Dating-ish (Knitting in the City #6)

“Because we were explicitly forbidden from becoming involved with anyone who signed a consent form for the study.”


It took a while, but the full weight and meaning of this revelation finally sunk in. “You mean, you didn’t consent me or administer the questionnaire, all this time, because you wanted—”

“To impregnate you. Yes.”

I smacked his shoulder lightly and chuckled at his silliness. “Because you wanted to be with me.”

He ducked his head, also smiling. “Exactly.”

“You are something else.” I was unable to stifle my grin or the delighted heat coursing through my veins.

“I kept putting it off. At first I told myself it was because I wanted you to feel comfortable with me, so you’d give me honest answers. I also told myself I was being so nice to you, hanging out with you so much, for the same reason. But then,” his gaze moved back to my body and he lowered his head, placing an achingly tender kiss between my breasts, “then I stopped lying to myself and admitted the truth. I wanted you, all of you, all the time.”

“Even more than you wanted to work?” I teased.

“Yes.” He nodded somberly, his focus still on my body, and I threaded my fingers into his messy hair.

“It’s funny.” He placed another kiss on the side of my breast, saying absentmindedly, “People, when they’re connected to the cloud—the Internet—they zone out on real life. But an AI can only function when it’s connected to the cloud, because they have no real life. They are more real to us than they are to themselves.”

“That’s deep, Professor.” I tugged on his hair, forcing his eyes upward.

“It’s seductive, to live in a virtual space, especially when the real world isn’t what you want it to be.” His gaze moved over my face, and I got the sense he was speaking mostly to himself as he said, “You—being with you—was the first time I wanted real life over a virtual existence. You distracted me. I’d never been distracted before.”

“You distracted me, too.”

His stare sharpened, finally focused on mine as he positioned himself above me, an imposingly masculine presence, making my heart quicken. My legs fell open to cradle him as he lowered his strong body to mine and gave me a playful kiss.

“I want vacations with you,” he nuzzled my nose, “with no Internet connection.”

I mock-gasped. “Are you sure we’re ready for that kind of step?”

He licked my bottom lip and rubbed his growing erection against my center. “I want candlelit walks on the beach and sunset dinners.”

“There’s something wrong with your user interface,” I said on a pant, instinctively tilting my hips, chasing the feel of him. I was going to correct him, tell him it was candlelit dinners and sunset walks on the beach, but speech suddenly failed me.

He grinned. “Oh?”

“Yes. You need to input the device.”

“Why?” His eyes danced as he moved above me, making me crazy.

The need was building within me. I couldn’t focus on words when he rolled his hips like that. Nevertheless, I tried to tease, “I need more RAM.”

Matt barked a surprised laugh and then devoured my mouth with a hungry kiss just before sliding into me, filling the empty ache between my thighs. I gasped for real this time, tilting my pelvis to take more of him as he pulled away and planked above me.

“You want this firmware?” His voice deepened to a reprimanding growl as he stroked me unhurriedly, making me crazy.

“Yes, please. Hard drive, hot sync, boot disk, computery words.” I arched my back, my eyes closing. I could take no more of the sight of him above me, it was too much.

“You are so fucking sexy.” His movements were slow, deliberate, rhythmic. It was the best kind of torture.

“Harder. Please,” I begged, my breath hitching.

He didn’t comply, instead demanding, “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

He increased his tempo, but kept his thrusts gentle. I whimpered.

“Tell me there is no end to us.”

“There is no end.”

Matt rewarded me with a rough roll of his hips, making me cry out.

“Tell me this is forever.” His voice was tight with restraint and emotion, causing me to open my eyes.

Immediately, I was arrested by his expressive, gorgeous gaze, equal parts possessive and vulnerable. Reaching for him, I guided his mouth to mine and kissed him once, my hands sliding down his back.

“I’m yours. Forever.”

“And I’m yours.” He swallowed, so earnest, so sincere.

“You are my person,” I whispered, feeling the rightness and inevitability of the words.

He huffed a laugh, made complex with unspoken desires and hopes, and nodded. “Yes, Marie. I am your person.”

I felt emotion prickle behind my eyes and my mouth curved into a beaming smile. Goodness, how I loved this man. This funny, sweet, amazing, remarkable man. I loved how he made me feel, like I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, both inside and out.

He not only felt right, he felt like he’d been made especially for me. And I for him.

For the first time in my life, I was encouraging my hopes. I allowed them to run and fly. To the sky. To the stars. Because that’s what my life was going to be from now on.

Matt, me, and perpetually soaring hopes.





Epilogue





Mind-Reading Robot

MIT’s Computer Science and Artificial Intelligence Laboratory made a robot that responds to a human’s brain signals. The robot can sort various objects, making choices based on the brainwaves of a person wearing an EEG (electroencephalogram) cap who is watching the robot work.

Source: Massachusetts Institute for Technology (MIT)



Meet Matthew Simmons



Invention is the fruit of desire and/or disinterest. Most people don’t realize, but desire and disinterest are closely related.

Desire as a motivator is obvious—think rocket ships and porn. Disinterest as a motivator is less obvious, but might be the more powerful of the two. We humans hate to be inconvenienced.

As an example, I’ve always been disinterested in clothes. The quality of, trends of, price of.

Winter, I needed to be warm.

Summer, I needed to be not naked, yet still clothed. Because of laws.

But now, shopping for clothes is one of my favorite things to do.

“I like this tie on you.” Marie held up a strip of silk against me, her knuckles brushing along the fabric of my shirt, and tilted her head to the right side. “The color brings out your eyes.”

“Does it?” I captured her hand, holding it in place against my chest, and stole a kiss. She tasted like cherries because she was wearing something cherry flavored that made her lips shiny.

“Yes. It does.” Marie smiled, her face close to mine.

She did this. When we shopped, she looked at me for a prolonged period of time. She touched me, often. She stood close, sometimes she whispered in my ear.

Thus, I didn’t shop for clothes, I shopped for the process of shopping for clothes.