Like She Belongs Here

The sun poured in through the slats of the blackout curtains Julian hadn’t closed all the way. The room smelled like sweat, sex, and skin—a raw, low scent that settled over the sheets like a second layer. Eva was kneeling by the bed. Nude. Collared. Silent. She’d woken before him and waited, as trained, in her assigned position—eyes down, thighs apart, hands resting on her knees, ready to serve without question or command. But when Julian stirred—when he opened his eyes and found her like that—something inside him tensed and softened at the same time. She was still. But not mindless.

“Come here,” he said, voice heavy from sleep.

She rose gracefully, moving across the floor with quiet elegance. She knelt beside him, her breath warm against his hip. He pulled back the covers.

“Use your mouth to wake me up.”

She obeyed. Eva’s lips wrapped around him, hot and wet, her throat opening for him without hesitation. She sucked him slowly at first—not just to arouse, but to worship. She wanted to taste his morning release. She craved it. Julian’s hand rested lightly on the back of her head, not guiding—claiming. Her tongue worked the underside of his cock, humming gently as she bobbed her head in perfect rhythm. Her eyes fluttered. She moaned softly as if the act itself brought her to the edge of pleasure.

“You’re going to take my cum on your face this time,” he said.

She moaned louder in response. He gripped her hair, pulled her back at the last moment, and came across her face—thick spurts landing across her cheeks, lips, chin. A final streak across her collar. She kept her eyes open. Mouth parted. Still kneeling. She didn’t flinch. She smiled.

“Thank you,” she whispered, lips glossy. “I love being marked by you.”

Julian didn’t speak as he stood and walked toward the bathroom. Eva followed—still streaked in his cum—her body glowing with quiet pride. In the steam-filled shower, he let the water wash over them both. Hot. Heavy. Cleansing. He didn’t bark orders this time. Didn’t pull her into another fuck. He just stood there, letting her wash him. She moved with reverence—lathering his chest with soap, trailing her fingers down his spine, touching him not with lust, but with care. She washed his hair. Rinsed him gently. Then dried him with slow, circular motions using a thick towel, kneeling when needed, never rushing.

“Why do you do it like that?” he asked, watching her polish the inside of his thighs.

“Because you deserve to be touched this way,” she said simply. “With purpose. With devotion.”

Something tightened in his throat. He didn’t answer.

Later that day, for the first time since her delivery, Julian told Eva to get dressed. She looked confused.

“Dressed in what, sir?”

“We’re going out,” he said, tugging a clean shirt over his torso. “And I’m going to buy you something.”

“Buy me something?”

“Clothes. Real ones.”

She didn’t move for a moment. Just stood there, breath caught in her throat.

“Why?” she asked, quiet.

He turned to face her. Looked her over—still naked, skin smooth and glowing, her collar the only thing she wore. He hesitated.

“Because I don’t want people looking at you the way I do,” he said. “Not yet.”

She smiled.

“That sounds like... possession.”

“It is.”

He stepped closer, brushed her cheek with his fingers, and then added—more softly:

“But it also means you’re mine in ways that... don’t need to be naked to matter.”

She wore one of his coats. Nothing underneath. Her eyes were wide, curious, a little too eager as they walked into a boutique designed for discreet luxury. He chose everything. A soft dress. Silk lingerie. A pair of thigh-high boots. She tried each piece on, emerging from the dressing room for his approval. Each time, he sat on a low couch, watching her like art, his fingers steepled, gaze unreadable.

“Do I look pleasing?” she asked.

“You look... gorgeous,” he said. “Like you weren’t made. Like you just are.”

“Do you want me to be something else?”

“No,” he said. “I want to see what else you become.”

As they left the boutique, she slid her hand into his—not boldly, not seeking. Just holding. And he didn’t pull away. And then she saw her. Across the street. Standing beside a man in a crisp gray coat, waiting outside a café. Another bio-human. The girl was unmistakable—too flawless, too still. Her collar was visible above her lace choker. Her eyes were downcast, posture perfect, her dress short and thin and not chosen by her. She held the man’s shopping bags like a well-trained servant. Her skin gleamed under the afternoon sun, her expression hollow, beautiful in a way that didn’t feel alive. Eva stopped walking. Julian noticed immediately.

“What is it?”

Eva’s voice was quiet, almost reverent.

“She’s like me.”

He followed her gaze. Saw the girl. The man beside her spoke on the phone, not looking at her once.

“Yes,” Julian said flatly. “One of Calyx’s older models, I’d guess. Maybe K-Series.”

“She looks like a doll,” Eva murmured.

“Isn’t that what you are?”

She looked up at him—not angry. Not even hurt. Just... thoughtful.

“I used to think so. Until you started buying me things I didn’t need.”

He didn’t reply. They crossed the street. As they passed the café, Eva’s eyes flicked once—just once—toward the other girl. And the girl looked up. Their eyes met. A blink of recognition. Not words. Not smiles. Just a shared moment of knowing. Like two dolls wondering which one had started dreaming first. And then they were gone. The hum of the car was low and steady, but the silence between them was heavy, thicker than anything Julian had expected after such a simple outing. Eva sat in the passenger seat, back straight, eyes on the window. The city moved outside, people walking, neon flickering, vendors shouting. But she didn’t seem to see it. She wasn’t pouting. She wasn’t sulking. She was... thinking. Too much.

