Page 59 of Tempting Little Thief

I get her concerns more than she knows.

“Hard to trust outsiders, ain’t it?” I slide my hands along her ass beneath her skirt. More fancy clips and clasps locked tight to another G-string. “Never know who’s after you or who’safteryou.”

She rubs her lips together. “Are you after me, Bastian Bishop?”

“Way I see it …” I lean forward, forcing her to latch on to my neck or fall back onto the concrete below. “I’ve already got you.”

Her attention falls to my lips, and she frowns, whispering, likely to herself more than me, “I think you might.”

“I do. You’ll see.” I focus on the exposed skin on her legs and the pleated uniform lying against it. “There’s something about this skirt.” I fist it between my fingers. “Kinda like it.”

“Of course you do,” she mocks. “It’s a common fantasy, one I would bet you’ve never found yourself living in.”

“Not exactly the crowd I hang around, so no, I haven’t, but …” Her ass sits on the roughness of my jeans, the strip of lace on her panties a useless form of protection. “I wasinyou, wasn’t I?”

“Doesn’t count.”

“No?”

“No.” Her grip on me tightens as she draws herself closer. “I had already dropped the skirt that night.”

Her long, soft fingers toy with the hair on the nape of my neck, and my eyes close as I think back.

“Yeah,” I agree. “It was the shoes for me then … and the legs, the ass, the hips, but that mouth and the sass that came from it? That pulled the trigger.”

She fights a smile. “You sure it wasn’t the knife throwing?”

“That too. Maybe even the eyes. I love me some green.”

“Don’t see much of that, do you?” She pops a brow like a brat.

I nod, owning it. “Your guess is right, Rich Girl. I’m nothing but a poor punk, but this punk made you come.”

“I think it was a fluke,” she sasses, but her voice is raspy and breathy. “You should prove it wasn’t.”

“Should I now?” I glide my thumb along her jaw, tipping her head a bit, and she does what I want.

She comes to me.

Her mouth finds mine, lips gliding along like silk against sand, soft against rough, parting, and my tongue breaks through, tangling with hers in long, slow strokes. Getting to know her mouth by feel, since last time was a fucking frenzy.Literally.

Her body hums, skin heating to the touch, and when I bite down on her bottom lip, she sighs.

Suddenly, she freezes, her eyes bulging. “What time is it?”

“Almost three last I checked. Why?”

“Oh my god!” She squirms, so I stand, lowering her to her feet, and then she spins, grabs her phone and winces. “Fuck, fuck, shit. We have to go. Now.”

Chuckling, I start grabbing my things, and she wraps her fingers around my wrist, my jacket hanging over her arm as she yanks me along. “I’m comin’. Chill. You act like you’ve never ditched before.”

“I haven’t.” She glares at me from over the hood as I round the car. “Greysons don’t ditch,” she explains. “We’re shiny and perfect. Always. But that’s not the problem. You know that shark I mentioned?” She slides into the car, forcing me to follow.

“Uh-huh?” I turn the engine over, meeting her gaze.

“I call him Dad, and he has a thing for machine guns.”

“I like machine guns.”

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