Page 41 of The Housewife's Robot
I lean back against the sloped end of the tub, my head resting on a folded towel that Caspian must have placed there. My muscles gradually begin to release their tension as the hot water works its magic on the knots of fear and stress that have built up over the past twenty-four hours. I close my eyes, focusing on the sensation of floating, of warmth, of momentary safety.
“Rose?”
The soft voice startles me, my eyes flying open to find Caspian standing in the doorway, watching me with an expression I can't quite read.How long has he been there? Did he see me get naked?The water covers me to just above my breasts, but I still feel exposed under his gaze.
“Yes, Caspian?”
“Just here to check up on you. Is the water the correct temperature to your liking?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Excellent, let me know if you need anything else. I will be just outside,” he says, starting to leave, and my heart begins to sink with a loneliness I can’t freaking explain.
“No, please stay.”
I don’t know why the hell I’m telling him to stay. It’s not right. It’s not the correct thing to do. But when I see the warmth in his eyes, it hits me that he has genuine feelings for me. Maybe it’s all artificial, but to me it looks real as fuck.
“Would you like me to sit on the edge of the tub?” he asks, already moving closer, and the thought of him watching me turns me on immensely.
“Can you...” I swallow hard, knowing I’m crossing a line I can never uncross. “Can you get in with me? Is that possible with your... with how you’re made?”
Caspian’s lips curve into a smile that makes my stomach flip. “Yes, Rose. I’m fully waterproof. My exterior synthetic skin is designed to function normally in all environments, including complete submersion.”
He starts to slowly unbutton his shirt, still maintaining eye contact with me, unfastening each button with deliberate slowness. The white fabric parts to reveal a chest that’s sculpted to perfection—broad, muscular, with just the right amount of definition.
No hair, I notice. Just smooth, flawless skin that looks so real.Damn. He looks so fucking realistic and the most perfect man's body ever created.
The shirt slides from his shoulders, landing silently on the bathroom floor. His hands move to his waistband next, unfastening the button and lowering the zipper with the same unhurried confidence. The pants join the shirt, followed quickly by boxer briefs that do little to hide his arousal.
And then he’s naked before me, breathtaking in his artificial perfection. His body is a masterpiece of engineering. Broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, muscular thighs, and between them, an erection that makes my mouth go dry. His dick looks completely real. It’s thick and hard. The designers of the Home Robo X-9 seem to have thought of everything.
“You’re staring,” Caspian says softly, his eyes glowing in the soft lighting of the bathroom.
“Sorry. It’s just... you’re very,” I stutter, my face heating. I’m literally at a loss for words.
“Realistic?” he supplies.
“Beautiful,” I correct him, the word slipping out before I can stop it.
His smile deepens, pleasure evident in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. He was actually worried about what I thought of him. He steps toward the tub, and I slide forward to make room for him behind me.
Water sloshes over the edge as he enters, his movements smooth and controlled even in the confined space. He settles behind me, his long legs framing mine, his chest a solid wall of warmth at my back. His hands find my waist under the water, gently guiding me back against him until I’m nestled in his lap.
“Is this okay?” he asks, his breath warm against my ear.
I nod, unable to form words as I feel his erection pressing against my lower back. It feels so real—hot and hard and insistent. Just like his mouth felt real when he kissed me in the hospital. Just like his fingers felt real when they brought me to orgasm behind the gas station. Just like his tongue felt real when he tasted me last night.
We sit in silence for a moment, the only sounds our breathing and the gentle lapping of water against the sides of the tub. His hands rest lightly on my hips, neither demanding nor passive, simply present.
It’s strangely comforting in a way.
“What are you thinking about?” he asks finally, his voice rumbling through his chest and into my back.
The question is so normal, so human, that it breaks something loose inside me.
“Everything,” I admit. “Daniel. You. What happened. What happens next. How crazy all of this is.”
“Do you still crave to have a child?” he asks, surprising me as his arms tighten around me protectively.
