Page 49 of Dustwalker
“No. I thought you made your own.”
“Of course you’d remember that.”
“I remember everything.”
Her cheeks reddened before she looked away.
Everything.
Unbidden, a still image of her naked on the bathroom floor came up, and he knew his choice of words had been poor.
Keeping her back to him, Lara inhaled deeply, shoulders rising and falling. “Okay then.”
She swayed her hips from side to side and lifted her arms over her head, grasping an elbow with each hand. Bowing her back, she turned gracefully to face him, bringing her hands down to slide over her breasts, waist, and thighs. She kept her eyes closed.
Arousal stirred within Ronin. Though Lara’s clothing did nothing to accentuate her body, she was an attractive woman, and he longed to touch her so he could experience her through a different sensory input.
Still, seconds passed as he awaited the deep, profound spark that had flared across his processors the first time he’d watched her dancing. This dance was familiar, but it bore no resemblance to the one she’d performed in her shack.
He’d seen such motions from the performers at Kitty’s.
Lara’s body was moving for him, but she wasn’t dancing. This was closer to a maintenance bot mowing the grass in the park. Movement with purpose, but no feeling. The motions of an automaton.
“No,” he said sharply.
She jumped and opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. “What?”
“This isn’t what I want.”
“What the hell do you mean?” The line between her eyebrows returned;danger ahead. She threw her arms to the sides, palms up. “I’m dancing. That’s what you wanted!”
“You are moving your parts?—”
“Isn’t that what dancing is? Moving your body?”
Ronin clenched his jaw to maintain his patience. “Dance like you did the night I first saw you.”
“What do you mean? Like…the same dance?”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s the same. Just…” Counting only English, there were hundreds of thousands of fully defined words stored in his memory, and he still couldn’t find the right ones to convey his meaning. “I don’t want you to dance like you’re on that stage. Dance like you would for yourself.”
She stared at him with surprise and confusion plain upon her features. He feared she would remain that way indefinitely, like a malfunctioning bot.
But after twenty-five seconds, she walked to the table, grabbed a chair, and dragged it to where she’d been standing. “Fine.”
The chair’s legs scraped over the floor as she turned it so it was perpendicular to Ronin. Facing the counter, Lara bent forward, grasped the back of the chair with her hands, and took another deep breath. For a moment, she was still.
Tilting her head to the side, she locked gazes with him and twisted her hips. Her legs moved, their motion so graceful, so fluid, that she appeared to be walking on air. She tipped the chair onto one leg and spun it twice. When she stopped it, the seat faced Ronin.
Sliding her fingers over its top, she slowly moved around the chair and lay down over it on her back, her hair brushing the floor. Her other hand traced a teasing path from her neck down between her breasts, over her belly, her pelvis, and down to her knee.
Ronin curled his fingers into his thighs, feeling the strength of his grip through his synthetic skin.
She didn’t break eye contact as she drew her legs up one at a time, pants sliding down to reveal her shapely calves. Lowering her feet to the floor, she sat up, swinging a leg aside to straddle the chair.
Electricity crackled over Ronin’s skin. Though she was fullyclothed, Lara’s dance was the most sensual thing he’d ever seen. That his experience in such matters was limited should’ve tempered that realization, but it made no difference. His lingering arousal reignited far stronger than before.
Deep within him, an automated system that hadn’t been activated in years stirred to life, priming the pumps that would flood his penis with fluid.
