Page 59 of The Thief

A shiver runs through her body, and a smile curls on her lips. She approaches me on her hands and knees, sinuous and graceful, sexy beyond belief, and settles between my thighs. She looks up at me through her lashes.

“Please, Sir,” she says, her voice warm and sultry. “Please, may I suck your cock?”

Fuck, yes. I bend down and kiss her, cupping her chin in my hand. “Such a good girl,” I praise. “You want my cock, little thief?” I grip the base of her neck and tug her closer. “Take it then. Wrap your pretty lips around it and show me how much you want it.”

The tip of her tongue darts out, and she licks the precum off my head. Desire rockets through me, and I grip the arms of the chair tight and let out a hiss. “Deeper.”

She obediently parts her lips and engulfs my head in her mouth, taking me in. The feeling is indescribable. The warm silkiness of her tongue stroking my cock, the tight suction of her cheeks, the exquisite friction as she bobs her head on my length. . . I can’t take it. My toes tingle, and my balls tighten. I’ve been waiting too long for this moment, and I’m on the brink far too soon.

“I’m close,” I warn. “If you don’t want to swallow—” I stop talking as she takes me even deeper in response.Fuck.I move my hips, thrusting into her mouth with fast, short, shallow strokes. She feels incredible. I’m about to pass out. I grabbed the back of her head, brace myself, and explode into her mouth.

When awareness returns, I wrap Lucia in a velvet robe—Casanova does not skimp on the amenities—and pour her a glass of sparkling water. She thanks me with a smile.

“That was. . .” Her voice trails away. “Are you in a hurry, or can we stay here for a bit?”

“I have all the time in the world.”For you.

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course.”

“The Titian, why didn’t you try to sell it?”

Whatever I thought she was going to ask, this wasn’t it. “Maybe I just couldn’t find a fence who was willing to handle such a recognizable item.”

She shakes her head. “No, I asked Signora Zanotti about it. I don’t think you tried.”

I could say something glib in response or give her a half-truth. Instead, I find myself telling her the whole story. “When I was fourteen, I tried to find my parents. I wanted to know who they were, and I wanted to understand why they would abandon a baby.”

She leans her head on my shoulder and laces her fingers in mine. “And?”

“It wasn’t pretty. My father was a thug, and my mother, an addict. They were both dead by that point. But my mother had family—a brother who was married with two children.”

She shifts closer, and I pull her on my lap. She tucks her head on my shoulder again and wraps her arm around my waist. “What happened next?” she asks softly.

“I’ll give my uncle some credit—he didn’t try to pretend I wasn’t his nephew. I look exactly like my mother. We have the same eyes.” A bitter smile touches my lips at the memory. “But when I knocked on his door, he wanted nothing to do with me. Instead, he gave me a hundred euros and warned me to stay away from his family.”

She stiffens. “But you werefourteen.”

“Look at it from his point of view. I was a troubled teenager who kept running away from foster homes. If he took me in, I would disrupt his perfect family.”

“You were not a disruption,” she snarls in outrage. “You were a child in need, his nephew, his own flesh and blood. How could he turn his back on you?”

My heart is warmed by the fire in her voice. She’s so angry and outraged, andit’s for me.It feels good to have her on my side. I press a kiss on her hair. “Save your sympathy, little thief; my life turned out just fine. Anyway, when I saw the painting. . .” I search for the right words. “Have you ever looked at a work of art and felt a sense of recognition in your gut? I know it sounds ridiculous, but when I looked at the Titian, it spoke to me. And I couldn’t bear to part with it.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “But you let me steal it, and you haven’t taken it back.”

“Not yet. I like the painting you left me as a replacement. The canvas practically crackles with energy. It’s veryyou.”

She gives me a look from under her lashes. “I’m energetic? Interesting choice of compliment. You probably don’t have to work very hard, being the king of Venice with women throwing themselves at you all the time, but still, you might consider working on better ones.”

Her voice is pertly amused, and fuck me, I wish we were in my bedroom right now. I want to push her down on my bed and show her that ‘energetic’ is a very good compliment.

“Women throw themselves at me all the time?” I nudge the velvet robe aside and kiss her bare shoulder. “You sound like you’re jealous, cara mia.”

“Of course not,” she responds. “I have no claim on you.”

But she does, far more than she realizes. People who steal from me usually get punished, but Lucia can walk into my house anytime she wants and take whatever she wants. I haven’t stepped into Casanova in years, and I rushed over as soon as I found out she was here.

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