Page 122 of Even Robots Die
“If anything, I tortured myself, Furious,” I tell her.
I grab the shower gel once again and pour a heavy dose of it into my palm before rubbing my hands together to make it foam. I start lathering the soap on her skin and it’s a testament to how boneless Florentine is after this orgasm that she doesn’t talk back or try to get me to remove what’s left of my clothes.
Once I’m done with the soap, I detach the shower head and rinse her before turning her and motioning for her to get out.
“I’m not cleaning you?” she asks with a pout and I almost laugh at the disappointed look on her face.
“Go, there are clothes for you on the right side of my wardrobe. If you stay, I can’t assure you that I won’t steal you away from the world and fuck you into next week. And you said so yourself; we have things to do.”
She wraps herself up in one of my towels, and with a last look over her shoulder, she leaves the bathroom.
I turn the water temperature to freezing cold and proceed to remove my pants and wash myself.
At least I got to taste her before we start this shitshow, because knowing her, she has a lot planned and nothing is going to go smoothly.
69
Florentine
Ifeel like I’m on a cloud. Who would have known bat-shifters had the speed that matches the vampires in the human lore, and that it could be used likethat.
I have never been so happy my period was actually over. I would not have enjoyed Brice going down on me if I was still bloody. I know he enjoys the taste of blood, but it would have grossed me out a bit if he had enjoyed that kind of blood.
I move back to the bedroom and discover that a whole side of Brice’s wardrobe has been filled with clothes in my size and now I know where the clothes I got yesterday came from, but also … I have even more questions.
Did he plan to house us here in Notre Dame? Or did he fill the wardrobe at the last minute yesterday? I’m pretty sure the clothes are also from the same brand I ordered while in Blois, so I know he found it through the billing since I paid with his account.
But why did he fill the whole wardrobe?
I don’t get my answers though, because as soon as I’m dressed, Brice comes out of the bathroom, gets dressed, and we’re already on our way to my workshop.
I want to be here to tell the girls what happened to Dad, but we’re now on a tight timeline, especially since we got slightly delayed in the shower.
So instead, I warn Amélie that he didn’t come back to Notre Dame during the night but that I have a plan and that everything will be okay. She’ll tell the others.
I didn’t tell Brice my plan until now, and when we finally arrive at my workshop, I explain what I want to do and we argue. I knew we would after all, and that’s why I waited to get here, because I can still argue and work on my wings.
He probably wouldn’t have flown us here if he had known in the first place. We would have argued for hours—because yes, it takes me about two hours for him to see the appeal of my plan—and those are hours that would have been lost completely.
We go back to Notre Dame to sleep—about five hours—and then Brice flies us here again. And then repeat.
Come morning of the second day, we’re severely sleep deprived, but the wings are ready and foolproof.
It’s only eight in the morning when I finally send the blueprints to Christina, along with instructions on how to make them function.
“How long will it take forLibérationto build enough of those wings?” Brice asks me as he flies us to Blois.
This is the last item to cross off the list of things that absolutely need to be done before I start my plan, and it’s probably the part I’m dreading the most.
“A day, hopefully,” I say. “They have huge printers that can print any material, so if they run them all night they should be ready in the morning.”
“You perfected those printers too, didn’t you?” Brice asks, and I want to play humble, but I don’t.
“Yes.”
This is the reason why I know they can print everything on time and thanks to that, level the fighting field.
And I think Brice trusts me about anything I build.
