Page 18 of His Pretty Little Thief

Knox

An hourand three orgasms for Simone from my fingers, tongue, and then cock later, we step out of big quadruple-head rain-shower to dry off. I wrap her small body in a big terry-cloth robe, pulling her into me and hugging her as she pants against my chest.

“You, Mr. Carmichael,” she moans quietly as she grins into my skin. “You’re going to be the death of me.

And the thing is, she may very well be the death of me, too, but damn what a way to go. I can’t fucking get enough of her. I mean hell, I’ve already claimed her mouth, her pussy, and her ass tonight, and cum in all three of them, and I still want more. I’m still harder than ever, and the thought of bending her over on all fours on my bed and watching my thick, big cock sliding into her obscenely tight little butt again is enough to make my balls twitch with need.

But then I hear the sound of a cell phone ringtone going off—her cell phone, seeing as it’s not my ringer. Simone glances out of the bathroom door towards the bedroom, but just snuggles into me as it goes quiet. It goes off again, and again, we let it go. But then it goes off a third time, and she frowns as she pulls away from me.

“Okay, who the hell is calling me this late?”

And slowly, I start to grin.

Simone shakes her head, still frowning. “Bianca would text, maybe, not call,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “And it’s not work. I’m off until Tuesday.”

My grin widens. Yeah, I’ve got a pretty good idea who it is. And when the fucking thing goes off a fourth time in a row at roughly two o’clock in the morning, I know I’m right.

It’s The Agency, wondering where the hell my semen is.

See, though they may refer to themselves as this shadowy, secretive organization, really, they’re not. I’ve known about them for quite some time, and I also know that I’m at the top of their “list.” Not to be a pompous douche, but a sperm sample from a guy like me? With my success, my brains, my looks? It would go for a fortune on the black market to rich people who need some help with conception.

But, while I feel for those people, fuck that. Selling my sperm without my knowledge or consent, so I can have kids out there in the world I don’t even know? Yeah, fuck everything about that.

The Agency is going down.

They’ve never been busted because they use desperate girls who will cover for them. If a girl does get caught in the act, they’ll pay her if she just plays it like she’s crazy and denies their existence. Simone isn’t crazy, of course, and she trusts me. Also, it’s safe to say that marrying me pretty firmly takes her out of the “desperate financial straits” situation in a pretty fucking big way.

“Simone.”

She half turns back to me, still shooting a glaring look at her phone as it goes off yet again.

“What is—”

“The Agency,” I say quietly. “That’s who’s calling you.”

She turns fully towards me, swallowing.

“You really do know it all, don’t you?”

I nod. “I’ve known about them for a long, long time. Suffice to say, you’re not the first girl they’ve tried to use to get to me.”

Simone’s face goes livid for a moment, flashing raw heat and anger before I laugh, shaking my head as I pull her into me.

“You are the only one I ever even spoke to, love.”

She purses her lips and God does she looks sexy with that spark of green envy in her eyes.

“Trust me, I could see through them all.”

“Including me,” she mutters.

“Yeah,” I growl, tilting her head up and kissing her softly. “But I wanted to see through you. I wanted you to get to me.”

The phone goes off again, and she groans. “God, they’re relentless.”

“They’re a bunch of sick assholes is what they are,” I snarl, shaking my head. “They go after girls exactly like you—girls in dire financial straits or have nothing else to fall back on. Girls who might appeal to men like me—young, gorgeous, engaging.”

She blushes, and I lean down to kiss her cheek. I take a breath, and then I look her in the eyes.

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