Page 59 of Thief

“Oh, yes, fuck yes, do that again.” He pulled down and shot up fast into her waiting mouth. She sucked him in and licked with the tensed tip of her tongue. He took over holding her chest and she found his balls and worked them into a rolling frenzy the same way she was rolling herself.

She let her middle finger slide towards his anus, stroking the thin ridge of skin on his perineum and tickling over the clenched hole the way he had hers. She found the very centre and pressed gently, seeing if he would let her in, checking for give in the furrowed band of muscle. There was some, not much, but she found a tiny bit of slack and let the tip of her finger sink into the waiting black heat.

“Oh…fuck…” his voice was strangled, “you filthy little minx…” Semen spurted up towards her mouth, splashed onto her chin and chest in hot milky jets. His balls retracted from her palm, and she pushed her probing finger even higher, curled it forward and pressed on his smooth inside wall.

“Mine…” he grunted with a final thrust and releasing her tits to brace her shoulders. “Fuck it. You’re mine.”

Kat pulled her finger from his tight butt, and he froze in the darkness like a marble statue.

It was the way he’d said ‘mine’ at the exact moment she’d found a secret place inside him that tipped Kat over the edge. Her hand, arm and shoulder jerked against his body motionless body she powered through her intense finale. Her fingers flew across her clit, over and over. She panted, gasped, let her knees drop open. “Oh, God,” she said, loving the feeling of absolute control she always got when she pleasured herself.

Then her face was caught between his hands, and he was bending over her, supplying her with crazy, hot kisses. His tongue plunging into her and absorbing her wail of satisfaction as the crest of her wave crashed down spectacularly.

It was good to be alive.

It was good to be alive with John.

Chapter Nine

Half an hour later, they were driving down Priestley Avenue—an exclusive tree-lined street in West Hampstead with tall white, oversized houses standing to attention. Each house had black, spiked railings separating them from the wide pavement, and neat topiary trees stood like fat butlers on the imposing doorways. All but a few were in complete darkness.

John swung the bike to the end of the street, hoping he would find the garages belonging to the expensive homes. He was in luck. As he killed the engine and came to a roll, neat rows of white garages were tucked behind the houses. A quick search on the ambling bike soon produced garage number 132 half a dozen doors up.

They both slid silently off the bike.

Kat reached down and pulled at the small, cold handle. It was, of course, firmly locked. “Damn,” she muttered. “Now what are we going to do?”

John already had his knife out and was unfolding a long, thin gadget from the handle. Bending double in the darkness, he fiddled for fifteen seconds before trying the handle once again. The door pulled upwards.

“Impressive,” Kat muttered in mock admiration. “Is that essential military expertise or have you picked it up from somewhere else?”

“It was essential in my line of work,” he whispered, lifting the door carefully.

“You never did tell me. What did your unit do in the army?”

“You’re right. I didn’t tell you.” He ducked his head. “Result, it’s here!”

Kat rushed forward.

John’s Porsche sat in the darkness. No longer silver, but a metallic shade of azure blue.

“Excellent.” Kat grinned but then her face dropped. “But how are we going to get into it. These cars are useless without their keys, virtually impossible to break into. That’s the whole reason Carlos had me, remember?”

The car indicator lights flashed twice, the orange glow lit up the inside of the garage as a quick, high pitched beep echoed rudely into the quiet.

Kat turned to John, puzzled.

“Spare key.”

“Good thinking.” She walked up to the trunk as he popped it open remotely.

* * * *

John ducked his head as he came to stand next to her. A weak light showed the trunk held a green first-aid box and an empty cola can. Neither of which were his. Barely able to contain his apprehension, he reached into the semi-darkness and began to get his bearings within the small space. Trying to remember exactly where he’d cut the hole in the lining and secreted the diamonds away.

Eventually, after what felt like an age, his fingertip poked inwards. “Yes, I’ve found the hole.”

“And the diamonds?”

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