Page 69 of Missiletoe
“Perfect. Let’s go have sex!” I wasn’t worried about Baz’s threat. Baz was such a psycho about my safety that if he hadn’t already been one hundred percent certain Paris was safe for me, he wouldn’t have been in the process of giving Paris a trial run.
I wasn’t even worried about Paris getting scared off by Baz’s threat. He’d already survived two encounters with my overprotective family. If he was still there, he was probably going to stick around.
You know, as long as I didn’t scare him off by being myself.
Paris sent that train of thought right to the smelter’s yard when he pulled me onto his lap, nuzzled his face against my neck, and said, “Yes, let’s go have sex.”
Baz stood. “I’ll talk to Gareth about the stalker situation while you two fuck.” He turned to Trixie and asked, “Want to risk the wrath of Apple and come with me so you don’t have to listen to them bone?”
In response, Trixie stepped into a shadow and vanished.
Baz mouthedmagic dogand then shrugged. My brother is un-fucking-flappable unless someone is trying to kill me.
“Be careful, Baz. You know Gareth hasn’t forgotten about the drone.”
Baz shrugged. “I know. Gareth never forgets anything.” Then he winked at me, said, “Have fun!” and sauntered off like he wasn’t about to get reamed by our fearless leader.
* * *
I ended up getting reamed by Paris for at least an hour. It was the perfect way to celebrate his easy transition into the Vix and Baz show. When we were done, I said, “Waffles!” and then made Paris get dressed because by all the gods and little green apples, I wasstarving.
Regardless of what fanfiction wants people to believe, cum is not a filling enough food to substitute for a real meal.
I was pulling Paris to the elevator and paused. “I should calibrate this floor for you. And also my whole wing. And the rest of the house too. That way you can come and go as you please.”
“Are you sure about that, bunny?”
“Are you kidding? We’re engaged! You’ve earned the right to be in any part of my house for as long as you want, but you’ll need to do that thing you did earlier with your mouth often, okay?”
“That won’t be a problem. Not even a little.”
I gave him a long, messy kiss as a reward, then grabbed his hand and pressed it against the control panel.
“Hey, Love, this is Paris. He gets to go everywhere now, okay? And he never, ever gets electrocuted. Even if Vale tells you otherwise.”
“You got it, boss!” Love responded in her manic pixie dream-girl voice. My AI was a total sweetie pie, just like me. She was sure to love Paris as much as I did.
I didn’t try to make her sound that way, by the way. Actually, I didn’t try to make an AI at all. Love just kind of happened.
One day I was working on a project that required me to have another me to finish it. I may be smart, but I can’t be in two places at once. Gareth helps me with projects sometimes because Gareth can pretty much do anything he sets his mind to, but he wasn’t around that day, so I’d decided to make a copy of myself and stuff it into a robot body.
Unfortunately, as often happens with me, the original project I needed the copy of myself for got scrapped when I found something even better to work on, so my copy got left on my virtual work bench for a while. One day I stumbled across it and discovered that I’d never shut it down. It had continued to grow and learn, and after having most of a year all to itself while getting to surf the internet and build up its own code, Love was born.
She was nothing like me, really. She just started out with my basic building blocks. Without any help from me, she managed to take my half-formed project and not only complete it but turn it into something Iron Man would wet himself over.
Love named herself after the pet name Baz used on me the most often. He had to dial back on that one or Love would butt into a conversation that wasn’t about her, and then Baz would tell her to fuck off. She would be salty for days after and refuse to do her job.
Love scanned Paris’s hand, and the entire panel lit up with a rainbow of colors. “Let me see that face for a second, pretty boy,” Love said in her flirtiest tone.
“She means the panel. Just look at it and be still until she dings.”
“Dings?”
“Yes. She’s going through an eighties phase right now and likes to ding. Just go with it.”
“Ding!” Love said, not sounding like the classic microwave sound effect she was trying to imitate at all.
She refuses to use soundbites. Love says she’ll never be a real girl if she can't do things herself. I think what constitutes her doing things herself is debatable.
