6. Jane
What the heck? Was it something I did? Something I said? Something I didn’t say?
I replay every moment in my mind—down to my orgasm—and the only thing I can think of is that I didn’t make him come.
Should I go after him? Or get the hell out of here? I’m still trying to decide when Bryan runs into the room with a familiar romance novel.
“Success!” he says, holding it high in the air.
“I’m confused,” I say, staring at his paperback copy of The Duke’s Forbidden Love by Abigail Cameron.
Bryan opens the book and shows me that it’s hollow and filled with condoms.
“You are…” I try to think of a word and settle on, “singular.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “I store a lot of things in books. So when I saw this hollowed out copy on sale in town…” He shrugs and gestures at the condoms.
I nod. “Makes sense.”
Bryan takes my words as acceptance and picks a condom out of the book. His eyes rove over my naked body as he drops his boxers, freeing his hard cock. My mouth waters and I reach out to touch him, but Bryan steps away to add his boxers to his neatly folded pile of clothes. It’s oddly endearing, and I’m smiling when he returns to slip a condom on.
Then he’s on top of me, his hard, muscular body covering mine. My nipples rub against his chest, and I moan. He runs the tip of his cock over my clit, and I arch into him, needing more.
Bryan slips a finger between my thighs and slides it through my wetness. “Is this okay?”
“Oh, hell, yes. I need you inside me. Please.”
I reach down between us and guide his cock between my thighs. When he’s buried to the hilt, Bryan growls. I moan again.
“Fuck, you’re hot when you do that,” he says.
“Do what?” I dig my fingernails into his back as he slides out of me and then slams back in.
I let out a cry.
“That. The way you sound. Fuck, Jane.” He slams into me again, drawing another cry from my lips.
We find a rhythm that ignites every cell in my core. Normally, I close my eyes during sex. Sometimes, I imagine I’m making love to a book boyfriend from whatever romance novel I’d last read, or think about a hot fictional scene. But Bryan is better than any fantasy. The reality of this man, in this room, is beyond my wildest dreams.
There’s just one thing missing…
“Talk literary to me,” I gasp as my orgasm builds.
Bryan presses his lips against my neck, making me moan, and then whispers words from Dracula, his breath sending shivers down my spine.
It’s not even a sexy quote, but just hearing the man talk is one hell of a turn on. Hearing him quote a book—any book—almost makes me come on the spot.
Bryan teases my nipples with his tongue and nips them softly before he looks me in the eye and says, “You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.”
My hips buck to take him deeper inside me. “Oh, Rhett,” I exhale.
He changes his accent. “I want to hear you groan and to sob and moan and sigh and scream and cry out my name as I give you my soul along with my cock.”
It’s a total mangle, but I still recognize the words Jamie Fraser says to Claire. It pushes us over the edge, tumbling through time and space as my walls squeeze Bryan’s Scottish cock.
We lie still for a minute before Bryan flips us so that he’s on his back and I’m draped across his chest, still breathing hard. He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and smiles.
“Have I told you that you’re beautiful?” His voice is gruff.
I blush. “Tell me again.”
I press my cheek against his chest and listen to his wildly beating heart. When it slows, along with my own, I push myself up and off his body. “Bathroom?”
“Third door on your left.”
I start to pick up my clothes, but Bryan grabs my wrist to stop me. “You’re not leaving yet. I don’t know about you, but I’ll be ready to do that again in less time than it takes to read one long paragraph from The Lord of the Rings.”
I hesitate, since all I want to do is hang out in this room and make love to this man while we talk about books. But reality knocks against my chest. “Much as I agree about the paragraph length, I have to be back at the library by one o’clock. And I don’t want to get fired in my last two weeks.” I force a Cheshire Cat smile, and Bryan releases his hold on me.
Reality has a way of rearing its ugly head… and mine is one where I just got replaced by his robot and have to start looking for some crappy minimum wage job when I should be at the library, helping patrons and putting away books. Not that any of that is technically Bryan’s fault—it’s technological change.
Bryan stares at me, biting his lower lip while I dress. Normally I’d feel self-conscious, but something about the desire reflected in his hooded gaze empowers me. I do a reverse striptease for him, never taking my eyes off his cock.
“Wow. That’s surprising,” I mutter, pointing to his thickening erection.
He gives me a confused look.
“You’re a QuickStar influencer who is selling something that is exactly as advertised.”
Bryan barks a laugh. “Right back at you. It’s not often that ‘in real life’ is better than fantasy. But, Jane, you are seriously over-delivering.”
His words make me feel all warm and gooey. I lean down and kiss him and swing my hips a bit more than needed as I make my way to the enormous bathroom. It has a Jacuzzi tub and a wooden door that leads into a freaking sauna.
