Page 88 of The Thief Who Saved Christmas

“I’m going to be down here all night unless you tell me to stop. Do you want me to stop, or are you just informing me that I can stop?”

“I…” I weight the options and then say, “The latter.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Don’t stop.”

He grins at me and lowers his head again, placing a soft kiss before he starts up again.

I realize he means it. He really will continue doing this all night if I want him to. Moreover, he clearly wants to. And somehow that allows me to relax into the moment, folding into it like warm butter into cinnamon roll dough.

It’s a few minutes later that it happens. Another bolt of pleasure hits, only this time it webs throughout my body, engulfing every muscle, limb, and hair follicle. My whole being trembles with it, and as it subsides, leaving my body languid, Ryan slides up next to me.

His shirt is on, which is unacceptable.

“Thank you,” I say, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Take your shirt off.”

He laughs and pulls it off over his head, and the beauty of his body is breathtaking. His chest and arms are covered in sculpted muscle, and for the first time, I can see the entirety of the tattoo on his forearm.

“You’re beautiful,” I say with a happy sigh.

“You’re fucking breathtaking,” he tells me, tracing down my cheek to my breast. “But I’m not going to ask you to take that off. I only have so much self-control.”

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

He kisses me, and I’m stunned but not repelled by the taste of me on his lips. “It would be my honor.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

RYAN

Obviously, I don’t sleep.

How could I with Anabelle curled up next to me, her head resting on my arm, her hair draped over me like a blanket? The taste of her is still in my mouth, and my dick is so hard that I pull out my phone after she’s asleep so I can google whether anyone’s ever died from a hard-on.

Undetermined, but it definitely doesn’t help me sleep.

I’m in deep with her, and I only want to go deeper. I can’t tell whether that’s because I’m self-destructive or because I’m finally on the right path. My judgment is no good when it comes to my own life. Never has been.

I want to talk to my brother about all of this, but I can’t reach out to him asking for a favor after everything. When I reach out to him, it has to be man to man.

Joe’s too close to Anabelle for me to talk to him about her, but maybe I can level with Jeremy.

I need to level with someone.

When the digital clock on her nightstand reads 6 a.m., Saint Nick jumps up onto the bed and, no shit, settles right on top of my face. So either he still dislikes me or hereallylikes me. I’m not sure which I prefer, but I’m not in the mood to get pinkeye from a cat, so I get up and maneuver his furry body next to Anabelle, who sighs and curls herself around him.

She looks at peace, her hair sprawled out around her and her long eyelashes resting against her cheek. Even the cat looks cute, so I give in to impulse and snap a photo of them. Hopefully that’s not weird.

I don’t want her to wake up and find me gone, like a thief in the night—hardy har har. So I put on my shirt, then find some sticky notes and scrawlWent downstairs for coffeeon one and place it on the second pillow.

I usually start the day with a workout, but I don’t want to miss her when she comes down. That feels important today. Maybe I can make her a special breakfast.

I shut the door behind me and head down the stairs humming. When I get to the kitchen to see about the coffee, Cynthia’s already in there. She’s wearing street clothes, and oh shit, she clearly went with the peroxide plan because her brown curls are a stiff, unnatural blond. A beat later, she turns to greet me, and—

“Oh!” I say, taken aback by the full effect. “Wow.”

“You look like shit too,” she says with a sigh. “You didn’t sleep? Me neither. I made about ten gallons of coffee.”

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