Page 13 of Love Thief

She can flatten whatever she wants. I’ll line the fucking cars up for her if she keeps looking at me like that. If she lets me be with her like that. Fuck me, I am in so much trouble, in so fucking deep. But I don’t want to get out. I’m happy. In fact, I’m ecstatic. My high, way better than any drug I have ever taken in my life. So if I need to stay in the mire, in this deep with her, I will. But only if she’s in with me.

Back at the cottage I struggle out of the truck, and practically crawl to the large front door. I just about make it into the doorway of the Farm ‘Cottage’—fucking Greystones and their irony, this house is way bigger than mine in London—drop to the floor, and fall asleep. Only to be woken far sooner than I’d like by more screaming.

Not again. What the fuck has she done now?

I don’t bother getting up. I lay still and wait to see what disaster she’s caused. She’s a fucking savage, dressed up in fucking flying goggles. I smile at the picture in my mind of her getting down out of that massive tractor, tits swinging in the moonlight. Fuck, my body aches, but my cock is aching for her. My heart trying to burst out of my chest.

Xander comes skidding into the hallway, shouting “Where is he? What do you mean he’s dead?”

I crack one eye open slightly to see the tall blonde English woman pointing at me. “He’s dead,” she’s sobbing and wailing, “he hasn’t moved. The person who did the Ferrari killed him.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Xander approaches me and takes in my appearance. Ripped jeans, no shirt, welts from the crop, covered in dirt, hair stuck up and I’m sure some bald patches, dried blood and scratches all over.

When I open my eyes fully and look at him, he throws back his head and starts to laugh. “You are one lucky motherfucker. Do I need to guess who?”

I give him the widest smile I think I’ve ever done. “My fucking wife,” I say quietly so only he can hear me. My whole body is singing.

He grabs my hand and pulls me up, thinks about slapping me on the back, but looks at it, and says, “Oh boy, that good? Did she have a whip? They look like welts.” He’s examining me closely.

“Riding crop. I’m buying her a collection for Christmas.”

Staggering into the kitchen, every muscle protests the fantastic damage she caused. Xander laughs uncontrollably at my uncoordinated movements, poking and prodding at the particularly large bite marks and welts. I sit with relief at the kitchen island, wincing as I settle onto one of the stools, and wince again as all the girls come in, loud as a gaggle of geese. Blondie has rallied the troops.

Gabe also appears and raises his eyebrows at me. “Found her then?”

I grin at him.

The girls are all flapping around, trying to clean me with bits of cotton wool. I’m batting them off, when I hear a truck pull up, and the kitchen door opens.

Nikki walks in with a load of breakfast rolls, looks at me and starts to smile. “She said you might need these.”

That’s when I spot her coming through the door. Clean. her dress, white, short, floaty, sheer. And Blundstone boots. The flying goggles are perched on her head and not pulled down, so I think I’m safe. That’s so her—nice and pretty, but able to kick the shit out of you if she wants to.

She looks at Gabe’s entourage of women flocking around me like geese, and smirks. Oh God. I go to put my hands out to stop her smashing the kitchen up, but she totally surprises me and walks round the island.

“Hey Xan,” she greets him, and kisses him on the cheek. He’s standing staring at her, waiting to see which way she’ll go.

Stepping up to me, she spins the chair so she’s standing between my legs. The girls all huff and are just about to tell her to move, when she purrs out, “Not got showered yet?” Rubbing her face against my cheek, like a cat against your legs, she touches a big bite mark then looks directly into my eyes.

I reach out and gently wrap my hand around her throat as she eye fucks me, and her lips part as I apply a slight pressure. Gliding my other hand down towards her tits, I palm one of them over her dress. “No bikini this morning?”

“Only bottoms.” She moves her upper body towards me. The electricity is buzzing in the air, and I’ve totally forgotten anyone else is there until Xan clears his throat.

I turn slightly and see him staring at her tits through the thin material of the dress. He adjusts himself, and I can tell he has a hard-on from just this interaction. He has no fucking clue. She is a siren, a savage, a total goddess, a witch, all rolled into one.

She leans forward and kisses me. I hear the sharp intake of breath from all of the entourage standing stock still, watching. She licks my lips, and smirks at me. Talk about marking your territory, she’s far worse than me.

“This is the woman who smashed the dining room up. Ring the police,” the tall blonde English woman states in a haughty, domineering manner. You’d have thought the baseball bat may have cowed her, but clearly not. The elitism is inbred.

She moves to get the phone, nearly knocking Xander over. He’s standing in the way, totally transfixed on Evie. He sees no one else. He makes zero effort to move.

“Grab her, girls,” the leader of the pack commands, desperate for someone to do something. “We’ll keep her here until they arrive.”

I see Evie raise her eyebrow, and mouth ‘grab her, girls’ as she rolls her eyes. Instead of fleeing the scene of her crime, she pushes further into me, touching my chest, running her nails over the top of my nipples.

I hear Xan groan, it’s as if there’s only us three in the room. No one else matters. But I don’t even look at him. I’m too fixed on what she’s about to say. And she doesn’t disappoint me.

“Do you want me to clean you up, Kell?”

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