Page 15 of Entity

I purse my lips, pressing my thighs together self-consciously as if that will subdue the coil of desire growing there. Ian’s eyes are dark, his beard thicker than yesterday; he hasn’t shaved. He smells like rain and musk. Eros seems to glow, even in the fog-heavy gloom, pinks and blues of neon ads playing off his partially revealed abs.

“I’m not sure I… I’m not sure I’m comfortable having sex with a robot,” I manage.

Ian turns on his stool to face me, and in one smooth movement, he wedges his knee between my legs, parting them. My heartbeat skyrockets. Just like last night, he lifts my face with his fingers, his thumb pressed to my chin. He leans in slowly, and just like last night, there’s plenty of time to stop this. Ishouldstop it. I’m here for work. And there’s a Pleasurebot watching us this time.

“Say the word,” Ian murmurs, leaning so close his lips brush mine, “and I stop. But I think you want this.”

I remember the way his kiss felt last night. Competent, practiced, sensual, intoxicating.

Fuck it. I close the small distance between us.

He deepens the kiss almost immediately, his tongue seeking to undo me. His kiss tastes of coffee and sugar. He makes me want to forget how insane this is.

I should stop this, I think, as I moan into his mouth.

I should stop this, as he buries his fingers in my hair.

I should stop this, as he hooks an ankle around my stool and pulls me even closer.

I’m gasping by the time Ian breaks the kiss, and aching for more.

He raises one hand, snapping his fingers. “Eros.”

Shame lances through me at the realization of what I’m doing. That this mechanical man has been watching me make out with his—

But the thought judders and disappears forever when Eros moves around the kitchen island and, without pausing or hesitating, comes up behind me and kisses my neck. His hands slide down my sides with slow, aching precision. His mouth is soft and insistent against my tender flesh. I arch back against him, closing my eyes, hating that Ian is here too, that I’m doing this, the same thing I always do — giving in.

6

“Good, Kit,”Eros murmurs in my ear, sweet and encouraging. One of his hands flattens against my belly, warm and firm, his fingertips reaching just beneath the waistband of my jeans.

And then another pair of hands is on my body, rougher, palming my thigh as if to hold me steady. Ian. I’m grateful for the anchor. I feel like I’m about to fly apart at the seams. Ian’s other hand drifts upward from my waist and under my sweater, thumb caressing delicate circles against the skin of my ribs. I gasp when he teases at my nipple, the barest hint of pressure against sensitive skin.

Then Ian kisses me, swallowing my gasp. The sensations are almost enough to make me combust: Eros’s mouth on my neck, his fingers under my waistband, inching lower. Ian’s thumb pressing, teasing at my heaving breast.

I buck my hips into Eros’s hand, whining against Ian’s mouth, aching for more touch, more pressure.

“Shh, be patient,” Eros says, biting my earlobe. It’s the most beautiful earlobe bite I’ve ever experienced. It’s like he knows exactly where to access the most pleasurable nerve endings. My eyes still closed, I feel him flick open the button of my jeans,lowering the zipper. “We’ll get you there.” His voice is deep, sensual, devoted, and it drips over me like honey.

The rain picks up and thrums against the window. I let them do what they want to me, following their hedonistic lead.

Eros’s fingers find their way beneath my panties. Ian pushes up my sweater with practiced ease, Eros ceasing his kisses just long enough to let Ian pull the sweater up and over my head. I’m not wearing a bra. Ian’s mouth finds my bare breasts. His tongue finds my nipples.

In a wanting, desperate haze, I feel Eros depart from my side. I miss him, wanting that mouth, those hands — until Ian picks me up and carries me into the living area, setting me down in front of the sofa. Eros is sitting there already, naked and waiting.

In a second I’m naked too, Ian’s hands making quick work of my jeans and underwear. And then Ian is encouraging me, caressing me, ordering me with hot words in my ear to sit on Eros’s cock.

Eros’s stomach muscles ripple as he lifts his hips to invite me to him; his erect cock so human, so thick and taut, it makes my mouth water. There’s even a pearl of precum glistening at the tip.

A Pleasurebot can’t possibly be so perfect. But there he is, watching me with an indecent gaze, his golden hair mussed and hanging in his eyes.

“Kit,” Eros croons. “Come here.”

I climb willingly into his lap. He takes my waist in his large hands and kisses me. I thought Ian’s kiss was good, but Eros’s mouth is otherworldly. He was built for this. Programmedjustfor this. No, not for this — forme. Every touch is a spark of code, an electric communication from me to him:This is how to touch me, this is how to kiss me, this is how I like it.

Eros drags me closer to him, my cunt leaving a wet trail along the side of his erection. My breasts press against his firmchest, and I groan. He feels so human. His body, his movements, everything he does is flawless.

“Kit,” Eros says, nuzzling my neck, his chest rising and falling against mine. “Bite down on my shoulder.”

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