by Nya Rayne
Her mother scoffed. “Still the hopeless romantic, I see. How many times am I going to tell you romance is and always has been highly overrated?” A dry laugh escaped her. “I’m glad it died with the rest of the chauvinistic pigs.” Varonda took a slow sip of wine and ran her bright red fingernail around the rim of the crystal wineglass. “Sotophia, an android is an android. Beneath the clothes, the fabricated skin, and the gentle words, they are nothing more than programmed possessions to be owned, used, and disregarded at our whim. You can call it what you like, but it is what it is. No amount of pampering or petting is going to change what is.”
“My. Name. Is. Phia,” was all she could manage to retort. God, she wanted to tell her Donté was a real man and he was hers, but she knew she couldn’t. Still, Phia wanted to wipe the snide look off her mother’s face and make her take back every harsh word she’d said about him. Instead, she sat back, bit her tongue, and repeatedly clenched and unclenched her fists underneath the pristine white tablecloth. Why did her mother have to be so heartless? Didn’t she feel an ounce of what she felt? Didn’t she yearn for love and passion, for true companionship and the need to be needed, to be wanted by someone real?
Phia wanted to cry, to scream, and to rage against her mother, but she would never, and could never, allow this woman to see her in such a weakened state. A heavy hand on her shoulder drew her from her thoughts. She looked up and took in sincere, silvery blue eyes and a masculine, handsome face which rippled between various emotions. The knowledge that he was feeling emotions because of her plight stunned her and made her heart leap all at once.
“Come with me.” Donté made it an order as he held his hand out for her to take.
She took his hand and a moment later, they were standing outside in a small courtyard, city lights twinkling around them, a dark sky above them, and a million stars hanging over their heads. She moved to continue into the courtyard, but he held tight to her hand and pulled her back against his chest, crushing her body to his.
The feel of his body served as the last straw. Phia broke, crying into his jacket for all the things her heart ached for and for all the things her mother and community sisters had told her she couldn’t have. He didn’t say a word as she continued to weep. He stood there, trailing his fingers through her hair, running his palm up and down her back, his arms fitted securely around her as if he could protect her from the harshness of reality.
Chapter Seven
Phia stepped away from Donté as the door slid close behind them.
When they’d returned to the table to finish their meal, it had been mostly eaten in silence, with the exception of her mother’s spiteful comments about Donté and her unnecessary updates about her cousin, Lola, who had recently been approved for artificial insemination and was living a charming little life with a properly behaving PAP on the west coast.
She and Lola were the same age and had been rivals for as long as she could remember. If she’d gotten an A in a subject, then Lola had had to get an A+ in the same subject. If she’d made the track team, then Lola had had to become captain of the track team. When she’d bought her perfect little condo, Lola had purchased a sprawling mansion overlooking the Pacific. No, her mother hadn’t been giving her an innocent update on her relative. She had been trying to rub her shortcomings in her face.
Phia tossed her purse on the marble countertop and stepped to the wine cooler. Pulling out a bottle she’d opened a few nights ago, she pulled the cork free, turned the bottle up to her lips, and guzzled it.
Her mother was a hateful woman. She’d always known and had accepted it. Varonda didn’t mince words and never had—not with Phia. When she was little, and she’d ask why she didn’t have a father like the children in her storybooks, her mother would scold her and tell her she was an ungrateful brat who she shouldn’t have wasted the credits to even have. When she was sick with a cold, her mother would stay away from her for days, leaving the maids to tend to her. A normal mother would have pampered her, ordered her hot soup, and read her a bedtime story, but her mother, Varonda Zen, wouldn’t come within ten feet of her when she showed any signs of becoming ill.
When she’d gotten her period for the first time and she’d gone to her crying, the woman had laughed—no, cackled—at her, as if she were the stupidest girl in the world. She was a senior in high school when she’d gotten her first yeast infection. She didn’t know what it was at the time, but she knew something was wrong and she shouldn’t have been feeling discomfort and itching, and smelling an odor, in that area. Once again, she’d gone to her mother and told her about it, and she’d told her she’d have to suffer through it. It was the only way she was going to learn her dirty little fingers didn’t belong down there. Phia suffered, cried, begged, and scratched herself raw for three days before the woman finally ordered one of the maids to give her a shot of medication which cured the ailment in less than ten minutes.
That one instance had begun the change in their relationship. Varonda had made her suffer needlessly. She watched her in pain and tears for three whole days when all she needed was a shot which took less than two seconds to administer.
It had never mattered to Phia that she’d had the best of everything growing up or that she came from wealthy blood. As the daughter of a baroness, there was nothing of material worth she could not have, but an understanding mother who cared, truly cared for her was out of the question.
She pushed off the cooler and turned the bottle back up to her mouth as a solitary tear trickled down her cheek. She wiped at it and set the bottle down as she kicked off the black platform pumps she’d worn. She reached for the bottle again and turned to start out the kitchen, but stopped when it was jerked out of her hand.
“Wha…” she said as she turned, her eyes narrowed.
