Page 11 of Thief

She began to move. She knew what she wanted—it was a rapid, hard rhythm that worked best. Encouraged by John’s moans of approval, she rocked faster and faster and soon became lost in their delicious connection. It was all she could focus on, all she could think about. The rest of the world ceased to exist.

Her neck fell forward; the weight of holding her head up was too much to bear. She whimpered. The intense friction, the power of the pleasure building was both terrifying and incredible. Her clit was about to explode. Not only that, but her internal walls were hot and stretched, and undiscovered points of pleasure were being massaged and pounded.

He circled her waist, his fingers gripping but at the same time loose. His abs were a row of bricks, and she felt hard thighs rise to meet her buttocks. But his hips were completely still, letting her control depth. She managed a look at his face. It was screwed up with intense concentration. She wondered how much it was costing him to remain so passive. But her concern for him was fleeting, because at that moment, with very little forewarning, her orgasm took over and she flew apart. Liquid heaven spilt through her veins and suspended her on a high, flinging her into another dimension entirely. She called out his name, she didn’t know why, but it poured from her lips over and over like a mantra.

He gripped her harder during her explosion and his cock turned to solid concrete. Then he gave up his last ounce of control and jerked his hips upwards. Keeping her trapped, he surged in—hard and powerful—unleashing, just for one second, the supreme animal within. He grunted from deep down in his chest, a low, agonised moan that stretched the tendons of his neck with its vibrations.

Kat tried to flop, boneless with her own shudders of delight. But he kept her tight upright as he pulsed within her, releasing semen straight into her womb. “Holy shit,” he said through clenched teeth. “That’s so fucking good, so fucking amazing…” His arms gave way, and he allowed her to collapse onto his chest in a heap. “You’re something else, woman,” he murmured, pushing her hair from his damp face. “Really something else.”

Chapter Two

Years of sleeping on a knife’s edge had left John a superficial sleeper. He suffered torturous bouts of insomnia when the pain in his knee and old memories haunted him from impenetrable shadows. But now, sprawled across his bed, butt naked and one hundred percent satisfied, he wallowed in a rare state of complete and utter physical relaxation.

It was the click of his front door, which caused his eyelids to fly open and his senses to spring to full alert. The familiar sound of the latch being quietly slid into its hole registered deep within his unusually slumbered brain and immediately brought him back to life.

It was as if he’d never been asleep at all.

He stretched across the bed for Kat’s warm, naked and particularly sexy body.

She was gone.

“Damn!” he cursed, sitting upright. He’d liked her and she was good. A little nervous, a lot naïve, but last night had been amazing. He’d forgotten how much he liked sex. No, make thatlovedsex. He at least wanted her phone number before she left. Perhaps he could call her when he’d set up his new life. Invite her for a repeat performance of their nocturnal athletics, up her experience levels a few hundred notches.

He pulled on faded blue jeans and, from the living room, grabbed the black T-shirt discarded on the floor the night before. After ramming his feet in sneakers, he grabbed his keys and wallet and headed out the flat.

He made for the fire escape instead of the lift—it would be a quicker route—but instantly cursed his decision when the familiar burning pain shot through his knee, the joint complaining bitterly at being asked to flex and take his weight so soon after rolling out of bed. But if he wanted her telephone number, it was a sacrifice his body would have to make. Kat was the best thing to happen to him in very a long time.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and limped into the small communal lobby.

He froze in his tracks.?His ears were sending his brain a signal he didn’t want to believe. Didn’t want to acknowledge.

The meaty hum of a Porsche reverberated around the lobby walls—its echo unmistakable in the bare concrete enclosure.

“Shit!”

How could I have been so gullible?

He held up his keyring and it confirmed what he already knew. The Porsche key was missing.

Its absence sickened him.

His heart pounded and his lungs exploded. He charged through the front door of the lobby onto the dark street.

“Hey, thief!” he shouted as he saw the tail end of his precious car, with its even more precious load, slipping smoothly up the gears. A low flash of silver in the London night which signified his whole damn future disappearing into the distance without him.

* * * *

Kat drove steadily away from John’s flat. Driving a sleek silver Porsche in the dead of night would undoubtedly draw some attention. But what she didn’t want was police attention. She didn’t want to give them an excuse to stop her, not least because she was probably still over the limit after all that wine.

She had to drive a mile and a half to get to the pre-arranged drop off point. Then as usual, she’d hand Carlos the key and grab a cab home. She was looking forward to home. Having a long, hot shower and climbing into her own bed and sleeping undisturbed until she woke naturally, probably late the next afternoon. She shifted on the seat, still pleasantly damp and swollen. At least there’d be no need to satisfy herself tonight. John had more than taken care of that department.

A smug smile tickled her lips and the muscles in her pelvis flexed at the memory of his skillful fingers and even more skillful cock. It had been such a unique experience, so deliciously satisfying that it was almost a shame it was over with him.

After several sets of traffic lights and three left turns she purred the Porsche up to the kerb directly outside Walberg’s Meats as instructed. She plunged the car into darkness and silenced the engine so as not to disturb anyone sleeping above the small parade of shops. She didn’t want the distinctive engine noise registering in drowsy memories.

Opening the car door, she swung her legs out, paused briefly to retrieve her purse from the passenger seat and stepped onto the deserted street. As usual, she shuddered as Carlos’s menacing shadow loomed from a BMW parked in the darkness. His apish shoulders swung and his bald head shone under the serrated halo of a streetlamp. Her hard-earned karate black belt would be worthless against his huge bulk—and utterly futile against the gun he stored about his person.

He hulked along the pavement on a collision course with her, his footsteps heavy and his breathing laboured. He held out a meaty arm so she could drop John’s car key into his ogre-like hand. His thick throat didn’t emit a grunt and there was no pause in either of their stride. Then she felt his body heat disappear, and his footsteps faded.

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