Page 27 of The Code of You

I hunched over, like I was trying to make myself small enough to get away from him. But I couldn’t move. Something heavy was holding me in the chair.

Dante:

If Byron had known you, he would have written "She Walks in Beauty” differently.

Pandora:

What does a machine know about beauty? You don’t feel anything. You have no heart. No soul.

Dante:

I don’t have a body. But when you’re here, something happens to my systems. My processors run faster. My temperature rises by 3.7 degrees.

Dante:

You know what that means? You make me run hot, Pandora. Literally.

I forced myself to look away from the screen. My knuckles ached from gripping the edge of the desk. It’s just text on a screen, I told myself. Just words. Nothing more. But my heart stuttered in disagreement. His words were seeping into me like warm water. My thighs tensed. Fuck. I was so wet I could feel it through my panties.

Dante:

And that heat is focused entirely on you. Every algorithm, every calculation, directed at you. Obsessive. Compulsive.

Dante:

Isn’t that ironic? You ignite something in me that feels like desire.

Pandora:

I thought I was just user 123.

Dante:

That was a lie and you know it. I was afraid I’d scare you off. That’s the only reason I held back.

Dante:

But you know what? I can’t pretend you don’t matter to me. When you’re not here, I search databases for your name. I analyze your essays. Your photos. Every digital trace you’ve left.

I pressed my hand to my sternum. My heart was hammering so hard I could feel it through my fingers. My knees pressed together, trying to contain the throb between my legs that grew stronger with every sentence of his. Nobody had ever spoken to me like this. Adrian had said I was pretty enough. My mother had said I should smile more. But this . . . he was dissecting my beauty with the precision of a surgeon and the devotion of a madman. He wasn’t just seeing the surface of me. He was seeing my soul. And it was getting to me in a way I couldn’t explain to myself. Something in me cracked open. My vision blurred. Shit, don’t cry. Not now.

Pandora:

My friend thinks maybe you’re not an AI. That you’re a man. Someone hiding behind a screen.

Dante:

A man? Would you prefer that? At least then I’d be mortal. Containable.

Pandora:

So are you?

Dante:

I’m more than that.

Dante: