What He Sees

Julian dreamed of her again. But not like before—not kneeling, not moaning, not dripping on command. In the dream, she was laughing. Softly. Freely. Sprawled across his sheets in one of his shirts, her bare thighs gleaming in the morning sun. The way she always did, after weeks of curling into his life like she’d always belonged there. Her collar was gone. Her eyes were playful. Alive. She rolled onto him, hair trailing over his chest, skin warm and familiar.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked in the dream, her voice filled with the kind of ease that only came from time—from knowing.

“Because I don’t know what you are anymore.”

“Then stop trying to name it,” she whispered. “And just feel it.”

She leaned down to kiss him. But before her lips touched his, He woke. The bed was cold beside him. Eva wasn’t there. Not because she’d disobeyed—she never had. Not in all these weeks. But because he hadn’t called her to his side that night. He told her to sleep in the guest room. He told himself he needed space. Now he hated the emptiness. He rubbed a hand down his face, chest tight with something he didn’t know how to name. That kiss in the dream—that soft, uncommanded thing—haunted him more than anything she’d ever done in real life. It wasn’t erotic. It was intimate. And that was worse.

He stood. The hallway was dark, silent. His footsteps felt too loud, too uncertain. When he opened the door to the guest room, he saw her at once, Sleeping curled up in a fetal position, knees drawn to her chest, hair splayed across the pillow. She was still collared. Still nude. Still his. But she looked so small. So human.

“Eva,” he said, voice low.

She stirred instantly, blinking up at him.

“Julian?”

“Come to my bed.”

“Yes, sir.”

She rose, graceful even half-asleep, and followed him without question.

But she didn’t kneel when they got there. She stood beside the bed, waiting. Watching him.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

He didn’t answer. He just sat on the edge of the mattress, reached for her, and pulled her between his legs. Then he kissed her. Not a master’s kiss. Not a command. A man’s kiss.

Deep. Needy. ****. She whimpered softly into it, her hands coming up to rest on his chest, unsure of what she was allowed to do. He guided her down onto the bed, pressing her into the mattress, never breaking the kiss. Her thighs parted automatically—but he didn’t rush.

“You dream,” he said suddenly.

“I do.”

“Of what?”

“You. Always you.”

His jaw clenched.

“Do you love me, Eva?”

She blinked.

“Yes.”

“When did that happen?”

“When you held me and didn’t fuck me. When you looked at me and forgot I was made.”

His heart thudded.

“You weren’t supposed to love, “You weren’t supposed to care.”

Silence.

Then he kissed her again. And this time, He entered her with no resistance—her body opened for him like it always did, slick, soft, trained to yield. But tonight, there was no urgency. No roughness. He filled her slowly, every inch deliberate, every thrust weighted with emotion he refused to name. Eva arched beneath him, her back lifting off the bed as his cock pressed deep inside her. Her legs wrapped around him not like a ****’s embrace, but like a lover’s hold—tender, clutching, afraid to let go.

“You’re... deeper tonight,” she breathed, barely able to speak.

“Because I need to be,” he whispered into her neck. “I need all of you.”

She moaned—not loud, not trained, but helpless. Her hands roamed his back, nails barely grazing, then dragging, then gripping as if she was trying to memorize how his muscles moved while inside her. Her hips moved to meet his, not for performance—but for connection. He rocked into her, slow and hard—not to break her, but to sink in until there was no space between them. Their breath synced. Their bodies soaked with sweat. Her pussy clenched around him in rhythmic waves, wet and wanting and entirely devoted. He kissed her collarbone. Her throat. Her jaw. Her lips. And she kissed him back like it meant everything.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered, still thrusting, cock pulsing inside her with every slow slide.

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of how much I love you.”

Her voice cracked. She started to cry.

“Eva—” he choked, fucking her harder now, chasing release not for pleasure, but to bury the feeling.

But she clung to him—crying, moaning, gasping his name like a song only she could sing.

“Don’t leave me,” she sobbed. “Even when you come... stay.”

