Page 24 of Even Robots Die (Even Ever After #3)

Florentine

I don’t know what to think about what just happened.

The man has been nothing but insufferable since he decided I would be the one helping him and now he’s bringing me coffee and cake?

Am I really awake or did I just dream that?

Not that it would be considered a good dream, but it’s not a nightmare either.

And since I’m still standing with the tray in my hands, I can definitely say that it’s not a dream.

And now I’m lost.

First, it was him stroking my hand earlier, and now this?

What am I supposed to think now?

It’s not helping. It’s not helping at all.

I much prefer when he’s an asshole. At least when he’s an asshole, I can keep believing I’m a prisoner here—even if I’m being paid for my work—and I can forget how handsome the bastard is.

This—him being nice—is throwing me off.

I walk back to my desk with the coffee and cake and get back to work. But my mind keeps spinning and I hate that the only thing on repeat is ‘why on earth did he bring me a midnight snack?’

In the end, I work for another hour and then give up.

I was already tired before Brice came knocking on the lab door, but the fatigue coupled with the sweet gesture—that I still can’t explain—completely screwed with my focus and all I can see now are letters and numbers that don’t make any sense whatsoever.

I might as well get some sleep.

I wrap my blanket tighter around me and turn off the holo-puter before walking back to my room.

I’m glad I took my shower before changing into my pajamas, because I don’t have any strength left.

I still manage to find a modicum of willpower to brush my teeth and then I crash on my bed without even getting under the sheet.

I’m still wrapped in my blanket, so it’s not like I need the sheet, anyway.

Then I completely black out.

Except I don’t.

Not really.

There’s a knock at my door and I think the sound was more to warn me that he was coming in than for me to go open the door, because Brice comes in before even waiting for my answer.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he tells me.

I sit on my bed, with the blanket pooling around my hips as he approaches me.

He’s eating me with his eyes like he can’t get enough of me.

“What? What are you doing in my room?” I ask, my mind still halfway to dreamland.

“Shh,” he answers and kneels at the side of my bed, right between my open legs.

How did I end up like this?

“No. No ‘shh’,” I bite back. “You’re mean to me all the time. It’s like a game to you. I don’t like you.”

“Is this the kind of lie that helps you sleep at night?” he asks. “I see you looking at me when you think I’m not watching. I know you felt the spark between us earlier today too …”

“I’m not lying for fucking sake,” I counter, but his hands drop on my knees and the warmth of them against my skin spreads all over my body and straight to my pussy.

“Stop,” I tell him, but even I can hear in my own voice that the word is half-assed.

I feel Brice’s hands slide on the outside of my thighs and look down as he slips them under the hem of my sleeping shorts.

Fuck.

Why am I so hot?

I blame it on the fuzziness of my brain due to me being about to fall asleep mere seconds ago for not really stopping the man, but it’s no good.

It’s no good because it feels so good and I’m not sure I want to stop him.

I look at Brice, and I’m mesmerized by the green of his eyes and the tip of his tongue as it slips out of his mouth and wets his bottom lip.

Slowly, Brice slides his fingers all the way under the hem of my shorts from the sides of my thighs and then even more slowly, he glides them along the crease at the top of my thigh, running his fingers from my hips and down.

And I’m here, on my bed, hands planted and arms at my back, holding me up as I look at the man who infuriates me, slowly toying with me.

I realize that once again he’s driving me mad.

But this time it’s the kind of mad I might be willing to taste and I know I could stop him.

Or that I could really tell him I don’t want this and he would listen, but like I proved less than a minute ago, I don’t really think I want to stop him.

So I let him stroke my skin tantalizingly slowly and I enjoy the feel of his fingers getting closer and closer to my wet pussy.

I want to rush him. I want to tear my shirt off. I want to make him plunge his fingers inside of me. I want his mouth on me. I want this torture to end so he finally makes me come.

But all I do is look at him as hunger becomes all that shows on his face and all I feel inside of me.

God, I really, really need to come.