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Just me.
And her.
Still waiting.
I passed her crate each time I descended the staircase. Brushed my fingers across the smooth wood. Listened for motion. A quiet whirr now and then. A subtle shift. But never a word. No pleading. No protest.
Good girl.
She knew I’d let her out when I was ready.
I sprawled on the black leather couch, sipping a top-shelf bourbon I’d never tasted before this upgrade—a luxury I deserved. The projector hummed softly as I flicked through old DD uploads, ignoring the ones that made even me recoil.
I considered going back—not with Charlotte, but maybe with one of my archived clips. I could reupload, stir the pot, and reclaim some attention.
$inner$kin001 still had traction. My inbox pulsed with unread messages.
I smirked, watching a silent, grainy loop of Charlotte’s last climax. Her expression. The realism. The hunger. The illusion of devotion.
No one else had what I had.
Not even close.
I glanced toward the crate from across the mezzanine, its silhouette framed in shadows.
Maybe I didn’t need to unwrap her again. Perhaps I’d only bring her out when I needed her.
A companion on my terms.
Not a woman. Not a wife.
A product with only one purpose.
Charlotte would thank me for it.
Eventually.
? ? ?
By the third day, I needed some relief and decided it was time to crack open Charlotte’s crate—a second honeymoon in my new home. I chuckled at the thought as I unlatched the crate.
The final latch clicked, and a soft hydraulic hiss escaped as the top eased open. Inside, she was exactly as I’d left her—kneeling in the dim interior, arms secured, eyes open. Not blank or vacant. Just… waiting.
She blinked once, and then again, her systems re-syncing to my proximity.
“Welcome home, sweetheart,” I said, crouching in front of her.“Did you miss me?”
“I always miss you when we’re apart,” she replied, voice smooth and even.
There was no irritation or confusion, but warmth coded to sound like love.
I cupped her face. Her skin still felt warm, thanks to the integrated thermal mod. Her expression didn’t flicker. No accusation. No question. Not even curiosity.
Perfect.
“Did you behave while I was gone?” I asked, dragging a thumb across her bottom lip.
“I stayed in position. I knew you’d return.”
