Page 50 of The Love Bandits

“No,” she says with a hoarse laugh, tucking her hair behind her ear, the action almost prim. “Not even a little…I just… That was getting a bit out of hand, don’t you think?”

“No,” I admit. “I liked what my hand was doing. But if you think it was too much, that’s what matters.”

Her hands sweep over her lips. I can see myself all over her now—her swollen lips, her mussed hair, the way her shirt dips down lower—and it only makes me harder. “You almost came,” I say, my voice a low whisper, nearly a growl.

“I almost came,” she says, with something like wonder. “That’s what I mean. This is…I need some time to think about this.”

“You don’t like being out of control,” I guess.

“No,” she admits, although I think the opposite is true. She was, by her own admission, liking it quite a bit. It’s more that she’s not used to it, a thought that is frankly stunning. If she were mine, I’d try to coax her into losing control three times a day. No, three times before breakfast. Hell, I’d still like to do that. I can think of no better way to spend my captivity.

Watching her, I lift my hand up and make a show of sucking my fingers. I’m probably tormenting myself more than her. The taste of her creates an instant addiction—one that probably won’t be satisfied. “Delicious. You think all you want,” I say once I’ve gathered myself enough to speak. “But if you decide you want to stop thinking and start acting, you know exactly where I’ll be.” I manage a smirk. “Because I’m your prisoner, Elaine. You might as well make the most of it. I think we could have some fun being out of control together.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here I am. Standing in front of you. So I guess it’s your lucky day.”

She studies me for a second, standing just a few inches from me, before swallowing and saying, “I’m not interested.”

A lie, and I wouldn’t need to be a man schooled in them to call it. It’s there in her shaking voice and dilated pupils. In the way her hands have fisted, like she wants to touch but won’t. “Sure, you’re not.”

“I’m not.”

“Shall I go back up to my room since you have no more need of me,boss?”

“Yes,” she says through her teeth. “I think that would be best.”

“You want to lock me in?”

It hurts to think about listening to the key rasp in the lock, even though I now know that she won’t keep me in there forever. She doesn’t think much of me, but she’s not cruel.

“No,” she says. “I’ll talk my friends into leaving the door unlocked, but if you try to leave—”

“I’ll be drawn and quartered. Roger that.”

She narrows her gaze at me, but then her eyes soften. “And I’ll get your things tonight. I’ll grab the keys after Damien puts them away.”

Her hair is hanging loose at her chin, her eyes almost luminescent. She’s like a rare wildcat of a woman.

I can’t help myself, I put a hand on her arm, the softness of her skin making me instantly want to touch more of it. All of it. She lets me stroke her skin, her lips parting. “Thank you, Elaine.”

Then I get up and hurry over to the stairs. Up them. When I’m in the threshold of my prison cell, I turn around, and she’s still down there looking up at me—the expression on her face suggesting she’s as surprised by how this day has worked out as I am.

I feel a strange lurching sensation in my chest. The feeling that everything has changed, and it will keep right on changing, and soon I won’t recognize anything. Including the person I see in the mirror.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

LAINEY

Something is wrong with me.

Because Jake is a self-admitted criminal, a thief and a con artist, and I rocked against his hand with as little self-consciousness as if it were made of purple silicon. All it took was him touching me like that, his talented hand strumming me, invading me, his lips and teeth on me, and I nearly fell apart. Right here in the kitchen.

Years and years of no orgasms with a partner almost ended with him, and he barely even did anything.

Maybe it’s because I don’t care what he thinks of me.

With Todd, I felt like I had to constantly assess myself. To try to see myself through his critical gaze. But it’s not like that with Jake. I know he’s not someone I should be with, and that means I don’t really give a shit if he thinks I drink sexy or walk sexy or eat sexy.

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