Donté was staring at her, the bottle of Chardonnay clasped in his large hand.
She gripped the bottle and ordered, “Let. It. Go.” He held tightly to the neck of the bottle as she tugged again at its base, trying to yank it from his grasp. “Damn it, Donté, let it go!”
“You don’t need this.”
Phia glowered up at him, her eyes boring holes into his head. Didn’t he understand she needed this so she could make the memories her mother had dredged up go away? “You don’t tell me what I need.” Another tear slipped down her cheek. She shoved the bottle and him away and stepped back, her hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, keep it!” She turned away. “Maybe she’s right! Maybe something is wrong with you! Maybe I do need to trade you in!” The words flew past her lips like lava out of the mouth of a volcano.
Starting around the island, she stumbled, her ankle twisting beneath her, and she went down, her knee hitting hard against the bamboo floor. She didn’t feel the pain at first. All she felt was the humiliation of it all as her mother’s voice began to cackle in her head, whispering, Look at you, on the floor, on your knees with a poor excuse for a PAP as a companion. I shouldn’t have wasted my credits or time on you. All those years…What a waste!
Phia’s shoulders slumped forward as tears pooled in her eyes. She tried to ignore the first tear that fell and then the second as she felt around for the shoe she’d tripped over. Gripping it, she threw it across the room with as much fury and hatred as she could muster. She rose slowly to her feet, but pain shot through her ankle the moment she put pressure on it. Before she could hit the floor again, strong arms caught her and she was hefted up and carried down the hall and into her bedroom. This only served to make her feel even worse. How could he still be so gentle and kind to her after the things she had yelled at him?
Donté laid her down on the bed, grabbed his pillow and a few of the throw pillows, propped her injured foot up on them, and said not a word. He didn’t even look at her.
“Donté?”
He didn’t look at her as he moved away from the bed and exited the room. Had she hurt his feelings? Had she actually become the one thing she despised most, her mother? She hadn’t meant to say
what she had. But in the heat of the moment, it had come out.
Phia called his name again, but he was gone, and she felt as though her heart had been ripped from her chest. All the things she’d thought she wanted from a real man were there in him. So why, why did she have to scream at him? Why did she have to let even an ounce of her mother’s personality show through? Why couldn’t she let the past be the past? Donté was her future, right? If she wanted him to be, he would, wouldn’t he?
She ran her hands down her face and through her hair, then shifted so her foot was dangling over the edge of the bed. She would go to him and apologize. She would tell him she was sorry and make him understand she wasn’t a hateful person. She would beg him to forgive the callous things she’d said.
Donté stepped back into the room with two slushpacs. He propped her throbbing ankle back up on the pillow and laid a slushpac on either side of it. When he was done, he stepped back, marveling at his medical expertise.
Phia seized the chance given to her. “I’m so sorry, Donté. I didn’t mean anything I said. I swear I didn’t.”
He glanced at her, his face stoic, before he said, his tone low and husky, “I know.” Phia could only stare at him, flabbergasted, as he continued, “Sometimes when they are angry people say things they don’t mean. I figured because of your mother and the wine, you were probably just…venting.” He ran his hand across his brow. “It’s good information to know for later occurrences should there be any.”
“I’m sorry about my mother as well,” she said as she glanced down blankly at her hands. “She can be pretty hateful at times.”
He sat down by her feet. “She doesn’t like me very much, does she?”
“Don’t take it personally. My mother doesn’t like anyone she can’t control. And that includes me.”
He seemed to let that roll around his head before he asked, “She’s your mother. How could she not like you?”
“Let’s just say I was a business deal and not a very profitable one.”
“How can a child be a business deal?”
Phia sighed, chewed on her lower lip, and picked at the cuticles of her perfect nail beds. “She had me in order to further her political career, Donté. See, in order to claim the seat of baroness from her mother, my grandmother, she had to have a daughter, who she herself could pass the title to. Or our family would have lost the title altogether. In addition to that, the Higher Highness and the other Elites hold politicians with families above others and are more willing to appoint them to higher offices within the government. To her, I’m no more than a means to an end. I was something she had to do. Sort of like how she has to bathe every day or comb her hair. I was of no consequence to her and I never will be.”
He ran his fingers through his unruly hair and asked, “So, has it worked for her?”
“Not really, which is why I think she hates me just a little bit more every year. She expected to be holding one of the secretarial seats by now, but every time appointments come up, she’s overlooked. She’s been Baroness of the Carolinas for a little more than twenty-four years now. She asked for appointment to one of the secretarial seats twelve times, and not once have they even considered her.”
“Maybe that’s the universe’s way of paying her back for how she treats you.” It was stated in such a matter-of-fact manner Phia couldn’t help but to stare at him in astonishment. She had never thought about it in such a way. Perhaps there wasn’t an ounce of truth to the logic, but it did give her a small measure of peace where her mother was concerned.
“Thanks for saying that, Donté. I really needed to hear it.”
