Page 29 of Thief

He formed a tube with his tongue and pulled her index finger into his mouth with a light suction—the finger he knew had just given her an orgasm, the one that had circled her clit the way he wanted to again.

She pulled out her finger, but kept her hand near his face. Slowly, she rubbed his cheek as if feeling the results of the shaving ritual she’d witnessed.

“It would be fair,” he said quietly. “You’ve tasted me.”

“I don’t play fair. And I thought only of myself. I find that works best.”

Desire and lust grew within him. She must have sensed it because she dropped her hand, turned and strutted into the living room. “Dinner would be good,” she threw over her shoulder, leaving him with a raging hard-on that would get no attention.

Unlike Kat, John wasn’t into doing it for himself.

* * * *

They sat at opposite ends of the sofa, chilli and rice balanced on their laps, eating in silence. Some obscure TV channel was showing a war movie. John was in to it and kept adding comments like, “That would never happen!” or “Surely they’d see that coming!”

Kat ate her dinner gratefully; it was surprisingly good. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had cooked for her.

As soon as they’d finished eating, she scooped up both plates and carried them into the kitchen. She loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the kitchen surfaces, rearranged things John had moved so they were back in their correct positions. Happy everything was as it should be, she pulled open the fridge and splashed more wine into her glass.

She walked down the corridor towards her bedroom and paused by the living room. John was helping himself to another whisky at the drinks cabinet. “Thanks for dinner,” she said.

“Like I said, I was making it anyway,” he replied as he twisted the lid back onto the bottle.

Kat shrugged and left him to it, so much for being less Neanderthal. She went into her room. After shutting the door, she pulled a glossy magazine from the bottom of a towering pile, which sent the balance toppling, and flopped onto her unmade bed. She’d have an early night. The emotional strain of the last few days was catching up with her. She was tired of John and tired of his ways. She didn’t need him. She could keep herself fed and satisfied.

Chapter Five

Kat emerged from her room, dressed and ready to go. She wore an impossibly short black skirt along with a white silk blouse and teetered on pillar-box red heels. A chunky matching red necklace fell between her cleavage.

“Ten-minute warning!” she called into the living room.

John had been listening to her banging around for over an hour and he smiled in triumph. Her submission was only a small victory, but never the less it was a victory.

He swung his feet to the carpet, pushed up and took the first painful steps of the day. He hobbled into the kitchen, checked the kettle for water then flicked the switch. Backing up against the counter, he took the weight off his left leg and waited for his morning dose of caffeine.

Kat was fiddling around in an enormous scarlet handbag. Haphazardly, items clattered onto the kitchen work surface, scattering this way and that, and an escapee lipstick rolled to the floor. Making no move to retrieve the stray item, she continued to sift her jumbled pile. Perfume bottles, bits of make-up, receipts, and oddments of jewellery all fell between her fingers. Then she scooped it up like water and sploshed it back into her bag, apparently happy with her load.

John watched in curious silence. “Where we going today, Pussy Cat?” he asked, his voice still gruff from sleep.

She surveyed him from under feathery lashes, bent and reached for the lipstick. “Shopping. I need new clothes.”

John raised his eyebrows. Shopping! That sounded as bad as the hairdressers. And new clothes, how could the woman possibly need new clothes? He hadn’t seen her in the same thing twice. A different outfit every day, and some days, she changed hour-to-hour depending on her activity. “Exactlywhereare we going shopping?” he asked without enthusiasm, spooning instant coffee granules into two cups.

“I fancy Oxford Street.” She took the coffee he offered without thanks.

John groaned. “And what if I said we’re not?”

She took a sip of her black coffee before saying sweetly. “But I thought you might like some new clothes too.” Her red lips turned up at the corners, but the smile went nowhere near her eyes. “You know, ready for your life in the sun. Those leathers won’t be any good in the Costa Del Sol will they.” She paused. “I’m thinking of you mainly.”

“Yeah, sure you are,” he answered, limping out of the kitchen with his coffee in hand. “Just like you thought of me last Saturday when you stole my damn Porsche.”

* * * *

Kat refused to ride the bike in her skirt so they sat in stony silence in a cab. She sensed John looking at her as if he was about to say something but kept stopping himself. In the end, he leant forward and said a few hushed words to the driver.

When they pulled up, they weren’t on Oxford Street as she’d instructed. They were parked in a decidedly seedy looking backstreet. “Hey, why are we here?” Kat demanded with a frown.

“I thought I’d show you my type of shopping.” John leant over her bare thighs and swung open her door. “After you.”

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