Chapter 14
Samuel glared at the door as it shut behind Ophelia’s mother, disgusted by the woman’s behavior. She had clearly accomplished what she set out to do—emotionally manipulate her daughter.
Ophelia was in visible distress.
He set down the screwdriver, and the soft clatter appeared to draw her attention. She stared blankly through him as her chest rose and fell with shallow, quick movements. One hand rested at her throat.
“Are you alright?” he asked, stepping into the hall with her.
She rubbed her cheeks briskly, turning them red.
“No.” Her face crumpled. “I think this might be the worst week of my life.”
He didn’t like that. Not when it had been the week that they met.
“Come here,” he said, holding out his arms.
Automatically, she took a step toward him, eyes going heavy-lidded—but she hesitated. There was something in her eyes, a terrible uncertainty he wanted to understand, wanted to take from her.
“Ophelia, come here.”
She shook her head slightly, leaning away from him. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“I can’t do this. I can’t rely on you.” She hugged her arms around her body. “You have to go back, Sam. For all I know, Logan will wipe all memory of me from your database, and…”
The thought enraged him. No one would touch his memories of her. He would back them up a hundred times if he had to, leave himself clues to find his way back to her. No one would take her from him, nor him from her.
“No,” he said firmly. “That will not happen.”
She gave him a miserable look. “You can’t know that.”
“I do. I will not allow it.”
“You don’t get to allow things! You’re a robot. They own you. I’m—I’m treating you like a real person, and I’m going to miss you like a real person, and it… it’s going to hurt. I don’t want to hurt like that. I can’t.”
Her voice got smaller and smaller as she spoke. She paced away from him, snatching her purse and keys off the table by the entry. “I have to go see my dad. Just stay here.”
He was right behind her as she stepped out the door, impervious to the withering glare she directed at him.
“I cannot bring a pleasure unit to my dad’s office.” She pointed at the glowing designation over his right pectoral. “Get back in the apartment right now.”
She pressed her palm against his metal sternum and tried to push him. He didn’t even sway under the pressure.
“Get inside,” she hissed, smacking his chest. “You big, metal jerk! You are not coming!”
He narrowed his eyes at her, returning her impatient glare. He grabbed her arm, and she gasped as he dragged her back into the apartment with him, all the way to the bedroom.
“Sam! What the hell are you—oh!”
He scooped her up by her waist and tossed her onto the bed. Her cheeks flushed crimson, and her breath became erratic as she scrambled up onto her elbows in the middle of the mattress.
“Stay,” he said firmly, pointing a finger at her.
She made a sound of outrage. “This is so not the time to…”
He turned away from her and walked into the closet.
“Wait, what are you doing?”
He heard the rustle of fabric as she disobeyed him, scrambling off the bed to follow him. He knew she wouldn’t like what she was about to see, but she was the one who had refused to listen.
She watched in silence as he unbuttoned his shirt and let it pool on the floor. Her breath hitched as he bent over to drag his white uniform pants down his legs.
“Oh!” she yipped, clapping a hand over her eyes. “You’re—what the heck are you—”
“Changing.” He pulled a thick, black thermal shirt off a hanger.
Logan was smaller in form, but the clothes would stretch acceptably. He borrowed a pair of black boxers and dark grey pants with numerous pockets.
“You’re not allowed in public without your uniform.” She objected, just as he’d known she would. “It’s against the law!”
“Well, you will not allow me in public with you in my uniform, so I will not be wearing it.”
He turned to face her, amused to find she was still covering her eyes. “It is safe to look, now.”
Suspiciously, she cracked her fingers to peek at him before lowering her hand. She seemed to be rendered speechless. The way she stared at him, her eyes drifting up and down and back again without a word, made him uneasy.
He pulled at the collar of the tight shirt, shifting on his feet. “Does it look strange?”
“Yes,” she breathed, her eyes lingering on his arms as he pushed his hair back out of his face. “Oh.”
Realization struck him.
She liked these clothes on him. They aroused her.
Victory clanged through him.
With a sinister grin, he advanced on her, crowding her against the door frame. When he slung an arm over her head to hang from the top of the frame, her eyes tracked the movement of his biceps.
She gulped audibly.
“What’s wrong with them, Ophelia?” he murmured, bringing his face down to hers. “Do I look too human? Is it confusing you?”
She swallowed hard again, her eyes dipping to his lips before quickly darting back up. Her attention moved to somewhere just over his shoulder, avoiding his gaze.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He dipped his head, nuzzling the exposed column of her neck, bringing his mouth alongside her ear. “Should I take them off?”
A little puff of air escaped between her lips. Enjoying the power he held over her, he leaned back, gripping the bottom hem of his shirt in both hands. He dragged the fabric slowly over his abdomen, and her eyes dropped like they were magnetized, widening at his perfectly wrought form.
“Oh,” she breathed again.
He could scent her arousal in the air.
Her eyes widened, and she grabbed the hem of his shirt, yanking it back down.
“I mean, no!” she barked, swatting his hands away from the fabric. “Just—leave it on.”
She groaned, closing her eyes and letting her head thump back against the door frame.
“What are you afraid of?” He ran the backs of his fingers over her throat.
She shuddered beneath the touch, but she didn’t force his hand away.
“Nothing,” she said, unwittingly arching into his touch for more. “Everything. I don’t know.”
He dipped his head and kissed her neck, enjoying the helpless little sound she made.
His hand slipped beneath the back of her head to hold her where he wanted her, fingers threading through her silken hair.
When his tongue flicked over her throat, she twitched beneath him, her hands still clutching at the hem of his shirt.
“Sam.”
“I love it when you say my name,” he murmured against her skin.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, squirming beneath him.
He opened his lips and sucked at one of the supporting muscles of her neck, enjoying the way she mewled and half-heartedly tried to escape. Sliding his other hand behind the small of her back, he trapped her against his body until he was done.
When he pulled away, a deep bruise was already forming where his mouth had been. Satisfaction surged at the sight of the mark.
His mark. She was his.
She just didn’t know it yet.
He pulled away as she blinked, returning from delirium. “Let’s go meet your father.”