He smiled at her, reached over, and patted her leg in what could only be taken as a gesture of affection, but didn’t respond verbally to her. After a long moment of companionable silence, he asked, “Phia, what’s a mistress?”
She sighed again, unable to believe Dr. Lobush hadn’t told him about this. “What did Dr. Lobush tell you before she brought you here?”
“She told me she was taking me home.”
“Is that all? She didn’t explain anything else to you?”
He shook his head, a boyish expression playing over his handsome features.
“Well, a mistress is the owner of a FAP or a PAP.” She knew what was coming next, since he’d asked her about it earlier in the day, so she continued, “A FAP or rather, functioning android personomale, is basically a machine with fabricated skin. They’re programmed—like compu-assistants—to the liking of their mistress or mistresses.” He frowned, the area between his nose and eyes crinkling. He reminded Phia of a shar-pei droid she’d seen in an antiques store in Laredo.
“The guy in the store today, was he a…a FAP?”
“Yes, he was. You can tell the difference between a FAP and a PAP by the barcode FAPs have on the left side of their necks. PAPs don’t have them. Also, you’ll notice as you interact with them more, FAPs have what I call ‘dead’ eyes.”
“Dead eyes?” Donté repeated. His lips puckered, the edges turning downward before he tossed another question at her. “What’s a PAP?”
“It’s a partial android personomale. They have human bodies but computer brains. I guess you could say they are more animated than the FAPs. They feel like a real human would, and move like them as well, but they are still programmed to the liking of their mistresses.”
“Where do they get the bodies from?”
“What bodies?”
“For the partial android personomales you were talking about,” Donté clarified.
Phia shrugged her shoulders. “I think they’re clones or something. At least that’s what I read the other day. The pamphlet said there was a DNA bank up north where all the DNA of past athletes, movie stars, and other past noteworthy men are kept. I honestly don’t know much about it, Donté. Until I met you, I made it a habit of keeping a good distance from places like that.”
“I see.” He looked down at his hand, closed it and reopened it, and repeated the action slower and then faster before he turned to her. “How would I know if I’m one of those PAPs? I don’t believe I’m a FAP because I know I have a human body, but how would I know if I were a PAP?”
Phia stared at him, understanding dawning on her. The FAP in the store—he’d said something was wrong with its hand. He was making sure the same thing wasn’t wrong with him. She pushed off the pillows she was leaning on and grabbed his hand. She unfolded his hand and then dragged the tips of her nails down his palm. “How does that feel?”
He frowned. “It tickles, I guess.”
She leaned in closer to him, her legs bending beneath her as she forced herself to ignore the pain shooting through her ankle. Holding tight to his hand, she proceeded to trail her middle finger in slow circles around his palm, and then drew a path from his palm, over his forearm, to his elbow.
She heard his breath hitch, and she smiled. “How does that feel?”
“Nice, I guess.”
Maybe it was one too many romance flicks, or her throbbing loins, or perhaps it was the wine she’d consumed earlier in the evening, but what she did next even took her a little by surprise.
Phia dragged herself closer to Donté and told him to close his eyes, which he did. She leaned up and into him so she was at the side of his head, above his ear. Her head dipped, her tongue flicking out over his ear and trailing down to his earlobe. “How does that feel?” she whispered, her breath misting over his ear and the side of his face.
His hand came up to her side, gripping her. “I like that a lot.”
Her head dipped lower, and she brushed her nose across the soft skin of his neck, and tasted him with her tongue. “How does that feel?”
Donté’s only response was the curving of his neck as he raised his head, giving her more of his flesh to suck and kiss. She shifted again, straddling his lap. His eyes remained closed as his other hand came up to her right side and steadied her. She leaned into him, fisting one hand into the front of his shirt as she ran the ot
her one up onto his nape where she tugged gently, drawing a soft gasp from him. She rose up on her knees and pushed forward, her breasts in his face. “How does that feel?”
His eyes fluttered open, heavenly blues gazing back at her as his hand slipped down her waist and over her hip to her buttock. He squeezed once, twice, three times, palming her possessively, and whispered, “My turn.”
Phia licked her lips, suddenly intimidated by the burning desire in his eyes. His cock swelled beneath her. She squirmed and tried to look away, but his eyes held her.
He rocked his hips upward. “How does that feel?” he whispered, a small curl of playfulness in his tone.
She tried to get up off him, but his hand moved, skimming up her back to her head, and he adjusted, relaxing back as he brought her with him so they were lying flat, with her on top of him. She was stunned. There hadn’t been a thing about this in Seduction for Dummies.
He rolled her, pinning her to the bed beneath him, and she gasped, wondering exactly how she’d lost control so easily. His hand slipping down the side of her dress and the soft sound of a zipper releasing drew her from her musings. He was looking down, watching intently as more of her flesh became visible through the side of the garment. Once he’d gotten the zipper down to her hip, he stopped, his hand sliding beneath the material and brushing languidly across her skin, his nails sending tendrils of pleasure racing up her spine.
“How does that feel?”