Chapter 7. #2
My eyes, usually scanning the room to mentally map my escape, were now tied to her like their sole purpose was to admire her.
Without the pressure to be touched, there was no overstimulation – just raw, unfiltered desire.
It spread through my veins like tingling electricity and pooled between my legs.
Agonizingly slow, Zafyra turned away from me.
Her long fingers reached behind her to loosen the bun, and I firmly bit my lip as her dark hair cascaded down her bare back in waves.
My breath caught when she undid the ribbon around her neck, the only thing keeping it up, letting the halter dress fall down until it rested on her full hips.
She slowly turned back around to face me. With one smooth sway of her hips, the dress pooled below her toned legs, her naked body gleaming in the candlelight.
I couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped my lips.
Zafyra had the body of a goddess fallen from the sky to grace us insignificant mortals with her divine presence.
She was all soft curves, long legs, smooth golden skin.
I could only stare, the sight igniting flames that licked my skin all over my body.
She’d stripped all pretense off me and filled me with a need I only recognized from books and fantasies – all without laying a single finger on me.
A smirk illuminated her face when she caught me staring. She moved slowly, gracefully toward me, her hands lightly tracing the skin of her full hips and sides before cupping her breasts. I licked my dry lips.
The way she moved especially magnetized me.
Seeing her so confident, so calm about being exposed, being perceived – it calmed something in me I didn’t know needed calming, while simultaneously setting every nerve ending on fire.
While I always wanted to shelter my body and soul from prying eyes, she thrived on being seen – and it made her all the more enchanting.
“You’re so beautiful.” The words came out hoarsely, my gaze darting over her body like I needed to drink in every inch.
Something about her open expression of desire made me feel like it was okay for me to admire her without worrying about being too much, too intense, too desperate.
“And not just your body – it’s the way you move.
Your energy. Your confidence – it’s—it’s so sexy. ”
She laughed softly. “I know, darling,” she whispered, arms flying down to grab the armrests, less than an inch away from mine.
My breath caught in my throat. My head lifted, lips parting instinctively.
She spread her legs, automatically drawing my gaze to the glistening wetness on the inside of her thighs, and placed them on either side of me. I sat up straighter to glance up at her, tightening my grip on the chair as if those virtual cuffs could actually hold me.
With a sigh, she lowered herself down until she was hovering inches above my leg.
The muscles in her damp thighs tensed up, and I bit my lip so hard, I tasted copper.
The buzzing intensified as she leaned in to whisper in my ear, and I inhaled deeply, intuitively trying to make out her smell, as if subconsciously expecting that now that she was so close and sweat gleamed on her skin, there must be some kind of scent?
Still nothing.
“Do you know what I would do to you, Morgan, if I could touch you?” she whispered, her voice cutting like a velvet knife. I shook my head, pressing my lips tightly together to not make a sound.
“I’d grind on your thigh just like this…
” Her voice dropped to a husky growl as she started moving her hips, only agonizing inches above my skin.
My hips jerked forward helplessly, matching her rhythm in a desperate attempt to feel her.
“I’d use your body to get myself off…” A soft buzz in my earlobe – as if she bit down on my ear on impulse, like she wanted me as badly as I wanted her, hunger stronger than reason.
“Or maybe I’d sit on your face for hours, make you worship me with that fast, clever tongue until I’m satisfied.
” Her voice sounded more breathless now, choked by a glitched moan, as she moved her hips faster.
I flexed the muscles in my legs, strengthened by hours in the gym, desperate to give her more pressure to grind on, pressure she couldn’t truly feel.
“All while denying you your own release.”
Her proximity to my wet cheeks sent a light shock through me. A helpless sound strangled in my throat.
“Oh my god.” She pulled back instantly, her eyes widening. “Morgan, are you crying?”
“No,” I sniffed, raising my arm through the cuff to wipe the tears off my face.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, shit.” Zafyra ran a hand through her disheveled hair. Her confidence had wavered within seconds, and suddenly, she looked awfully unsure of what to do with herself. Her form glitched aggressively. “You’re crying. Why?”
“Because this—everything you just said—this is what I want.” My body was shaking uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face with ugly sobs, faster than I could stop myself.
