Chapter 30
Ophelia sobbed as Sam held her in the cage of his arms.
She cried for herself, for the time she’d lost, for the love she’d thought she’d had.
She cried for the change she was about to go through, knowing there was nothing she dreaded more in the world than an unknown quantity.
She cried for Sam, who had signed up to have sex with her and was getting covered in tears and snot as she fell apart just like her life had.
“Shhhh.” He cradled her close, peppering kisses over her temple and cheek and holding the back of her head as he rocked side to side.
He was treating her like a fretful toddler; it might have offended her if it hadn’t been so damn comforting. She curled into him, making herself as small as possible.
The decorative knit blanket that had been draped at the foot of the bed came around her shoulders, soft as velvet against her skin. She grabbed at it, cocooning herself in the fabric.
“It’s all ruined,” she sobbed, the words barely comprehensible even to her own ears.
“Yes,” he said somberly, rubbing his jaw over the top of her head. “But not tonight. It was ruined a long time ago, and not because of anything you’ve done.”
His reassurances only made her cry harder. He hummed to her as she sobbed, melodies that didn’t belong to any song she recognized. Could he make music? It seemed like the kind of thing you would need a soul for.
Her sobbing subsided as her energy finally depleted.
There was more grief within her, trapped between her ribs and in the cartilage of her throat, but she couldn’t expel any more of it.
She looked up at him through her swollen eyes, losing herself in the changing tune.
He didn’t pause for breath, just let the song carry on and on as he worked to soothe her, still rocking subtly.
What was a soul, anyway? Whatever it was, she couldn’t accept that Sam didn’t have it. How could a virus have made him so real? It didn’t add up.
He cupped her face as he met her gaze, brushing a thumb over her cheek.
She lost herself in him, tracing her eyes over his too-beautiful face as she came down—the bow of his full upper lip, the freckles dusted a little too neatly over the bridge of his nose and cheeks, the impossibly long, dark lashes.
“I’m scared,” she said, her voice barely even a whisper.
“I know.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “It will get better.”
“How would you know?” She objected, even as she nuzzled closer to him. “You’re a robot. Do you even get scared? You always seem so full of yourself.”
He made a thoughtful sound. “Two things can be true at once. I am full of myself, but I am also scared.”
She met his eyes in surprise. “Of what?”
His arms tightened around her. “Losing you,” he said in a surprisingly vulnerable tone. “I am terrified of it.”
“You barely know me.”
His dark brows furrowed, expression turning stormy. “I know you, Ophelia. I have not known you long, but I know you.”
The way he said it made her breathless. His anger smoothed to something more sultry but no less intense.
“And I know you are mine,” he purred. The hand behind her neck massaged her gently as the other skimmed down her back and over the swell of her bare hip. “You know it, too. It frightens you.”
She closed her eyes, burying her face in his neck as his fingers trailed over her pelvis and slid between her labia. A tiny, broken sound escaped her as he stroked lazily.
“I feel so lost,” she breathed, tears welling in her eyes.
“You are not lost.” His breath teased her ear. His fingers moved more urgently between her thighs, cutting off any of her argument. “You are home.” The hand on her neck flexed, squeezing. “Wherever I am, you are home.”
The weeping started again at that sentiment, unwinding the last of her defenses.
Her head fell back in his grip, and she spread her knees wide for him as his fingers delved into her sex.
Everything was blurry from the constant drip of her tears, soaking her temples as she gave herself over to his mercy.
One thick finger penetrated her sore sex, then another. His thumb slid over her clit on each stroke, and when it began to vibrate, she came undone. Her nails bit into his skin as her hips arched into his hand, keeping him deep where her core could convulse around him to her satisfaction.
He murmured praise in her ear, the words blurring together until she could only distinguish the pleasant tenor of his voice. She was boneless as he lowered her to the bed, complacently allowing him to arrange her the way he wanted her before he ducked between her thighs.
“I can’t come anymore.” She whined as his tongue flicked over her, but she made no effort to push his head away.
He ignored her protests, that hot, velvet tongue doing sinful things that no human man could ever accomplish. It folded over on itself inside her, stuffing her and massaging over the sensitive spot inside her as the base rubbed over her clit with each languid stroke.
It was no wonder people got addicted to their androids, she thought distantly as he proved her a liar and forced her to come apart again. Her core spasmed around his tongue, which continued to fuck her at a lazy pace until she was squirming beneath him, begging for mercy.
He relented, that too-long tongue cleaning his lips and chin as he sat up between her legs. Crawling up the length of her body, he held himself over her on his outstretched arms. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance as his eyes found hers.
There was something so feral in that dark gaze.
“You’re mine, Ophelia.”
She was mindless, limbless, unable to do anything but stare up at his beautiful face as he made his declarations. There was no fight left in her to dispute what he was saying or to challenge the flaws in his logic. His fingers caught her chin, squeezing in warning.
“Say it,” he demanded, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip. “I want to hear the truth in your words.”
“I’m yours.” The words trailed into a groan as he filled her. Her eyes rolled back, and he stilled.
“Ah-ah. Look at me, Ophelia.”
Panting, fighting exhaustion, she forced herself to obey.
He pulled out slowly and buried himself again as their gazes locked.
Her lashes were fluttering as she battled the urge to let her eyes roll back again.
One of his hands smoothed down her leg, hooking behind her knee and pushing it back until it was pressed against her shoulder, holding her open wide for his next, deeper thrust. A whine tore from her throat as he pressed hard against her cervix, claiming every inch of her.
“You’re mine. Mine,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “There is no escape, you understand? It’s done. I will break anyone who tries to part us with my bare hands.”
He finally broke their eye contact to run his nose along her neck.
His lips and tongue explored everything he could reach as he fucked her slow and deep, lingering to suck her delicate flesh into his mouth in a way she knew would bruise.
She’d be covered in them from her jaw to her shoulders by the time he was done.
His tongue stretched impossibly far out of his mouth to wrap around her nipple and tug.
It should have been a vaguely horrifying sight, but that evidence of what made him inhuman only made her pulse with want.
One of his hands slid beneath her to fist in her hair, craning her head back to give him better access to her throat.
She was not Ophelia anymore as he fucked her; she was only sensation.
The rasping pain of her tender core swirled together with the pleasure of being stretched by him, the friction of his pelvis against her clit, and the restless ministrations of his tongue and lips.
No longer in danger of being scolded, she let her eyes roll back and lost herself in it.
None of the things that usually occupied her mind during sex crept in—fears of her performance, how she looked, if her partner was clean enough, if she was being contaminated.
He didn’t leave room in her mind for a single coherent thought.
All her fears of the future fell away. There was no future, no past, only the present moment in which he was wringing more pleasure from her than she had known her body could give.
This time, when she went over the edge, he followed with a hoarse cry, filling her with cum again and again as his cock twitched inside her. His head hung in the crook of her neck as he shuddered.
She reached up a shaking hand to sink into his hair, holding him to her. He kept the worst of his significant weight off of her with his forearms, but he let their bodies press together, head to toe.
“Don’t leave me,” she said in a tiny voice as exhaustion dragged her under. If she woke up alone, after everything, she would break into so many tiny pieces she’d never put them back together.
She thought she heard him murmur, “Never.”