Page 33 of Tempting Little Thief

“We have.” His words are a deep rasp along my shoulder, and then my bra is gone, one leg lifted and locked along his back.

His hand slips from me, looping around from behind instead and diving back into my slick heat. “This pussy’s good, Rich Girl. Let me have it.”

I’m panting now. My hand shoots up over my head, latching on to the light fixture attached there, and I grind against him. “If you think I’m about to stop you, you’re highly mistaken.”

His chuckle is low, dark. “Nah, you’re not gettin’ it. Let me have it. Let me …” His buckle unclips, and then the head of his cock is at my entrance. “Call it mine a minute.”

I tense, shoving his chest slightly, so I can see him better, but he’s focused on where our bodies are bare and touching.

He’s insane, likely—highlylikely—in the literal sense.

But he has me in his hold, so I must be too …

He’s slow to bring his eyes to mine, and when he does, sheer determination shines back.

He presses inside, filling me as he waits, head cocking to one side.

Stretched like this, with his glass-like gaze on me, I can’t think, so I don’t. I roll my hips instead, and already, with the little bit of foreplay, my orgasm is crowning.

He pulls out a few inches, rocking into me with deep, rhythmic strokes, palming my ass and rolling me into him as he slides inside, guiding my hips back with each glide out.

He feels it, I’m there.

“So soon, Rich Girl?” he teases, sucking on my bottom lip.

His tone is almost playful, charming, if a guy like him is capable of such a thing. It’s a dangerous, adorable sound.

A whimper leaves me, beads of sweat building along the base of my neck, and I reach out, clenching onto him.

My insides spasm, and I moan, ready for release, but that moan morphs into a gasp when he tears out of me. My eyes snap open, and I blink into focus, swiftly narrowing in on his form.

His alreadyretreatingform.

I didn’t see him press the button to open the door, but it’s open, he’s smirking, and then …

He’s gone.

A sharp breath hisses from my lips, my body falling against the wall with a soft thud.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

I don’t mean to shout, but there it is.

I think I hear him chuckle, and then I’mpositiveI do because it grows an alto deeper when the chair I kick over in the next second topples with a harsh thump.

Annoyed and flustered beyond reason, I press my fingertips into the corners of my eyes and catch my breath.

It takes a moment, but I get myself together, and then a low laugh slips past my lips as I bend, reaching beneath the small table to my left. When I stand, it’s with a small, simple, single-fold wallet in my hand, black leather, of course, that I slipped from his pocket and nudged from view.

Slapping it in my palm, I smirk and look inside.

My lips quickly turn down when each card slot is as empty as the next, with nothing but a small sliver of white where the bills should be. Taking it out, I let the wallet fall to the floor and unfold the piece of paper—the bottom corner of a menu.

I read over the single line written in sharp, dark, quite flawless cursive, my teeth sinking into my lower lip.

Call me Bastian, little thief.

A low laugh leaves me, and I drop into the armchair with a sigh, staring at his name a little longer than I’ll admit.

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