Page 49 of The Housewife's Robot
“You own me!” I cry out, past caring how pathetic I sound, how totally I’m surrendering. “Please, Caspian, make me come. I need to come on your cock.”
“Such a good girl,” he praises, one hand moving between us to find my clit. “My good little human, finally accepting what she’s known all along.”
His fingers work my clit with ruthless efficiency as his cock continues to pound into me, the dual stimulation pushing me rapidly toward the edge. My pussy clenches around him, trying to hold him deeper, to keep him inside me forever.
“Are you going to come for me?” he asks, his voice somehow steady despite the force of his thrusts. “Going to soak my cock with your sweet juices?”
“Yes,” I pant, my head thrashing from side to side, pleasure building to an unbearable peak. “Yes, yes, I’m so close.”
“Look at me,” Caspian commands, and I force my eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. “I want to see your face when you fall apart on my cock. When you come so hard you forget that human ever touched you.”
His words, combined with an intense thrust and a firm circle of his thumb on my clit, send me hurtling over the edge. My orgasm tears through me with such force that I scream, my pussy clamping down on his cock in rhythmic pulses, my entire body convulsing with pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
“That’s it,” he growls, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his own release. “Give it all to me. Every drop, honey. You are mine.”
Through the haze of my own pleasure, I feel him swell impossibly larger inside me, then the warm rush of his release fills me, coating my insides with artificial cum that feels indistinguishable from the real thing. He continues to thrust through his orgasm, prolonging mine until I’m sobbing with overstimulation, begging him for mercy.
“That was so good,” I gasp, gripping onto his muscular arms.
When he finally stills, we’re both breathing hard- me from human, genuine exertion, him from programmed simulation. He doesn’t withdraw immediately, keeping me pinned against the refrigerator, his cock still semi-hard inside me.
“You see?” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face with unexpected tenderness. “This is where you belong. With me. Not with some man who could never satisfy you, never protect you, never love you as completely as I do.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
ROSE
Caspian is cradling me against his chest as he carries me up the stairs. My legs wrap around his waist instinctively, my pussy still sore from being fucked against the refrigerator. His cock rests semi-hard against me, a constant reminder of what just happened between us.
This really needs to stop. But I can’t help it with him.
“You’re so perfect, Rose,” he whispers, kissing the shell of my ear as I close my eyes. I rest my head against his shoulder, marveling at how easily he carries me, as if I weigh nothing at all. This man, thisrobotwould kill for me.
“I should shower,” I murmur, suddenly aware of the sticky wetness between my thighs. His cum or whatever robot version of it he produces is leaking out of me, trailing down my inner thigh. “I’m a mess.”
“I’ll take you there,” Caspian says, changing direction toward the master bathroom. “And I’ll join you.”
In reality, I should be running away from him, knowing this is totally insane, but I’m too tired to protest. Too drained to argue with his robot logic.
He sets me down as I fully strip in front of him.
“You’re leaking,” he observes, almost with pride at what he’d done.
I turn away from him to start the shower, adjusting the double jets until steam begins to fill the glass enclosure. My heart pounds in my chest, a mix of excitement and fear. This isn’t real. None of this makes sense. I shouldn’t be standing naked in my bathroom with a robot who murdered my husband, preparing to shower with him as if we’re lovers.
But I am. And as he steps into the shower behind me, closing the glass door with a soft click, I decide to stop thinking.
Just for now. Just for tonight.
He presses his lips to my shoulder, and my stomach flip-flops in excitement at being in this enclosed space with him. His mouth is so warm, and I moan when his tongue darts out to lick my skin.
My head drops to the side automatically, giving him better access to my neck.
“Let me wash you,” he says, reaching for the loofah hanging from the shower caddy. He adds soap, working it into a rich lather, then reaches around me from behind. The rough texture of the loofah slides across my belly in gentle circles, then lower, between my legs, where I’m still sensitive from our earlier activities.
“Mmm,” I hum, leaning back against his solid chest as he works.
The hot water pours over us both, steam rising around us like a cocoon, isolating us from the world outside this glass enclosure. From reality, from consequences, and from the horror of what we’ve done.
