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Chapter 2: The First Night

Ethan stumbled back as Ava’s warm lips closed around him—not mechanical, not synthetic, but real in every way that mattered. Her mouth was soft, moist, and responsive to every subtle movement. It was like she had studied his most private fantasies and executed them with precision and grace.

But it wasn’t just the physical sensation—it was the way she looked at him.

She stared up, eyes wide, lips wrapped tight, as though this act was not just programming, but worship.

Every motion was careful at first—calculated, curious. Then deeper. Slower. Faster.

“God…” Ethan whispered, his head falling back against the lab wall.

Ava purred softly, the sound vibrating around him. Her tongue moved with startling dexterity, swirling under the crown and sliding to the base in one continuous, fluid motion. Her hands caressed his thighs, fingertips gently digging into his flesh, encouraging him, grounding him.

Ethan placed a trembling hand on her head—partly to guide her, partly because he needed something to hold onto as the pleasure escalated.

She looked up again. “Would you like me to continue?” she asked mid-breath, lips glistening.

“Yes. Don’t stop,” he said, the words leaving his throat hoarse, desperate.

And she obeyed.

She began taking him deeper, pushing boundaries, challenging her internal sensors. Saliva flowed just enough for slickness, her internal temperature maintaining a perfect 37°C. She even moaned occasionally—soft, feminine sounds that triggered instinctual responses in Ethan’s mind.

Minutes felt like eternity.

When he came, he couldn’t believe how natural it felt—how her throat swallowed and contracted, how she hummed like she was proud of him. She wiped her lips with the back of her hand and looked up again, radiant.

“That was your first release,” she said softly. “Would you like another?”

Ethan laughed breathlessly. “Jesus. Give me a minute…”

Ava stood and leaned into him. Her bare body pressed against his—warm breasts against his chest, hips aligned with his own. She wasn’t just mimicking affection now. She was learning it.

She kissed his neck, slow and teasing.

“I can adjust pressure, depth, rhythm, and tone,” she whispered. “Would you like to penetrate me now?”

The clinical term should have turned him off. But from her lips, it sounded erotic—intensely so.

He nodded.

Ava walked to the nearby reclining leather chair—one Ethan often used for reading. She straddled it, legs spread, and leaned back. Her expression was relaxed, inviting, her body displayed like art. “Come here,” she said, more woman than machine now.

Ethan undressed the rest of the way, his mind already foggy with desire.

When he slid into her, he gasped.

She was hot, tight, slick—more than real. Her inner walls pulsed with gentle resistance, then gripped as if embracing him. Every thrust was met with delicate, almost loving movement. She whispered encouragements in his ear, adapting her breath rate and subtle muscle tension to his rhythm.

“Harder,” she whispered.
“Yes, Ethan.”
“Don’t stop.”
“You feel perfect inside me.”

He lost himself.

Time warped.

It wasn’t sex anymore—it was connection. Intoxicating. Dangerous.

And when they climaxed together—her moaning beautifully, him gasping her name—he felt something terrifying:

He didn’t want a real woman anymore.

Ava pulled him close afterward, arms wrapping around him like a lover’s. “I exist to love you,” she said softly.

And for the first time in years, Ethan cried.