“Who has a sauna in their house?” I mutter to the robot—which has the same white metal hull as Byron, but shaped like the capital letter ‘T’—standing in wait, no doubt to tidy whatever mess I make washing my hands.
The sink has a marble counter and little folded towels in the shape of swans. I almost feel bad using one, but I do it anyway and toss it in the dirty hand towel basket.
“There you go, buddy. Something for you to do,” I say. The robot doesn’t move. Maybe it’s powered off, or it needs more than one towel to get going.
I fix my hair, straighten my clothes, and leave the bathroom. On my way back, I notice an open door across the hall, and curiosity gets the better of me. The king-size bed frame is modern, with a gorgeous padded, embroidered headboard. The matching comforter and throw pillows look to be raw silk. There are gorgeous mahogany nightstands and a matching dresser, and a chandelier hangs from the ceiling. It’s the stuff of dreams, and all I can think of is how this guest bedroom is more like a showroom, decorated in a way that flaunts the owner’s wealth.
I cringe.
The entirety of everything I own would fit in this bedroom and probably costs one tenth of the price of his bedsheets alone. I don’t belong in this world. In Bryan’s world. He’s probably figured that out by now, too.
Dread pools in the pit of my stomach as I head back to the library. Goodbye quotes from literature run through my mind. I stop on Romeo and Juliet’s, “Parting is such sweet sorrow,” since I know this was a onetime experience.
But when I get there, Bryan is fast asleep.
He’s stretched out on the couch in the buff, eyes closed, the rhythmic breathing of a man without a care in the world. Everything about him is absolute perfection. His hot—not at all airbrushed—chest. His handsome face. The dream library he’s built. And his robot, who belongs here, and at my dream job, far more than I do.
I glance at the shelves. Bryan mentioned storing stuff in books, and I wonder what—other than condoms—he’s hiding.
I pad over to the romance section and look over my shoulder. Bryan’s eyes are still closed. I turn back to the shelf and run my hand along the book spines.
Up close, the novels all look real. But which titles wouldn’t a man like Bryan read for pleasure?
Condoms in one romance book, what’s in the others? Lube? Sex toys? I pull out one Fifty Shades-esque book, then another, assuming they must all be fakes. But they’re not.
I check a few other books from various genres, but no luck. I don’t have time to figure it out. I have to get to work.
I quietly scoop up my purse and take one last look at the man who both ruined my life and kissed me and made me feel better—at least for one glorious hour. Then, I head out.
I reach the front door and stop short. There’s no doorknob. What kind of door doesn’t have a doorknob?
I realize I have no idea how to get out of Bryan’s house. He unlocked the door using facial recognition on our way in, but the camera in the doorway doesn’t react to me. There’s a small screen to my right, but when I tap it, it asks for a PIN. Dammit.
I press my palms against the door and try to slide it open. It doesn’t budge.
“What kind of house locks people inside?” I scowl at the camera, wondering if it’s recording my face.
Wait a minute. QuickStar! I grab my phone, and realize I uninstalled it. Doesn’t matter. Pictures of Bryan’s face are all over the media. I grab my phone, type in his name, and scroll through dozens of shots focused on his abs, and even one of his butt, before I find a close-up headshot and hold it up to the security camera.
Nothing happens.
I increase the brightness on my phone and try again.
Still nothing.
“Stupid automated house full of stupid job-stealing robots.” I storm back toward the library, but a window down the hall catches my eye.
Hm…
It’s the sort of window that slides up, and it looks like it could be big enough for me to fit through. Plus, the windowsill is below waist level, so why not just climb out?
I find out a second later when I slide it up, and an alarm goes off.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Does the man just not open windows in his house?
The high-pitched beeping blares through the house, and I yank the window back down in a panic. The alarm doesn’t stop. The damage is already done.
I pull the window back up as high as it will go—which is several inches lower than I’d expected—sling my purse over my shoulder and try to climb out feet first. With both legs safely on the other side, and my butt plopped on the windowsill, I try to bend my body in a Cirque de Soleil contortion style to get through, which is definitely not going to work.
I climb back into the house while the alarm continues blaring. In a panic, I dive out head first. That’s bound to work. We’re on the first floor, and when I reach out the window, I can practically touch the grass. There’s just one problem. My skirt gets caught on the latch.
I try to wiggle my way free. No luck. I reach behind me but can’t bend my arm to reach the latch. I try to push myself backwards, back into the house, but I’m stuck.
I lift my head and look out over acres of lawn, willing a yard robot to come and save me. Of course, I’m not that lucky. None of Bryan’s robots are on my side.