Page 51 of Ezra
We stand silently together. She hugs Charlie, and he beeps, peering up at her with his big glowing eyes.
“I’ve got some things to do, but, um...” She exhales. “Thank you.”
“There’s nothing to thank me for,” I reply, and I realize for the first time I’m thankful too. Grateful that I was given this assignment, this opportunity to work and speak with and exist alongside her. “I’m here if you need me for anything.”
She nods and walks away.
At midnight, Katrina is in the guest room, asleep as far as I know, and I can’t power down into standby, no matter how I tryto relax my circuitry. I remove my coat and sit on a lounge chair that faces the closed bedroom door. I assume Charlie’s in there with her. He’s pretty much a housecat with eight legs and some attitude programmed with him.
My systems are far too preoccupied with her. The way she looked like she was lost in a fairytale in the museum. The way the colors of the holograms played upon her skin. The sweetness in her voice when she described the history and science she loves, in a way I’ve never heard her speak before. I keep replaying her words in my mind, listening to those conversations a second and third time.
Try as I may to focus on the investigation, I keep returning to footage of her, in my memory banks. I replay the events leading up to the bombing on the march, the way I found her in the aftermath. How strongly I was compelled to save her. Granted, I felt the same for everyone injured. But it was still the first time I saw her.
My gratification drive is a monstrosity. Being programmed the way I am, investigation is my primary directive, but care has recently taken a very close, if not neck-and-neck, second. I’m not comfortable with this change. I never asked for it. I’d rather be neck-deep in an evidence locker.
Yet, I yearn for more conversations like the ones we had tonight. Even debates weren’t something unbearable. I like the way her eyes shine, how she pauses and purses her lips when I say something that makes her think, or how she runs her fingers through her hair. I like how she challenges my own thought processes.
Annoyed, I grit my teeth. They serve little purpose, beyond helping me appear more human. I can’t eat. I suppose I could bite someone, if necessary, and do significant damage.
Or I could use them to nip my way along her slender neck, gently take her soft pink nipple between them, see how pretty her voice becomes when soaked in pleasure...
Stop, I command when there’s a familiar twitch, my cock nearing activation in my trousers.Shut down. It softens almost instantly. I need to stay focused. Rashelle is always telling Deion to keep his head on straight when he’s frustrated. I must do the same.
Why am I like this? Why am I drawn to this woman I can’t have? I’ve seen how some of the pro-bionics live, how happy they are. But they’re domestic androids, designed for homes and families. There’s little possibility of a future like that. I belong to New Carnegie Police Department. I’ll be given no such courtesy. Most days I’m content with that because I like my work.
I have no chance with a woman like Katrina. Even if she wasn’t a part of Humanity First, she doesn’t want to remain in New Carnegie. Nor should she. I try to imagine her trapped here, like me. A beautiful bird, tucked away in a cage of neon and industry. How could any man ask that of her, let alone me? She needs a partner to explore the world with. I couldn’t expect her to stay. I won’t.
Arguing with my gratification drive is like trying to convince a spoiled child to eat their vegetables. No matter how rational I am, it doesn’t listen. It demands I do more. Everything in my power for this woman, even though she isn’t my owner. She isn’t my handler. She isn’t even my colleague.
But she has a hold on me. More than I care to admit.
I can’t focus, thinking of her like this. This is the second time I’ve allowed my mind to wander to thoughts of carnal pleasures with the last woman in the world I should probably desire, but—I do. I desire her. She’s beautiful and intelligent and so quick to engage in debate, and I keep wondering what it might be liketo silence her during an argument with a kiss, my cock sheathed inside her.
There it is. Just like last time, I’m down a rabbit hole I can’t escape from. I’m lusting for Katrina fucking Carson. What’s wrong with me?
The answer is nothing. No malfunctions, no errors. Just my own undeniable attraction.
I need release.
I listen for any kind of movement in her room. Nothing. Leaning back in the chair, I unfasten my belt, pulling it partially from its loops and letting it hang open as I unbutton my pants.Activate. I give the internal command, and my cock hardens. I pull it out and give it a single stroke, pleasure receptors responding instantly.
I didn’t always do this. When I was first activated, it was hardly a priority. But Deion and Rashelle have a healthy sex life, and I hear everything that goes on in their house, including their bouts in the bedroom. My curiosity got the better of me, and what began as research turned into a pleasant habit I indulge in once every few days; every night, if I’m under pressure. I have pleasure receptors that allow me to orgasm, but since I don’t have semen, there’s no cleanup to be concerned with in the aftermath, and I can slow and relax my many systems easily this way.
But I can’t pretend it’s only for my own health that I’m stroking myself like this. Katrina is at the forefront of every reason, and fantasizing about her, her naked body glistening and wet in the shower, in her loungewear on the couch, is what sends jolts of delight through my sensors as I work my cock. Imagining all the things I’d do to her, if I could.
I’ve begun a slow rhythm when I hear it—a slight shifting in Katrina’s bed, followed by a soft gasp.
And my name quietly escaping her lips, soft and yet unmistakable to my audio receptors.
“Ezra . . .”
I instantly stop, listening. Perhaps she’s dreaming, talking in her sleep. But then I hear another gentle whimper and the way she breathes, and I know without any doubt in my mind.
She’s touching herself too.
In an instant, I tuck my cock back inside my pants and pull my belt from its loops, tossing it haphazardly onto the couch. It’s as if she knows my thoughts have been about her. That I can’t escape from her ruling my programming, that she moves through my motherboard like a virus, taking me over. I want relief from this torment. I walk up to her door and pause, wondering how I’m going to go about this. I want to shove the door open, spread those silky legs of hers, and have a feast. Vengefully prove to her how much better android men are than any previous lovers she may have had.
I want to fuck her, right here and now.