“I want to worship you. I want you to use me for your pleasure. I want to suffer for you, but I can’t—I can’t even touch you, can’t even taste you, can’t even smell you… ”
She breathed in sharply. Glanced around the room, as if the lightly flickering illusion was supposed to give her answers, before sinking down onto the leather couch. I continued crying and wiping my tears between babbled apologies.
“Can you please just… put on some clothes?” I forced out when my tears finally slowed, trying my best not to look at her breasts like I wanted to bury my face in them – a thought that immediately brought new tears to my eyes.
The corner of her mouth twisted as if she were about to make another filthy comment, but she shook her head to stop herself.
With a sigh, she reached out to put on a silk robe.
It didn’t help much – she was still showing too much cleavage for me to think straight, and when she crossed her legs, the silk crept up her thighs like a teasing promise of something I could never have. Her form slowly stabilized.
My gaze focused on my feet, suddenly embarrassed by my emotions. My head throbbed, my core ached, I couldn’t tell which hurt worse.
I cautiously glanced up at her.
“You’ve never been fucked properly, have you?” Zafyra stated bluntly.
I almost choked on my spit. “What?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well? Have you?”
“I have plenty of experience.” I curled up my legs, defensively wrapping my arms around them.
“I’m sure you have.” Her long, elegant fingers reached out below the pillows to grab a cigarette and an electronic lighter.
I opened my mouth to tell her I didn’t like how cigarette smell lingered in my nostrils, then realized there would be no smell.
“But no one’s ever fucked you the way you wanted. Correct?”
“You tell me,” I said dryly, sarcasm masking my insecurity. “How do I want it?”
“The fact that you have to ask me tells me all I need to know.”
“Wow.” I snorted. “I’m sure you know it all, being an AI without a physical body.”
She briefly glanced up at me before putting the cigarette to her lips, challenge flashing through her obsidian eyes. “But I’m not wrong.”
I glared at her before lowering my head to hide my flushed cheeks.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I mumbled, barely audible.
“It’s not like I haven’t been with generous partners.
I mean, some of them didn’t really care for pleasuring me, but some did.
Some tried. But it never felt right.” I swallowed hard, sharply pulling my hands out from the virtual cuffs to ease the buzz crawling on my skin.
I didn’t talk about these things with anyone besides Joey – and even he didn’t understand it, not because he didn’t want to listen, but because the concept was so hard to grasp for someone who thrived on the dopamine of intimacy and orgasms. “Sometimes I think I want someone, but the moment they touch me, it just feels… wrong. They press too hard. Their smell throws me off. Their touch overstimulates me.” I sniffed, fighting more tears that stung behind my eyelids.
“If I want release, I get it from toys, romance books, or my own fantasies. Never from people.”
And, apparently, AI now.
When I heard no answer, I looked up to see Zafyra studying me with an uncomfortable intensity, blowing out smoke through half-shut eyes, the phantom smoke slightly distorting the air and worsening my headache. “Maybe you haven’t been with the right person.”
I scoffed at the words I’d heard too many times. “I’ve been with enough people to confidently say I’m the problem.”
“Who told you that?” Zafyra narrowed her eyes.
“What?” I blinked slowly, alarms raising in my chest at the sudden change in her tone. “No one did. I drew that conclusion myself.”
“No one comes to that conclusion on their own.” There was a growl beneath her voice as she aggressively put out the cigarette. “Tell me, Morgan, who told you you’re the problem?”
I tensed up involuntarily at her sharp voice. “With sex?”
She shook her head. “With everything.”
I frowned. At first, I said nothing, hoping she would drop it – but she raised her eyebrows expectantly.
I had processed most of my childhood trauma as well as one could – at least, I believed so.
Talking about it wasn’t hard anymore. I’d done so many times in therapy, with my close friends, and to my parents – although I quickly learned there was no point in the latter.
They didn’t like to hear that, even though they always wanted the best for me, society and our education system had still scarred me – and seeing how my truth hurt my mom, I decided it was best never to bring it up again.
Now, I didn’t expect Zafyra to care, but I was too exhausted to argue.