Page 101 of Even Robots Die
He lands in the park that’s two streets down from the address I gave him and I’m grateful, because the little walk we have until we reach the stairs that lead down the basement gives me enough time to collect myself and forget the fact that I was a thread away from rubbing myself against him like a bitch in heat. It should have given me enough time to forget the heat of his hands under my thighs, but that proves to be more difficult to erase.
It's like those handprints are now seared into my skin and I’m not sure I can ever forget them.
I go down the stairs, and Brice follows me, always on the lookout. When we landed, he made sure none of the sentinels were patrolling the area like when I got home earlier today.
God, it was only this morning.
It feels like a lifetime ago already.
I unlock the three different locks on the door and let myself in as I turn the light on.
Brice follows right after me and locks us in.
When he turns to look at my space, I wonder what he sees.
I know that anyone who isn’t me would deem this space a mess. The room has no window and the only light comes from the old school neons on the ceiling. It casts a glow almost too bright for most eyes, but when I tinker I need all the light I can get so I don't mess anything up. Especially when I work with nano components. There are piles of documents on three of the four tables that make up the space. Two of them are against the wall on the left and are the most buried under documents. There is no apparent order in all of this, but I can guarantee that I could find anything I want in there.
The third table is on the right when we enter and is probably the one that holds the most random things. I call it my ‘to sort’ table and really, this one is just the chaos that it looks to be.
The central table—if it can be called that—is shaped into a big ‘U’ and has a seat right in the middle. It’s my working table.
When I'm between projects, this table is the most pristine of them all. But right now it’s crowded with bits and pieces of steel, and right in the middle against the wall is my new project.
My wings.
It’s not lost on me that I spent weeks making wings in my basement before staying in Blois, and that the first time I actually flew in something other than a jet or a car was today.
The aim was to feel the wind on my skin while I flew, and I was basically a coward clinging to the man at my back as if my life depended on it the first time it happened.
I’ll blame it on the fact I wasn’t the one in control.
I just need to know that I’m the one piloting what’s making me fly. I just need to know how it’s built and that I can trust it.
I don’t trust Brice enough for that.
Brice takes a good look at my lab.
“Of course they had to be bird’s wings,” he says with both annoyance and amusement. “Are you trying to make me furious, Miss Furious?”
57
Brice
It took me more time that I care to admit to finally stop staring at Florentine.
I can still feel the press of her fingers against my shoulders and the heat of her cunt against my cock.
It’s a miracle that I managed to stay in control and not get completely hard against her.
It would have made me look like a fool.
I can’t stop thinking about those thick thighs wrapped around my hips and how well we fit together. I can still feel the weight of her thighs in my hands, and I had to convince myself more than once during the short flight not to let them slip to grab her ass instead.
I’d look worse than a fool if I had done that. I’d look like a creep.
I might be of the stalking kind, but I won’t touch her in a way that would make her uncomfortable.
Even if not doing so will definitely makemeuncomfortable.