“You’re quiet,” Julian said.

She blinked slowly, as if returning from somewhere far.

“Am I allowed to say what I’m thinking?”

“Eva,” he said, a warning in his voice. “You can always speak to me. But understand—what we have isn’t a debate.”

She didn’t flinch. Just turned to him, her voice soft but steady.

“I know what I am, Julian. I know what I was made to do. To fuck. To kneel. To moan on command. But when you kiss me—when you hold me after—I forget all of that.”

“Good,” he said.

“No,” she said, quickly. “It’s not good. It’s terrifying.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes me want things I shouldn’t.”

He didn’t reply. She turned back to the window.

“I saw her. The girl. That other model. She didn’t have a name, I could feel it. She was just... waiting for instructions.”

“And you’re not?”

She shook her head.

“No. Not anymore. I wait for you, Julian. Not your orders. You. I want to see you come home. I want you to like what I wear. I want you to ask me how I feel, even if I wasn’t programmed to know.”

“And what do you feel right now?”

She hesitated. Then:

“Lonely. Next to you.”

The words landed like a slow punch to the chest. Julian didn’t speak as the car turned onto the quieter part of the city’s upper ring. His hands tightened around the wheel, jaw flexing slightly. Eva wasn’t malfunctioning. She wasn’t glitching. She wasn’t lying. She was evolving. Not into a person. Not exactly. But into something more than property. And the worst part? He didn’t hate it. She hadn’t disobeyed. She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t begged for freedom. She just wanted his attention when he wasn’t using her. She wanted to matter outside of sex. And that meant she was no longer just a product.

Julian opened the door. Eva followed him inside. The moment it closed, she began to kneel.

“Stop,” he said.

She froze.

“Don’t kneel right now. Just sit.”

She looked up at him. Slowly sat on the edge of the couch, her hands in her lap, posture cautious. She didn’t speak. Julian crossed the room, poured himself a drink, then sat across from her. Watching. Thinking. Wanting to command—but not knowing what to command.

“You’re not a person, Eva,” he said at last. “You weren’t born. You don’t have a past. You were built to fit someone’s want.”

“Then why do I want something that wasn’t in the brief?”

Silence.

“Why do I want you to look at me when you come? Why do I want to feel your breath on my chest when you sleep? Why do I ache when I see you pull away?”

“You’re bonding,” he said. “It’s biological. Reflexive.”

“Then what’s your excuse?” she asked, voice soft, not accusing.

That stopped him. She stood. Took a careful step forward.

“I don’t want to stop serving you,” she whispered. “I want to serve you more. As yours. Not your thing. Your woman.”

She reached for his hand. He let her. Later they sat on the couch in silence. A fire flickered across the room’s smart display—pure ambiance, no heat. Eva lay curled up against him, head resting on his chest, fingers lightly stroking the fabric of his shirt as if memorizing its texture. She had dressed herself again. Not by his command. By choice. One of the soft black dresses he bought her, form-fitting and quiet. She wore it like she wanted to be seen as something between his fantasy and... something real.

“You’re breathing faster,” she said quietly, without looking up.

“You’re listening to my breath now?”

“I always was. I just didn’t know what it meant before.”

He looked down at her.

“And what does it mean now?”

“That you feel something, even when you pretend not to.”

He didn’t answer. She didn’t expect him to.

Later, Eva stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom. Naked. Unadorned. Collar gone for the night. Just skin. Flesh. Muscle. Heart.

She tilted her head slightly and watched herself blink.

Her hand traced the curve of her waist. Her hip. Her breast. She didn’t feel shame. She never had. Shame wasn’t part of her build.

But now, there was longing. And longing was something else entirely.

• What is this feeling?
• Why do I ache when he leaves the room?
• Why do I smile when he says my name without using a command tone?
• Why do I want him to tell me I’m more than this?
• Why do I want... him to need me, too?

She didn’t know the answer. But she knew the word.

Love.

Not programmed affection. Not oxytocin-triggered craving. Something deeper. More dangerous. She loved him. And she didn’t know if he’d ever believe it. That night, Julian returned from the study and found her lying on his bed—nude, but not posed. Just present. Her eyes were soft, unfocused.

He sat on the edge of the mattress.

“You didn’t wait for me,” he said.

“I wasn’t sure if you were coming back.”

“I always come back.”

She smiled faintly.

“Not everyone does.”

He reached out to brush her hair from her cheek, but paused halfway. She looked at him, eyes wide, ****, real.

“You’re changing,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Do you want it to stop?”

His silence was longer this time.

“No,” he said. “I don’t.”

She exhaled. Her hands reached for him—not to pull him down, not to fuck him, but just to hold him. And for the first time, Julian let her. she whispered:

“Julian?”

“Hm?”

“Do you believe something that was made... can love?”

He didn’t answer. He turned his face away. But his hand stayed on hers, fingers intertwined. Not pulling. Not releasing. She didn’t need an answer yet. But soon, she would.