Page 22 of Thief

Kat felt powerful, in control. She created a hot suction and bobbed her head all the way down to the base with a soft sucking noise she hoped wouldn’t carry. She wanted to make him come, make him as desperate for her as she’d been for him. Over and over, she slipped down and sucked up. Her lips felt swollen around his cock and her tongue danced over his domed glans.

“Get ready, I’m gonna come,” he gasped as the first drip of silky fluid spilt from him. His hands were back, tangled in her hair, keeping her in place. He thrust forward, and forged in. Kat took him, loving it. Why had she never done this before? Her tongue found an extra thick vein at the base of his dick and she laved at it as his pubes tickled her nose. Her clit hummed, about to fly like a rocket.

John’s cock suddenly went thick and rigid. Suspended in time, it froze butting the very depth of her throat. She reached for his balls which had retreated into the base of his shaft, let them nestle in her palm as her fingertips stroked the ridge of skin she found between his sac and his anus.

“Fuck, yes…” He ground out as his thighs went taut. “So good, you feel so…damn…good.” Like a popped cork, semen flooded down her throat. She barely had to swallow he was so deep anyway. One hand fisted her hair back into a rough ponytail, and his other cupped her chin, his thumb just touching her bottom lip and at the same time pressing on the base of his penis. He continued to spill his seed, pulsing and jerking in her mouth, greedily massaging the base of her tongue.

Kat hadn’t orgasmed but it sure felt like it. She eked every sizzling drip of pleasure from John and committed it to a memory she would get off on when she was alone. Her nipples strained and her pussy was wet; she had a job to catch her breath around his flesh.

He pulled his spent cock from her mouth, still hard but nothing left to give it lay against the zip of his leathers.

Cupping her chin, he urged her to her feet.

Kat looked into his glazed eyes. Her throat was salty and empty and her lips stretched and moist. She knew her red lipstick would be a smeared mess.

“A virgin mouth,” he said huskily.

She scowled. How had he known? It had sounded like she was doing it right. How could he have possibly guessed she’d never done it before?

“Only a virgin mouth would go straight for a deep throat fuck.” He traced the contours of her lips with the pad of his thumb, dipped into her cupid’s bow and wiped at a milky drip in the left hand corner. “Not that I’m complaining.” A ghost of a smile tipped his mouth. “It was fucking fabulous.” He bent his head and pressed a hard kiss to her tender lips.

Chapter Four

John appeared through the shop doorway, the new set of keys swinging from his index finger and peering from the slash of a glossy black helmet. He handed Kat a smaller version of his helmet and swung his leg over the bike. His thick thighs hugged the seat and his gloved hands covered the handles. He looked anonymous and dangerous, a force to be reckoned with.

“What you waiting for?” he barked as he flicked down his visor, revved the engine to life and let the bike shift forward on the tarmac.

Kat rammed on her helmet and threw herself behind him, her stomach in a spin of excitement and nerves. The bike lurched and she clamped her knees against his hips and slipped her arms around his waist, then held on for all she was worth as they shot into the heaving traffic.

Within minutes, they came to stop and she saw they were back outside his apartment. “What are we doing here?” she asked, unlinking her fingers.

“I need some stuff,” he mumbled.

Kat slid off and pulled at her helmet.

John kicked down the stand, threw his leg over the back and jerked the key from the ignition. “Come on.”

“I’ll wait with the bike.”

He flicked up his visor and stared at her with untrusting eyes. “Yeah right.”

“Why not? You’ve got the keys where can I go. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on the bike while you go and get…I don’t know, whatever you need. You said yourself it wasn’t a great area.”

“I said no. You’re coming up with me.”

“I’ll wait here.

He dragged in a deep breath. “I’m hungry and tired and beyond pissed off I’m not half way across the English Channel.”

She scowled.

“And you’re my ticket outta here, Pussy Cat, and I don’t trust you not to slink that sexy little arse of yours into a back alley and disappear, so wherever I go, you go.”

Kat tutted but trailed after him anyway. She’d pick her battles. It would be a much better way of winning. What was the point in arguing about going up to his stupid apartment anyway?

Hanging around as he gathered bits from his bathroom, Kat wandered down the corridor and stepped into his bedroom. The bed was dishevelled, the duvet a knot of creases and the pillows dented from their lovemaking. The window revealed the sleeping streetlamp that had flooded the room with its flaming glow.

She glanced around. There was very little else in the room—a stack of six drawers with a barren surface, a built in wardrobe with a chipped doorframe and a solitary chair with a pair of jean precisely folded over the laddered back.

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