want is to feel him inside me. I want to come until I’m crying, just like Ian promised.

“Do what he says,” Ian orders, and I remember hazily that he’s still behind me, still watching, voyeuristic.

Eros lowers his head to my chest, licking a nipple with a languid tongue. I anchor my fingers in his hair, the sensation sending wavelengths of pleasure jolting through me.

“Because,” Eros says, “this might hurt.”

I don’t question. I want it. Whatever he’s going to give me, I want it.

I clamp my teeth on his shoulder, and he even tastes like salt, like human skin.

And then Eros grabs me by the waist, lifting me up a few inches and adjusting himself, and slams me down on his cock until he’s deep inside me.

I bite him hard, my cry muffled against Eros’s skin.

The sensation is so intense I almost black out, but it doesn’t hurt.

Instead, it’s overwhelming . Almost too good.

Like I’ve never been filled like this before, fucked so matter-of-factly and so precisely.

It’s like he’s not reading my mind; he’s reading my body .

He’s bottomed out inside me. Just like I wanted. I’m almost afraid to move, afraid that it will send me over the edge too soon.

Then rough hands grab me from behind, one tangled in my hair, the other reaching over my shoulder to massage my breast. Ian pulls my head all the way back until I’m gazing up at him, breathing hard, exposed, and shaking with unspent ecstasy.

Ian is still fully dressed. He kisses me roughly, awkwardly from this angle, and then he slides his hand down to between my legs where I’m joined with Eros, my cunt full and aching. He presses a finger to my clit, and I gasp, the sound of a desperate woman.

“Ride his cock,” Ian growls in my ear.

He loosens his grip on my hair enough for me to find a good angle, but he remains pressed against my back, his hand at the nape of my neck, a low sting at the roots of my hair where he’s pulling.

It’s an easy order to obey. I roll my hips slowly at first, feeling out this new lover, getting a sense of his girth inside me, which angles work best. But God— every angle works best. I move in small circles, and I feel like I’m ascending.

I bounce high, slamming his pelvis against mine, and it’s a miracle of pleasure.

I’m at the edge of orgasm, the heady, breathless edge of the fall, for what feels like hours. Years.

Eros touches me exactly where I need it, kisses me when and where I want it. All meaningful thought flees my mind, and I’m a figment, an electrical impulse, ricocheting from obscene ecstasy to decadent rapture.

Ian’s fingers are still pressed firmly on my clit. And then he circles me once, slowly.

“Come for us, Kit,” says Eros.

I whimper, every muscle in my body taut, as I crest the wave.

“Now,” Ian orders.

So I do. And when the seemingly endless drowning pleasure subsides, when I can think and breathe and see again, Eros strokes my cheek so softly, so sweetly, that I can’t hold it in anymore. Tears slide down my face, a desperate release.

Fucking Christ .

“Good,” Eros breathes, holding me to his chest. “Beautiful.”

“That was fun,” Ian says, voice low and husky. I turn to look at him, Eros still deep inside me. Ian is rock-hard and breathing heavily, his pupils large and dark. “You enjoy that?”

I did. God help me, I enjoyed it. “Yes.”

He licks his lips. Then he looks away, and I’m not sure he’s even talking to me anymore. “Good. Good. It gets better every time with Eros.” He glances back at me, brows drawn low, and a shadow flickers across his expression. “He’ll never be the prototype, but he’s still spectacular.”

And then Ian stalks away, toward what must be his room, and disappears down a corridor. I wonder if he’s going to jerk himself off now. I would if I were him. I wonder if he has a voyeur kink, if this is how he tests the Pleasurebots.

And most of all, I wonder, if this is what it’s like with Eros… what the fuck would it be like with the prototype?

Alone with Eros and suddenly self-conscious, I slide off his cock. It springs out of me, still hard. I hurriedly pull on my clothes. Eros only watches, and I swear his expression is… it’s almost like he’s enjoying it. But he’s programmed for that, to look eager. To look hungry.

I pause while fastening my jeans. “Eros,” I say, “do you… I mean, did you want to—”

“No, thank you,” he says, languidly fisting his cock. “I could help myself if I wanted to. But I’m satisfied. You make the most delicious sounds when you come.”

For a second, I’m lost for words. My face must be turning bright red. “Oh, um. Thank you. Uh, listen, I need to go clean up.” I gesture vaguely toward the staircase leading up to my guest room. “Are you okay alone for a few minutes?”

Eros nods, standing. I drag my eyes away from his cock. “I’ll clean myself up, Kit.”

“Okay. Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome.”

Overcome with a sense of surreality, I hurry up the spiral staircase. I’m almost to the top when Eros speaks, stopping me in my tracks.

“Kit,” he says. He sounds almost pained. I lean over the railing and meet his gaze. He looks — strange. Almost sad, or… some emotion I haven’t seen on him. Which program is this? I wonder. The one where he apologizes that my orgasm was somehow subpar?

But he says nothing.

“What, Eros?” I prompt.

And then, like a window closing, Eros’s furrowed brows even out, his smile returns, and he shakes his head. “I don’t know. I forgot what I was going to say.”