loved, and couldn't get rid of the Klone he had inflicted on me. “I can't sleep on the floor,” he explained, “it's bad for my wiring. It distorts it.”
“I'll call an electrician for you tomorrow. That's your only option.”
“You're all heart, Steph.”
“Thank you.” I turned off the lights, put my glass in the sink, and he followed me to my bedroom. And as soon as I closed the door, he stripped off the red spandex leggings. I tried not to see how great his legs were. Having been made with great precision and great care, his legs were every bit as splendid as Peter's.
I disappeared into the bathroom and put on a nightgown and a robe, and tied it. I would have slept in my ski clothes if I could have. I was determined to resist him.
“ ‘Are you cold?” he asked, looking surprised by the bathrobe.
“No, frigid,” I said simply, and climbed into bed, as he went to brush his teeth. He was good about those things, even though he had no need to go to the dentist. His teeth were white and perfect, and were actually made of porcelain over some very rare metal. He had explained it to me once when I asked him. He had no idea what it was to get a filling. Lucky devil.
And when he returned from the bathroom, the lights were off and I pretended to be sleeping. I was lying on my side at the edge of the bed, and I fully expected him to sleep on the floor, which was another sign of insanity on my part. He had no intention of it. And within seconds, I felt him slip into bed beside me. I couldn't see if he was wearing Peter's pajamas, but prayed he was. And then I heard him strike a match, and knew what he was doing. He was lighting the candle, but I didn't dare say anything for fear he would know I wasn't sleeping, and then a moment later, I felt him gently touch my shoulders and start to massage them. I lay there, tense, hating him for being so nice to me. But I knew there was a reason for it. I knew exactly what he wanted, and I was determined that, for once, no matter how enticing he was, he wouldn't get it.
But I had to admit as he massaged my shoulders, and rubbed my back, it was incredibly relaxing. And after a while, in spite of myself, I sighed, and rolled over on my stomach.
“Better?” he whispered in the candlelight, and the sound, of his voice always made me feel sensual and happy, and tonight it made me feel just a little sad. He sounded just like Peter.
He moved closer to me to massage my arms, and intent on resisting him, I stiffened. “Don't come any closer. I have a loaded gun in the pocket of my nightgown.”
“So shoot me.”
“It'll screw up your wiring forever.”
“I think you're worth it.” But this time, even though I loved the sound and feel of him, I wasn't swayed. I wasn't hooked. I wasn't swooning. All I could think about was Peter. “What are you thinking?” he asked as he worked his way down my back again, and then massaged my buttocks.
“I was thinking about him,” I admitted sleepily, my voice funny from the pressure of his hands on my back. “I miss him. Do you suppose he'll come back … to me, I mean? … I think he hates me.”
“No, he doesn't,” he said softly. “I think he loves you.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, rolling over on my back to look at him. It was the nicest thing he'd said all night, and then I realized it was a ruse to make me look at him, as he leaned over and kissed me. “Don't …” I whispered in the candlelight, but the word was lost as he continued to kiss me. I didn't forget Peter then, only myself, as his hands began to move slowly beneath my nightgown. “Paul … don't … I can't….”
“Just one last time … please … and then I swear I won't come back again….” But this time, when he said it, I knew I wouldn't miss him. Our time was over.
“We shouldn't …” I tried valiantly to resist him, and then wondered what difference it would make. Just one last time … for old times’ sake … something to remember. And before I could stop him, he had started