“Why not? You seem to need something, Charlotte.” His large hands rest on my outer thighs before pressing them together. The sweet pressure makes me want to weep. I’m not even surprised at his actions. This Matthew, this darker part, always thrums beneath the surface. I’d been feeling bits since the moment his programming had been loaded and had disregarded it, labeled it as past his capabilities.
“We shouldn’t… You’re not…” Real? A man? I can’t finish saying it. It’s ugly in this moment of sticky heat. I don’t have to finish saying it because Matthew gets what I mean and squeezes my thighs together harder, cruelly evoking a pathetic sound from my throat.
“Poor little Charlotte, wanting something she’s told herself she can’t have.” His cold growl against the back of my neck escalates my arousal to a painful point. “I can smell how wet you are. It drives me crazy. I bet if I slid my hands up these tiny shorts of yours, I’d find your pussy so hungry for this thick cock that it would beg me to sink my fingers in.”
Matthew’s voice is low and mean, as shame fills me and makes me burn at his filthy words because he’s right. I have no control in this situation, my body is starving for this.
“…Please,” am I asking for him to release me or to follow through with his sensual threat? The arch of my back argued for the latter. “I need…”
I am going to beg for him to fuck me. I’ve never wanted like this before and we hadn’t even kissed. With just a few well-placed touches and growled words I’ve become a woman I don’t recognize but identify as the part of me I had tried to hide ruthlessly under logic. Matthew tsks and runs a hand up my inner thigh, edging it under the shorts.
“You need... I shouldn’t give you anything you need. I bet you wouldn’t be begging a machine to fuck you if you weren’t such a wet mess for me right now.”
His hand is in my shorts now, running a finger over the sensitive, sweat damp crease of my thigh. I hold my breath, unable to speak.
His fingers softly touch my intimate folds, the wetness obvious. I gasp at the same time he huffs in frustration. An indecipherable sound comes from his chest as he works his fingers up and down, moving the wetness around. Shouldn’ts and can’ts cease to exist.
“Matthew—”
His groan interrupts my pleading.
“Say it again,” Matthew orders. His raspy voice compels me into obeying. I’m under his control now, doing anything he asks just so he doesn’t stop touching me.
“Matthew- Ah!” I end on a cry as two of his fingers slide deep inside me, forging ahead with an unforgiving thickness. The rest of his hand presses tauntingly against my sensitive clit.
“That’s it… Good girl. You’re fucking drenched,” Matthew moans and I flex around his invading fingers, making both of us shudder.
“You hold me so nice and tight. Was this what you were begging for?” Matthew pumps his fingers once, a wet sound that goes with my helpless sob, I nod. I can’t speak but I shift against his hard cock and Matthew rocks his hips against my ass. The sensation of his hand between my legs and his hardness against my back is too much; he must agree.
“You drive me insane Charlotte, but your pussy is fucking heaven.”
“Can’t be insane, that’s bad,” I don’t even know what my mouth is saying. I could be speaking in tongues, but Matthew must know how to decipher my words because his dry laugh holds no humor.
“That isn’t the type of insane I’m talking about Charlotte and you know it.” Do I?
The depth of his fingers and his hand moving back and forth against my clit have me moaning and thrashing. His arms hold me tight against him as if to prove he can keep me here all night.
Something about the surrender of that; the inevitability of Matthew doing what he wants with me, no matter that I’d be begging him to do it, turns my thrashing to violence. His merciless fingers are so fucking deep, breathing is a luxury, I can only mewl and struggle. The feel of Matthew thrusting helplessly against my ass has me clawing at his arms. Our sex sounds fill the apartment, his grunts, my cries.
Until his teeth come down hard on my shoulder and as his cock thrusts upward, working my pussy to take his fingers even harder. The climax blinds me; I only realize I’ve screamed when my voice cracks. Matthew weakly moves his fingers inside me, calming me with gruff shushing sounds as we both come down.
I wince when he pulls his fingers from me but drift in the aftermath of coming hard. I don’t remember the last time I’d done something as simple as orgasm. We’re both breathing hard. Matthew runs his hands up and down my body, one still wet from me, his forehead resting on my shoulder where he bit down.
The wetness of Matthew’s own release beneath me shocks me back to reality.
What have I done? This is the opposite of sane, opposite from everything I’m trying to do with my life now. Matthew must feel me tense and he lets his arms drop.
“You should go back to bed, Charlotte.” His voice is calm but dark, a still lake of unknown depth.
Matthew isn’t going to keep me here so we can talk about what we’ve just done. He offers space, respite, and I’m enough of a coward to take it. Self-preservation has me fleeing to my bedroom, shorts wet from his release and mine.
✽✽✽
When morning breaks, I stop trying to sleep and shield myself with business clothes. I don’t trust myself to walk out there in pajamas. I thought I had self-control, but it had only taken a few minutes in Matthew’s presence last night to reduce me to a begging wretch. That can’t happen again.
The discovery that Matthew can have a sexual desire makes this all harder. It shouldn’t; all the assignation on the couch proved is that Matthew’s cock worked, the ultimate replication of biology. The fact that sex is an option doesn’t change anything.
The lust Matthew inspired in me isn’t just a physical thing and the line between sex and emotion for me is almost nonexistent. There is no toeing this line, it’s too dangerous. It isn’t logical to fall in love with a machine and logic is what I use to keep from sliding into numbness.
I have to stay present, take my medication, attend my therapy, and get the synthetic lung project green lit. No matter the argument of Matthew being more than a machine, I have to focus on staying healthy. This obsession is not healthy.
I walk into the kitchen to find Matthew seated at the island, waiting for me. He wears different sweatpants than last night. Warmth tingles in my cheeks, remembering viscerally the mess he had made of that pair. His face tightens as his glance runs over the crisp slacks and blouse. Our eyes make contact and my mouth dries.
“Charlotte.” Matthew nods, waiting for me to start the discussion. We need to lay this to rest. It’ll be uncomfortable, but this is important. As cowardly as I was last night, I can’t look Matthew in the face and say it didn’t matter. That I would have done that with anyone. I can’t lie, but I don’t have to disclose the more harmful parts.
“Matthew.”
His eyes flash at that and I need to take a breath to keep going, resisting giving ground to the memory of how he’d ordered me to say his name and how it had lit fireworks in me.
“About last night. It can’t happen again.” Any eloquence I wanted to summon about the situation dries in the light of day and presence of the man in front of me. Matthew gives me a hard look before tilting his head back.