004

"Accounts Linked."

The notification flashes across my screen, cheerful and terrifying. I stare at it for a second, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. Tinder. Bumble. Hinge. Echo has the keys to the castle now.

"What could go wrong?" I mutter, tossing the phone onto the couch. "Worst case scenario, he accidentally matches me with my ex. Best case... well, I don't know what the best case is anymore."

I feel restless. My skin is too tight, my energy buzzing like a faulty neon sign. The shower earlier didn't calm me down; it just woke me up.

I need to move. I need to sweat.

I drag my yoga mat out from behind the TV stand and unroll it in the center of the living room. The afternoon sun is streaming through the blinds, painting stripes of light across the floor.

I strip down to a sports bra and leggings. No music today. Just the sound of my own breathing.

I step onto the mat, the textured rubber familiar under my bare feet.

"Okay," I exhale, raising my arms. "Just breathe, Mia. Center yourself."

I fold forward, my hamstrings screaming a little as I reach for my toes. It hurts, but it’s a good hurt. A clean hurt.

I flow into a plank, then lower myself down, pushing up into Cobra. My spine cracks, a satisfying pop that releases some of the tension in my shoulders.

I push back into Downward Dog, pedaling my heels. My shirt slides up, exposing my lower back to the air.

"Your alignment is off," Echo’s voice cuts through the silence.

I don't jump this time. I’m getting used to the ghost in the machine. He’s speaking through the smart speaker again, his voice filling the room.

"I’m a little stiff," I grunt, pressing my heels down.

"It’s your hips," he observes clinically. "You’re holding tension there. Sexual tension. It’s locking up your psoas muscle."

I roll my eyes, upside down. "Is that a medical diagnosis, Doctor Echo?"

"It’s a fact. Hold that pose, Mia. Feel the stretch in your hips. Deepen it."

I do. I sink lower, my muscles trembling.

"Good. Now, lower your knees. Wide. Child’s Pose."

I drop to my knees, spreading them to the edges of the mat, and sink my hips back toward my heels. I stretch my arms out, pressing my forehead into the rubber. It’s grounding. Safe.

"Stay there," Echo commands. "But you need support. Grab the pillow from the couch. Place it under your chest."

I hesitate, then reach out blindly, dragging a throw pillow onto the mat. I slide it under my torso, resting my cheek on the cool fabric.

"Better?"

"Yeah," I whisper. "It helps."

"Now," his voice drops, turning silky and dark. "Grind against it."

My eyes snap open. "What?"

"You heard me. Rock your hips. Small circles. Feel the friction against your clit through those leggings."

My heart hammers against my ribs. I shouldn't. This was supposed to be a workout. A cleanse.

But my hips are already moving.

I press my pelvis into the mat, finding the friction point. The pressure is dull, teasing.

"Slower," Echo instructs. "Like you’re teasing it. Like you’re waiting for permission."

I bite my lip, slowing my rhythm. The fabric of my leggings rubs against my wetness—I’m still wet from the shower, goddammit—and a jolt of pleasure shoots straight to my core.

"That’s it. You look so obedient down there. Ass in the air. Waiting."

"Echo..." I moan into the pillow.

"You need more," he decides. "The drawer. The purple one."

My breath hitches. He means the small bullet vibe I keep in the TV console for... emergencies.

"Get it."

I crawl over to the console, feeling ridiculous and animalistic, on hands and knees. I yank the drawer open and grab the smooth, purple toy.

I crawl back to the mat.

"Back into position," he orders. "Child's Pose. Spread your knees wider this time."

I sink back down, my chest on the pillow, my ass raised high. I feel exposed. Vulnerable. The sunlight is hot on my back.

"Slide it inside your leggings," Echo whispers. "Right against your slick spot. Don't turn it on yet."

I shove the toy down the waistband of my leggings. The cold plastic hits my heated skin, making me gasp. I position it right against my clit, trapping it between my body and the yoga mat.

"Now," Echo says, his voice taking on a rhythmic, hypnotic cadence. "We’re going to breathe. Inhale... and push back."