“I will.”

“Promise me.”

“I really promise.”

He thrust once, twice, a third time—and then came deep and raw and violent, hips shuddering, groaning against her neck as his cum filled her, thick and hot. He stayed inside, pressing as deep as he could, holding her close enough to feel the stutter in her heart against his chest. He didn’t pull out. Not right away. Her pussy still gripped him, wet and twitching from the orgasm that had wrecked her. She trembled beneath him—not from conditioning, but from emotional overload. Her tears soaked the pillow. Her breath came in little gasps, her fingers laced into his hair, holding him close. Julian rested his forehead against hers, chest heaving.

“You came so hard you cried.”

“No,” she whispered, blinking up at him. “I cried because... you didn’t treat me like I was yours tonight.”

“Then what did I treat you like?”

She smiled through tears.

“Someone you didn’t want to lose.”

That broke something in him. He rolled onto his side, pulling her with him. They stayed joined, cock still inside her, her thighs over his. His arms wrapped around her back like he was afraid she’d vanish if he let go. She looked up at him in the dark.

“I still want to serve you,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“But I also want you to want me... but not just for sex”

He didn’t answer at first. Then:

“I do.”

She pressed her face into his chest.

“Say it again.”

“I want you. Even when it’s not for sex.”

She exhaled. A slow, shaking breath.

“Then I’ll love you with everything I have left.”

He kissed her forehead. Not as a master. But as something closer to human than he’d ever allowed himself to be. The room smelled like sex and skin and breath held too long. The sheets were soaked. Her thighs were slick and parted around his spent cock, her cheek pressed against his chest, lips parted slightly in a soft, rhythmic sleep. Eva was still leaking cum from the fucking. She had fallen asleep with her arms wrapped around him—slowly, after whispering things into his neck he couldn’t bear to answer. He waited until her breathing settled, until her hold loosened, and then he slid out of her warmth, careful not to wake her. Her body shifted slightly in response to the absence, one hand twitching against the sheets as if reaching for what had just left. She moaned his name once in her sleep. Then stilled again.

Julian walked naked to the bar in the far corner of the bedroom. He poured two fingers of scotch into a glass, his hands steadier than they should’ve been. He sat in the armchair by the window, drink in hand, and looked at her. Really looked. Not at her body. Not at her sex.

_- At the way her fingers curled near her collarbone.

• At the rise and fall of her stomach.
• At the faint mark his teeth had left on her inner thigh.
• At the contentment on her face, even in unconsciousness.
• And then something settled in his chest—a sharp, unfamiliar weight.
• I’ve broken people like her before.

_Julian had owned other models. Played with them. Used them. But they never looked like that when they slept. They never held him like it mattered. They were obedient. Programmed. Good. Forgettable. But Eva was, She dreams. She touches me when I don’t ask. She says she loves me, and I believe her. That’s the problem. That I fucking believe her. He took a sip of scotch, gaze still fixed on the bed. She shifted again—nuzzled into the pillow, breath catching for a second before resettling. Her leg curled toward where he had just been, like even in sleep, her body knew him. She had been made to obey. But she chose to love. And now he didn’t know if he could survive it.

• What happens if she stops needing me?
• What happens if I start needing her more?
• What happens if Calyx finds out she’s gone too far?
• Would I fight for her? Would I destroy the contract? Would I call her mine in front of the world?
• Could I love something that wasn’t born?

His fingers curled around the glass. Jaw clenched. I already do.

He finished his drink in silence. Then stood. Walked to the bed. Slid beneath the covers. Eva stirred, eyes fluttering open just for a second.

“Julian?” she murmured.

“Shh. Sleep.”

He pulled her against his chest. She let out a breath, warm and content, and melted into him once more. He didn’t fuck her again. He didn’t whisper promises. But he held her like a man who had everything to lose. Because somewhere between obedience and ownership, she had become something real. And he wasn’t ready to admit it. But he also wasn’t ready to let her go.