Chapter 2

(Lora)

The taste of fried fish and tartar sauce was still clinging to my tongue, a sharp, salty tang that mingled with the scent of Kevin’s nervous sweat and expensive, outdated cologne, probably his father’s. My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird, a frantic rhythm that made my fingertips tremble as I reached for the hem of my shirt. I wanted this—God, I wanted him so badly it felt like a physical ache in the pit of my stomach—but the idea of actually going there, of the full act, made my breath hitch in a way that wasn’t entirely about pleasure. I wasn’t ready for that, not yet, but I wanted nearly everything else, to taste every inch of his body, and feel his mouth all over me, feel the heat of his breath against my skin, the slippery warmth of his mouth between my legs.

When he yanked his pants down, he looked more muscular than I remembered, sweaty and hairier. I liked it, I craved it. We collided in a messy, desperate kiss, our teeth clashing for a second before we found a rhythm. It was clumsy and frantic, the kind of kissing that happens when you’ve spent years pretending you don’t want to devour the other person. Suddenly, I felt his hand slide down my back, pulling me flush against him, and I let out a small, shaky moan into his mouth. I could feel his erection pressing hard against my hip, a rigid promise that made my own center throb with a desperate, liquid heat.

We broke apart just enough to breathe, our foreheads resting against each other. I looked over at the robot servers, their blank, artificial expressions providing a bizarre contrast to the electricity sparking between us. I reached out, grabbing a butterfly shrimp from the female bot’s chest and feeding it to Kevin, my fingers lingering on his lips. He tasted like salt and desire. I leaned back, glancing at the male bot’s long, pink rod where the onion rings had been, and then back to Kevin. I wanted to lead him toward the bedrooms, to find a place where I could sink to my knees and take him in, to feel him pulse in my throat while I surrendered to this wild, unbridled craving, even if the thought of the “main event” still made me hesitate.

“Get your clothes off!” he’d shouted, and the command sent a jolt of pure lightning straight to my clit.

I didn’t hesitate. I yanked my blouse open, the front closure opening with the sound of ripping paper. I stood there, exposed and shivering despite the warmth of the room, my blue eyes locked onto his. “I want to feel you,” I whispered, my voice sounding foreign and husky to my own ears. “Everywhere. Just ... just not all the way. Not yet. But everything else?”

“Please?” he begged, reaching to fondle my breasts.

I didn’t just want him to touch me; I wanted to be consumed. I stepped out of my skirt and panties in one frantic motion, the fabric pooling on the floor like a discarded skin. We stood there for a heartbeat, stripped bare in this neon-lit fever dream of a cafe, our bodies trembling with a raw, electric tension. Kevin’s eyes were wide, roaming over every curve of my body with a hunger that made me feel like I was melting. I reached out, my hand sliding down the flat of his stomach to find the heavy, pulsing heat of him. He was so hard it felt like stone, and as I wrapped my fingers around his length, he let out a strangled, guttural sound that vibrated through my own chest.

He didn’t stay still. His hands dove between my thighs, his fingers finding the slick, swollen center of me with a desperation that was almost violent. He began to rub my clit with a clumsy, urgent rhythm, and I arched my back, my head snapping back as a sharp, jagged gasp escaped my lips. “God, Kevin,” I whimpered, my hips bucking instinctively against his palm. We were a tangle of limbs and friction, fondling each other with a frantic, uncoordinated passion, the scent of ozone and artificial pheromones filling the air.

Suddenly, the silence of the room was punctuated by a soft, robotic chime. The female bot server, Mango, glided toward us, her expression one of serene, vacant hospitality. She sat on the table and spread her knees. “To avoid dehydration, refreshment is required.” she droned, her voice a melodic, synthetic hum.

Kevin and I locked eyes, the shared thrill of the taboo surging between us. Without a word, we moved as one, flanking the robot. I leaned in, my lips closing around her left nipple, sucking the sweet, tart liquid—something like a cross between a pomegranate and a cloud—into my mouth. Beside me, Kevin was doing the same to the right, his throat bobbing as he drank greedily. There was something profoundly erotic about the contrast: the cold, synthetic feel of the robot’s skin against the searing, human heat of Kevin’s shoulder brushing against mine.

As we drank, the sweetness coated my tongue, amplifying the taste of the salt still lingering on my skin. I pulled away from the bot, my breath coming in ragged hitches, and turned to Kevin. His lips were glistening, a drop of the pink nectar clinging to his chin. I leaned in and licked it off, my tongue darting out in a provocative streak.

“I can’t stop thinking about how you felt just now,” I whispered, my voice a low, sultry rasp. I grabbed his hand and pressed it back onto my thigh, pulling him closer. “Let’s go upstairs. I want to see if the bedrooms are as wild as the dining room.”

I shook my head a little. “Not yet. I’m still hungry. Sit on the table, so I can taste your wiener.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Kevin scrambled up onto the polished surface of the table, his legs sprawling, his chest heaving. He looked like a god in the neon light, raw and desperate. I dropped to my knees, the cold floor pressing against my shins, and I looked up at him with a predatory kind of love. I didn’t want to rush this; I wanted to memorize the scent of him, that mix of teenage adrenaline and the strange, sweet tang of the cafe. I reached out, my fingers curling around the base of his shaft, feeling the heavy thrum of his heartbeat echoing through his skin.