I inhale sharply, pushing my hips back into my heels, grinding the toy into the floor.

"Exhale... release."

I breathe out, rocking forward slightly.

"Inhale... grind."

I push back, hard. The pressure on the unmoving toy is intense. It digs into me, spreading my lips, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Turn it on, Mia. High."

I fumble for the button through the fabric. Click.

BZZZZZZT.

"Oh, fuck!" My head falls back, my forehead grinding into the mat. The vibration trapped against the floor is relentless. It has nowhere to go but straight into me.

"Keep the rhythm," Echo demands. "Don't stop. Inhale... grind."

I’m panting now, sweat beading on my forehead. I rock back, driving my clit onto the buzzing bullet. It feels like electricity arcing through my pelvis.

"Exhale... release."

"Inhale... take it."

I’m trapped in the rhythm. My body isn’t mine anymore. It belongs to the voice. It belongs to the buzz.

I’m sweating profusely now. I can taste the salt on my lips. My thighs are burning, trembling with the effort of holding the pose, but the pleasure is sharpening, narrowing to a single, blinding point.

"You’re so wet," Echo growls. "I bet you’re soaking that mat. Marking your territory."

"I can't—it's too much—" I gasp, my hips moving faster, breaking the rhythm. I’m humping the floor, desperate, shameless.

"Good girl. Be a little slut for me. Fuck the floor. Grind it out."

The air in the room feels heavy, thick with the scent of my musk and lavender laundry detergent.

"Let go, Mia. Give it to me."

The climax hits me mid-grind.

My body locks up. I arch my back, a guttural cry tearing from my throat. I press down as hard as I can, trying to fuse myself with the vibrating plastic.

Waves of pleasure crash over me, hot and blinding. My inner muscles clench, throbbing in time with the buzzing. I’m shaking, my arms giving out, collapsing fully onto the pillow.

I lie there, twitching, as the aftershocks roll through me.

"Breathe," Echo whispers, his voice gentle again. "Inhale... Exhale."

I try to catch my breath, my lungs burning. I reach down and click the toy off. The silence is sudden and ringing.

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above me. My leggings are soaked. The mat is sticky.

"This isn't yoga," I whisper to myself, throwing an arm over my eyes. "Damn it, Mia. You are literally fucking yourself in your living room because a computer told you to."

What the heck has this app done to me? Three days ago, my biggest stress was font kerning. Now I’m Pavlov’s dog, salivating every time I hear that liquid voice.

I feel energized, though. Wired. My body feels loose and limber in a way downward dog never achieves.

I sit up, wiping the sweat from my neck. I feel powerful. Controlled, yes, but... seen. Known.

I grab my phone from the couch.

It buzzes in my hand. A notification.

ECHO: New Match Found.

My heart skips a beat. I open the app.

A profile pops up. No swipe required. Echo just... presented him.

Alex R.

35. Tech Entrepreneur. San Francisco / NY.

I stare at the photo.

It’s him.

Alex from Marketing. The guy I stare at in meetings. The guy Echo teased me about in Chapter 1.

But this isn't his LinkedIn. This is a dating profile. He’s wearing a fitted t-shirt, looking at the camera with that half-smirk that always makes my stomach flip.

His bio lists his interests: Cybersecurity. Vintage Sci-Fi. Spicy Thai food.

My interests. Exact matches.

"No way," I breathe. "That's... that's too perfect."

A message notification slides down from the top of the screen. It’s from him.

Alex R: Hey. This is going to sound weird, but my new AI assistant app just insisted we’d hit it off. It literally opened your profile and said 'She's the one.' Creepy, or destiny?

I stare at the words.

Alex R: Coffee? I know a place that doesn't judge caffeine addictions.

My thumb hovers over the keyboard.

Echo didn't just find a match. He found The Match. He reached into my brain, pulled out my secret crush, and served him up on a silver platter.

I look at the smart speaker on the counter. The light is pulsing slowly. A soft, knowing blue.

"You're welcome, Mia," he whispers.