Stolen Lust (Beauty in the Stolen 1)

My brother calls it crazy. Ruben says it’s pussy fever because I haven’t gotten laid for so long, but it’s a lot worse than either of them can imagine. It’s obsession. Plain and stark.

She knows, and she’s not handling the facts very well. Her porcelain skin is paler than usual. If not for the berry-red lipstick on her lips, I’d find them a pale pink like on her high school photos. Are her nipples the same peachy shade of blush? My cock hardens at the thought. I’ve yet to unwrap her tits. I refrained the last time I had her pinned to a table underneath me because I’m a masochist like that. I believe in always leaving a little something for later.

I gauge her wide eyes and parted lips. “Eat up. It’s almost time for your medication. You need to line your stomach.”

“I want to go home,” she whispers.

I give her the truth. “You will.”

The column of her throat moves as she swallows. “When?”

When I’ve fucked her six ways from Sunday. “When I’m ready.” Dragging her plate closer, I cut her potatoes into bite-sized pieces. “There,” I say when I’m done. “Tell me about your day.”

She stares at her plate as if she can’t figure out what to do with the food. “What?”

“Did you take a couple of days off?” After what I did, her employer most probably gave her the whole week.

“Why are you asking?” She regards me with mistrust as she spears a piece of potato. “Are you interested?”

She can’t begin to imagine. I want to know everything about her, every little detail I can get my hands on.

I lean back in my chair and take a sip of wine. More truth spills from my mouth. “Yes.”

She drags the fork around her plate and finally takes a bite. I cease the questions to let her eat. Having wine with her medication isn’t recommended, but I pour her another glass. She needs to relax. It’s not as if she’s driving. Let’s face it. She’s not going anywhere. Not for a whole, long night. The knowledge makes me lightheaded. Having her here with me is worth every risk I’m taking. Fuck, I’ll happily go to jail for one more night with her.

After the heist, Cas and I only had a few hours, and there are so many things I’d like to do with her. I want to take my time with her body, getting to know what turns her on and the sounds she makes when she comes.

The moans and gasps of a woman are an aphrodisiac for me. I like my bed partners loud. Cas was quiet during our first time, but she had good reason for swallowing her sounds. She was frightened.

However, her enthusiasm and small perverse acts, like the way she didn’t close her legs when we were done, had floored me. A woman right after my heart. She’d bowled me over, unknowingly only strengthening my intention to have her again.

One last time.

It has to be. This is my farewell. The time I’m stealing from her is a gift to myself. I may not mind paying the price for another night with her, but I can’t let Leon down. He’s not level-headed enough to execute the heist stunts without me, and we’re too far down the road for him to change careers.

I give her enough time to eat half of the food on her plate before I press the issue again. “What did you do today, Cas?”

The emphasis on her name is soft but demanding, telling her I’m not letting her off the hook.

She swallows, takes another sip of wine, and leaves her cutlery in her plate. Her shrug is nonchalant. “Nothing special.”

I narrow my eyes.

The silent threat works. She utters an endearing little sound of frustration and parts those luscious, bee-stung lips. “I went job hunting.”

I’ve pulled every record on her I could. She’s been working at a bank as a teller for the past three years. “You resigned?”

She shifts in her chair. Something is off. With the cost of her medication, she can hardly pay her bills. The termination of lease contract notice is proof of that. She wouldn’t have left her job before securing another.

I watch her carefully. “Didn’t you like your job?”

She shrugs again. “My boss fired me.”

“Fired you?” I hardly keep the surprise from my voice. “Why?” The bank website has an employee of the month section, and she’s been nominated several times.

Toying with her napkin, she says, “He said I was a security risk.”

The light bulb goes on. Son of a bitch. I grip the glass so hard I have to make a conscious effort to relax my fingers lest I shatter the stem. “He thinks I held you hostage for information.”

She must be sensing the fury that runs shallow under my control, because she addresses me in a placating tone. “It’s standard procedure.”